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My Life Soundtrack [Part One]

Everyone has that one particularly defining moment within their lifetime, when music suddenly begins to make sense. When it finally went beyond the point of listening to music, enjoying music and maybe dancing to music because everyone else was; at some point in everyone’s life, music truly begins to resonate and becomes more than just a song. And, as life progresses, they will reach more moments in life where a song can encapsulate a feeling, or a moment or become the defining shape of a memory. Music is one of life’s biggest passions, or at least it definitely is for me, which is why I’ve decided to share it on the blog today!

If you took a look at any of my Spotify playlists, or took a journey through the extensive collection my iPod has to offer, you’ll soon realise that my taste in music could potentially be described as eclectic. It can go from being something relatively cool, to something so uncool that it would make mental health professionals question my sanity. I’m unashamed of my music tastes, regardless, but do air caution as to when I play the stuff that I secretly love. If I’m home alone, the blinds remain closed and my earphones remain permanently in my ears and I spend the day listening to music of varying genre, so I can bounce around the flat, singing at the top of my voice, with no one witnessing my horrendousness but me (and maybe the neighbours who hear me sing). Sober me has a relatively awesome taste in music, but drunk me becomes a bit of a lunatic and eventually, at some point in any evening, I will hijack any playlist with the Beauty and the Beast soundtrack and scream along. That’s just who I am!

I’m not going to write a blog specifically about the songs that I like, because we could be on for hours and all that would do is show you how bloody ridiculous it is watching me make a playlist. These are the songs that I can pinpoint to a specific point in my history and remember why I love it so much; it can be triggered by a memory, an event, a feeling or even a person and then suddenly that song is all about those feelings. With the exception of a few songs, none of mine are inspired by people other than my best friends and times we’ve had together, but there are a few songs that remind me of Brain, which he amazingly thought to put into a soundtrack of his own by finding a bespoke company that creates custom made vinyl music – it took him a long time and a lot of effort and money, but on my birthday I received songs that encapsulated our entire relationship. On Valentine’s Day we listened to this vinyl whilst cooking and we kept laughing at the fact that we remembered the first time we heard each song and which specific memory we had in mind; they were all pretty much matching, which is pretty much the dorkiest thing you can imagine, but I also find it pretty important.

The Rolling Stones – Like a Rolling Stone

Long before my obsession with Bob Dylan began, an obsession with Mick Jagger began festering in my tiny mind. I can’t remember how old I was when I first heard this song, however, I do remember the exact moment I first heard it and when it became more. It was the early nineties and we’d only just had SKY TV installed, back when it wasn’t the extensive crap-fest of horrendously bad TV shows and adverts it is now. My parents listened to a lot of VH1 and I remember sitting in our living room one afternoon when the intro to the song began playing. It wasn’t an epiphany style moment that made me realise I love The Stones or anything, but it was a moment that I’m taken back to every time I hear the song. I think the fact that my parents both loved it at the time, too, makes a big difference.

Mike and the Mechanics – Looking Back, Over My Shoulder

This song is without a doubt the song of our family. When my sister and I were little, we would make up dances to everything that we liked and whenever my dad took this cassette out of the case and placed it in the cassette player, we would sing our little heads off and, very literally, look back over our shoulders whenever the chorus plays. It has been a firm favourite in every family playlist we’ve created and now, whenever we descend upon my parents house for the evening, my dad puts this on for us all to sing along to.

Bob Dylan – I Want You

I knew who Dylan was before I’d really listened to his music, but this was during a time where I was desperately obsessed with Andy Warhol, his factory and his super star, Edie Sedgwick. I was besotted with this entire decade and the fashion of the 1960s to the point where I would wear shapeless dresses with contrasting peter pan collars and wore nothing but dramatic black eye make up with flicks and a perpetual red pout. I began buying Edie Sedgwick inspired, enormous chandelier earrings and contemplated cutting my hair off and dying it blonde. Not much has really changed, because every time I see her beautiful little face, I want do to it all over again. As a result, I was looking online and happened upon an article that coincided with a piece I read about Edie and Bob Dylan being together at some point in the sixties. This article suggested that Dylan wrote Blonde on Blonde about Edie, so I decided to download it and see if it was true. This song in particular is supposed to capture the moment when Dylan met Warhol and I became obsessed with it. I’m a total sucker for gossip, but I’m an even bigger sucker for songs about people and to this day, every time I think about it, I remember sitting in my bedroom wearing ridiculously enormous chandelier earrings, red pout pursed and heavily eyeliner’d eyes squinting, trying to decipher Dylan’s poetry. Not much has changed, except the earrings, except now it means so much more because Brain is obsessed with him too. One of the first things my parents said about him was to express their surprise that he liked Dylan too. My mam said, WHAT? You’ve got to be kidding! But you LOVE Dylan! 

The Weepies – World Spins Madly On

This song is potentially one of my favourite songs of all time and whilst I can’t remember, really, what made me love it so much, I do remember that when I was going through a really tough time, I would listen to this song and I’d feel a sense of clarity that other songs didn’t make me feel. I guess because, in spite of the lyrics, the music and the singing is beautiful and relatively uplifting. Either way, it’s still one of my favourite songs, except again, the meaning has changed.

A Fine Frenzy – Ashes and Wine

For a very long time, I wanted to learn the piano and write songs, not necessarily to sing to people, but just because I liked the idea of being a musician. I had loads of friends who did exactly the same thing, so they were inspirational to me. Turns out, I didn’t really have the patience to learn the piano and I’m rubbish at writing songs, so that fell through. I had red hair at the time and was pretty obsessed with looking up pictures of women with red hair for style inspiration and this is how I found A Fine Frenzy. At the time, I was going through a really shitty time. I was in a ridiculously toxic relationship that made me miserable on a daily basis, but wasn’t brave enough to end things, because at this point in time, I wasn’t really smart enough to realise that my self-worth meant more than a relationship (turns out it would take me another four years to realise this permanently!) it’s such a silly thing to say, but this song made me wish that I was in a situation like this; it made me wish that I was so in love with someone that if someone didn’t love me anymore, that I would love them so much that I would want to fight for the relationship. Sounds a little fucked up, but I guess because I was in such a horrendous place, relationship wise, I guess I wanted more. Passion, maybe. Or even just to be loved, I guess? I’m not sure, but this song reminds me of wanting to be in love and wanting to feel passionate about someone other than Mick Jagger, maybe!

Michelle Branch – Everywhere

This song reminds me of being a teenager and spending endless amounts of time downloading music and making CDs for me to take into my bedroom and listen to on repeat. I think throughout my teenage years, I’d make a new CD every single day, because my music tastes would change so rapidly. I remember I went through a stage where I only wanted to listen to music written and performed by women and decided to look up a lot of new artists that I’d never heard of and whilst I discovered the likes of Sleater Kinney and other riot girl bands, I also discovered this song and whilst I’ve never heard anything else she’s written, I fell for this song immediately and would bounce around my room, singing at the top of my voice, presumably hoping I would be discovered by a music exec just wandering through the countryside one day. Ha.

Liz Phair – Why Can’t I?

This was also discovered during my obsession with female artists, but also because of the 13 Going on 30 soundtrack, a film I was obsessed with when I was a kid. I also put this song on one of the millions of CDs I made and I remember whenever I listened to it, I would make up these really ridiculously dramatic concepts of me falling in love with someone. As you can probably tell by now, a lot of my music tastes evolved due to my sheer adoration for romance. I am a total and utter cliché, and I fucking love it.

The Distillers – Young, Crazed Peeling

My obsession with Brody Dalle begun when I first saw this video during my early years watching PRock, because my mother didn’t want us watching any of the mainstream channels like MTV because, as she said, it was full of misogynist rhetoric that would encourage us to feel like we needed to take our clothes off and loosen our morals in order to get a man, which is something we should NEVER do. But punk music that encouraged us to become raging feminists was something she was fully supportive of. My obsession with Brody developed to the point where my entire bedroom wall was covered in pictures of her. One time my mam asked me if I still fancied boys and I’m assuming she was wishing that I would maybe take my clothes off and loosen my morals to ascertain my heterosexuality, but those are things she’d never say…

Okay, well, I’m bored now so I’ve decided to stop. I might post more, which is why I’ve called it Part One. Maybe I should have structured it better and included the genre surfing I’ve done over the years, but then again, maybe I will just do what I want and you’ll enjoy it, because I tell you too. Have a good day!

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2015: Doris’ Blogging in a Nutshell:

My blog is barely even a year old, but as WordPress informed me over Christmas, it has been doing very well for still being a baby. Last year saw me finding myself as a writer, as a woman and as a person who had less than a stellar experience in life, love and dating before May 2014. I’ve grown up, I’ve experienced things I never thought I would and I have had good and bad times, which have all been documented in my blog. However, one thing I feel that I’m seriously lacking is a structure, a proper tagline for what my blog is about, other than the general thoughts of someone who watches too much television and trawls social media all too ready to join in a debate regarding feminism. Some of my posts last year portrayed me as a rather melancholy, angry type feminist, which isn’t me at all, so I decided that 2015 will see me becoming a different kind of blogger entirely.

I’m not going to stop writing what I’m writing, but I am going to readdress topics in a manner that suits my personality more. I’m not an angry feminist. I’m not a politically charged type of person. I like lying in bed and watching bad television, I don’t profess to be anyone with opinions worth listening to. A concept that did hit me in 2014 however, was the notion of feminists as real women; not stereotypes and something that I want to promote on my blog over the next coming months is the idea of a Funny Feminist post written by either myself, or women that I would love to hear from… Any woman who counts herself as a feminist and who is generally quite hilarious. If you’d like to join in, please contact me via the contact page and we’ll get chatting about topics etc!

I am also going to start posting biographical snippets as per request from Brain, who said these are his favourite types of posts. They’re supposed to be funny and generally insightful snippets into my life from childhood onwards. I have spoken to a few people regarding this and they all thought it would be a swell idea, so keep an eye out for that too!

In general 2015 is going to see a lot more well written, well structured, informative posts about current events and popular culture that affect me as a woman, a Geordie and a normal person. I’ll keep you all updated via social media, naturally and if you are a business who wants me to write for them (I have a few of these lined up over the next few months too!) let me know, again, via contact page.

I hope everyone had a lovely, fun and safe new year and can’t wait to hear from you all over the following 12 months! Let’s make it a good one, human shapes.

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Shit Doris Says Part 1

This is a list of things I have said to friends, family, social media and most likely, strangers.

“Imagine if people had udders.”

“Finger food, right. You know my problem with finger food? I worry that one day I’ll think my fingers are food and bite them off.”

“Everything would be fine if the world was made of pizza.”

“SUCK MY DICK, KID!” (said whilst playing Call of Duty, not said to an actual child!)

“I’m really proud of how much I can drink.”

“OUCH! My arm ankle!” (Wrist.)

“A meal without meat is wasted calories.”

“I could never be a beauty blogger. I apply my make up with the same dead behind the eyes look Britney has going for her.”

“I can’t believe you’re crying! I was holding it in the whole time! YOU HAVE ROBBED ME OF EMOTION!”

“That is just far too much dick to be seeing on my TV on a Sunday afternoon!”

“When I’m on the bus and I see someone outside yawn, I like to pretend they’re screaming.”

“SHUT UP, YODA!”

“Oh, come on! You can’t go from virgin, to cock hungry sub, to international super spy in one fucking week! That’s like saying it’s possible to grow a cock with Ryan Gosling’s face on it if you tried hard enough” (Re: Fifty Shades of Grey)

“I can’t believe you like Hollyoaks. I’d have preferred it if you’d said child porn.”

“Spinach and chickpeas in one meal? It’s like you’re trying to ruin my life!”

“It’s not an alcohol problem until you stop getting drunk.”

Three Very Important Reasons Why Kings of Leon Can Suck My Dick.

1.) Who the fuck likes Kings of Leon enough for them to actually fill St James’ Park? Seriously, your sex is on fire? What does that even mean? Like the woman the song is about, her vagina is literally flaming? Is it? Is that possible? If so, is that even hygienic? Do you really think it’s advisable to stick your dick in something that has previously been aflame? And as for Use Somebody, there are far too many woah sounds in that song for it to be classed as anything other than a nursery rhyme. And can I also be terribly pedantic and point out that NO ONE liked Kings of Leon when they all had long hair and didn’t wear checkered shirts… like that was an active decision to become more appealing sexually. Shameful behaviour!

2.) One of my favourite, favourite bands are their support act. This almost angers me to the point of smashing holes in my windows. I LOVE Young the Giant so, so much and would actually chop off one of my tits and happily solve world hunger for the opportunity to hear Cough Syrup performed live. I could actually cry. I’m so mad. AND i’ve just found this information out and may or may not have drunkenly tweeted them asking them to come play in The Uk in exchange for both my attendance and a cuppa. That’s like my go to chat up line for handsome musicians “hew man, howay round mine for a cuppa” elaborate winky face.

3.) I don’t have tickets and don’t know anyone who is quite literally willing to let me go in for the opener and then fuck off after, because everyone I know either has better taste in music or is a genuinely horrific person intent on my sadness and misery.

Anyway, that’s enough from me. I’m gonna go buy some food & then watch something awesome on TV. Because I’m interesting.

Things I’d Tell My Daughter. If I Had One. Which I Don’t.

A few weeks ago, a blogger friend of mine, Amy, asked a group of us to write extracts of things we’d tell oir daughters, as part of something she’s compiling for her own daughter. So, I thought I’d write something myself to my imaginary daughter for this blog. Because any advice is good advice, if you’re mental enough to take heed.

So, I guess the first thing I would tell my daughter is that she’s beautiful. My mam used to (and still does) tell me this all the time and I never really believed her because there have always been women far prettier than I am, with better hair, who dress better and seem to flit effortlessly from one aspect of their life with graceful aplomb, whereas I tend to stumble, or more likely, trip and fall at incredible speeds towards the floor. Which, given my luck will be covered in shit or gangrene or something. I have always been so extremely unsure of myself in pretty much every aspect of my life: there was always someone better, someone prettier, someone shorter and thinner and smarter… It has always been something that has plagued me from being really young and still plagues me to this day. I just don’t FEEL good enough for anything. Which makes me also feel like I should probably tell my daughter to be more like her dad (who for all intents and purposes will be Ryan Gosling… what? Imaginary daughter, imaginary baby daddy, that’s how it works!) Because her mam is about as self assured as a week old peach.

I think I’d also tell my daughter to avoid the male species as much as possible in her teens, because they’re all horny little elves who have generally NO idea what they’re doing or how to behave around a lady and believe that all of their lady parts are just holes to stick their dicks in for thirty seconds. Daughter, sex is generally awful in your teens because no one knows where the clitoris is located and they will probably use their mouth on you like a chainsaw – but, rest assured, sex gets MUCH better into your twenties when you realise that multiple orgasms are a human right (much like clean water. In fact, even more important than clean water. I reckon all these people dying of dirty water diseases wouldn’t be that bothered if they were also having earth shattering orgasms on the daily. Think I’ll let Water Aid in on that one, actually… because I’m charitable) and you also don’t have to fake an orgasm to massage anyone’s ego. If you’re not having a nice time, tell them! Politely, though, I didn’t raise you to be a nasty bastard.

The last thing I’d tell my daughter is that she shouldn’t be afraid to be herself and to feel and experience everything. All the hurt, the embarrassment, the butterflies, the first kisses and loves; feel it all as much as your heart and mind will let you. Weep profusely at films, songs, the news, old men with canny, gummy smiles and boys who break your heart (although there won’t be any because you’ll also look just like your dad who, let’s face it, no matter how athiest you are, is a sign that there is a deity of some kind out there creating perfect men for us to ogle at)… Live life as much as you can and don’t let awkwardness or anxieties or not feeling good enough stand in the way of you achieving everything you want to achieve. You’re awesome, daughter of mine and you should never, ever settle for anything that doesn’t make you feel like smiling like a maniac as soon as you wake up on a morning.

I think this is pretty good advice as far as my advice giving abilities extend. It is, I guess also applicable to anyone else’s daughter too, so mothers, feel free to plagiarise my blog and pass my wisdom onto your actual daughters. Or sons. Except maybe teach them not to be dickbags to nice girls. If you haven’t already.

This might be the earliest I’ve ever posted a blog, but my head was a bit full and I’ve already had a crappy morning. My house has been invaded by spiders and I’ve left the house without my lunch because I forgot about some DVDs I wanted to loan someone. Never mind. I have made my bus journey go a lot quicker though, so I guess it’s all good.

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Stumbles, Tears & The Best People Ever.

Today, I had my first bad day in a super long time and it has made me feel so crap that I’ve ordered a curry, put my fat pants on & settled down to watch When Harry Met Sally and have a bit of a cry because I’m an adult and behave appropriately so all the time, as evidenced in the fact that I am currently cocooned in a giant purple & pink blanket, mouthing along to Billy Crystal arguing that men and women can’t be friends.

Actually, that’s a lie. I haven’t really had a bad day, my day in general has been like all of my days lately and full of absolutely amazing people and lots of fun & laughter, it was just a few slivers of my day that have made me feel a little melancholy and in need of a massive snuggle.

Firstly, I fell over on the bus today, which I guess is pretty commonplace, seen as I am THE most clumsy person ever, but it really hurt my bum and my ankle, which kinda hurts when it rains anyway… Which is also excellent, because that’s a sign of me being totally kaput and in need of a bionic ankle, which I’m generally unable to fit into my life right now.

Then, when I got off the bus and was walking towards work, I saw someone I’d been on a date with a few weeks ago and did a mini wave, which he blatantly ignored and that kind of hurt my feelings too. I text him and said I’d seen him and why did he turn away, but made it into a joke and he replied with:

“Sorry. You seem like a nice girl, but I just find you really unattractive. [Insert name here] didn’t really tell me how much into comedy you are. I really don’t like women who think they’re funny.”

To which I naturally replied:

“Aside from comedy, I am also a pretty astute judge of character and I thought you were a feckless cunt when you first walked up to me and you’ve just confirmed it. How I love to be right! :)”

Promptly deleted his number too. I mean, fair enough he didn’t think I was pretty or thought I was a bit, I dunno, fat or whatever, but suggesting that I only THINK I’m funny? What kind of social ineptitude brings on such a blatant disregard for the truth? I’m hilarious!

Then, at the end of the day, I had my first experience with a – and I’m being polite when I say: A dire excuse for a human – not only call me a ‘fucking idiot’ but was a completely sexist fucker on the phone to me today. He was SUCH A COCK: he wouldn’t let me get a word in and kept referring to the other men in my office as my managers and that he’d much rather deal with a man. He called me a gob shite and kept up with the general abuse throughout the phone call. It was so horrible and I didn’t really know how to respond other than to tear up and cry. Which was horrifically embarrassing and I hated every minute of it.

Afterwards I was horrified and really upset, so just kept crying which is incredibly professional and mature. I had visions of all the lads in the office rolling their eyes and commenting on how they should NEVER hired a woman because we’re all emotionally unstable and annoying when we cry. But, after the morning I’d had re: feckless, I was feeling pretty tearful all day anyway, so that was kind of the final nail in the coffin and I was done in.

BUT, I was pleasantly surprised, because I genuinely work with a collection of the greatest humans ever. They all had something kind to say to me and made me laugh, which calmed me down and managed to make me not internalise all my sadness and be a miserable cow for the rest of the day. Brain in particular, as always, made me smile and offered me a big, beardy bear hug (which I fully intend to redeem!) And then gave me a lift home, which I was secretly very pleased about because I didn’t want a repeat bus situation and having some company on my journey home meant I didn’t have to think about how crap I’ve been feeling all day. Suffice it to say, he’s my favourite human today :).

It is nice having people around who genuinely make me smile when I’m feeling really low. I used to internalise all my sad feelings and certain people in my life would take it all and make it about them and throw giant huffs and leave the house and not come home because my reason for existing is to make people miserable. It just goes to show that having people support you, distract you and make you giggle relentlessly really is the best kind of remedy and I’m totally grateful for each and every one of them.

So, as is my tradition when I’m sad at men & feeling a bit hopeless, I’m watching When Harry met Sally and will sing heartily along to the soundtrack and quote all my favourite bits (particularly Billy Crystal’s speech at the end) and cry into my wine glass until I fall asleep. Which, as far as evenings go isn’t too bad. Anyways, onwards and upwards. Booosh.

Why My Friends Hate Me and Want Me to Die Alone.

Don’t get me wrong, I love that my friends care about me and I love that they want me to be happy. I mean, I guess all friends do; I don’t know of anyone who would sit around wishing shit things to happen to their friends… anyway, I do love that they care about me and it makes me so happy to know that they think about my wellbeing and, I guess, my sex life. But (and this is a pretty big but) I sometimes just wish they’d fuck off and leave me alone. Sounds harsh, and it is harsh, but when I get to the end of this post you’ll be nodding along with me and wondering why all my friends secretly hate me and don’t actually care about me at all. Bastards.

I’m not sure if it’s commonplace for people to become so active in their friend’s sex life when they know they’ve become single after 5 years, but for my friends it’s a pretty common topic of discussion:

“Five years of shagging and then nothing for… how long has it been Doris? It must be ages. Your vibrator deserves a pay rise for working so much over time! HA HA HA HA!” (insert knee slap here).

Because of this, I have found myself being set up. Now, if you’ve never been set up by any of your friends, then you’re really lucky and you should probably buy all of your friends a pint for being pretty fucking awesome friends. My experiences with being set up have been… shall we say… fucking awful. So awful that rehashing them for the sole purpose of my book (more on that later) has been horrific and slightly soul destroying. I haven’t been set up in quite some time because I have gotten to the point where someone will say “Oh, Doris, you’ll like him, he’s really nice!” And I just start screaming really high pitched screams and flapping my arms like a baby dinosaur until they back away from me slowly (or maybe I just do that in my head). If someone says to you “he’s really nice” don’t believe them. In fact, punch them in their faces. Because when someone tells you that someone they want to set you up with is really nice, they’re lying to you and generally being terrible friends.

When I first became single, there was a huge influx of “nice guys” being sent my way. Me, being a bit heartbroken and reluctant to spend another night on the sofa drinking tequila and crying, eventually thought “Okay! I’ll go… what’s the worst that could happen?” I wasn’t looking for a relationship, I wasn’t really looking for anything beyond a bit of a flirt and a few free drinks. Also, if you ever find yourself thinking “What’s the worst that could happen?” At any point in your life, punch yourself in the face. Because the worst that could happen is probably waiting for you in a bar somewhere… (not obviously, but fucking probably) wearing an adult diaper and staring incessantly at your tits, beads of sweat forming on his upper lip as he, presumably, fights the urge not to motorboat you in public.

If I’ve learned anything from being set up, it’s that my friends have really weird taste and really bizarre expectations of what relationships should be about. I’m not sure if I’m in the minority here, but my friends who have set me up usually say something like:

He’s nice. Has his own house, his own business, his own car… LOADED so he can spoil you rotten!

And that immediately puts me off. I mean, that’s all pretty excellent, I guess, but when I meet someone I like, I don’t think about that stuff at all. I’m mostly concerned about how much I laugh, or how funny they think I am (that’s super important because I’m hilarious and if you don’t think so, you’re obviously mentally unstable and should leave me alone) and general stuff like music and movies in common. Am I wrong in thinking that they’re more important than what kind of car someone has or where he lives? If my past experiences are anything to go by, I’d say this is exactly the type of people to avoid.

The last time I was set up was at a party a friend of mine had. I remember when I knocked on the door I felt really apprehensive and was already thinking of an excuse to leave. I thought it was probably just my anxieties playing up and making me feel so weird, but when my friend and her boyfriend opened the door and said “oooh, here she iiiiis!” I realised I’d been duped into going to their house. Those fuckers weren’t throwing a party at all. Those fuckers were leading me into a set up. I was a sacrificial lamb in their horrific ‘let’s couple everyone up’ game. Smug bastards.

So I pour myself a glass of wine and stand awkwardly, smiling at people I barely know and internally scrutinising everything I’d decided to wear (who wears jeans and a Rolling Stones tshirt when they’re being set up?! Your hair looks awful. You wore too much lipstick. God you’re a mess. You’re going to die alone, me) and generally having a shit time. Eventually my friend slinks in and asks me to come and meet their friend, who for the sole purpose of this blog will be known as Nigel because that’s a pretty boring name and incredibly apt.

“Doris, this is Nigel! You two have loads in common, you’ll get on well!” (LIAR!)

“I like your tshirt”
“Oh, thanks! I love The Stones so much! Do you like them too?”
“No. I don’t like music.”
“Oh… so you just don’t listen to it at all?”
“Not really. I kind of like Nickleback.”
“Aah…”

Queue awkward silence. Who the fuck likes Nickleback? Rapists, that’s who. My friend eventually came back over and informed him of my excellent academic pursuits, which prompted further conversation.

“So you must be, like, really smart?”
“I have my moments I suppose.”
“So you like books?”
“I do, I love reading!”
“I don’t.”
“Oh… okay.”
“Do you like films?”
“I do like films. Do you have a favourite?”
“I like classic films.”
“Oh, me too! I adore Doris Day and Cary Grant in particular!”
“My favourite is American Pie. THAT is a classic. Stiffler is so funny.”
“Aah, okay.”

I excused myself and went to the bathroom where I seriously considered smashing my face into the mirror until I knocked myself out, but I managed not to and made a conscious decision NOT to speak to Nigel any more. However, because I’m just THAT lucky, he made a bee line straight for me to dazzle me further with his conversational prowess.

“Do you like popcorn?”
“I do like popcorn.”
“What’s your favourite?”
“I don’t know… I like chilli popcorn”
(At this point he stares off into the distance, presumably contemplating chilli flavoured popcorn)
“I’ve never heard of that one.”
“Oh, it’s really nice!”
“I was having a debate about popcorn the other day.”
“Sounds riveting.”
“It was about salty, sweet and toffee. It got quite heated.”
“I can imagine…” (eyes fully glazed over at this point)
“I don’t like popcorn.”
“Oh.”

Just… just… what the fuck?! Do you see? Do you see how much my friends must hate me? I’ve never been more concerned about the mental health of my loved ones as much as I was at that moment in time. Why do they set me up with either incredibly boring people or people who ask me to suck them off under the table at a pub?! (Fucking yes that happened. Not the sucking off. The request.) Anyway, I thought I’d share because that was the last time my friends set me up. Mostly because I sent them the following text:

Dear fuck bags, please refrain from setting me up in the future. I’m not sure why you are all trying to put me off men for life, but please stop or I will be forced to rip off your sex organs and make jewellery with them. Which I will wear whenever I see any of you so you can be reminded of how shit you all are. I am sick of dating fucking idiots, but I do have plenty to write about, so thanks. But in future, only contact me if you meet a Rolling Stones enthusiast who likes to laugh at people falling over. Ok? Xxxx

And they obviously haven’t found one yet. Douchebags.

Floating on a Red Wine Cloud

I’m currently lounged on the couch with my best friend, my sister and her boyfriend watching back to back episodes of You’ve Been Framed because we’ve lost the remote in the tangle of our bodies. Everyone has fallen asleep and seen as I’m the only one awake, I thought I’d write down a summary of events that took place last night & also marvel at the brilliance of people in my life.

I met Deano at Central Station at about half past six. I heard his little suitcase rattling along the floor and when I saw his face, he was grinning from ear to ear. “Alright, love?!” He yelled & I jumped up and down with glee and ran over to him for a cuddle.

“Deano! I’ve missed you! I have so much to tell you! But first, let’s go get some wine!”

Because no good story involving handsome men, tragic dating scenarios and general filthy banter revolving around the brilliance of Tom Hardy’s existence can be conducted without my good friend Pinot Grigio.

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After that, the night descended into general debauchery, especially when we were joined by my sister & her boyfriend. There was lots of shape pulling and I was chatted up by a middle aged, balding man in a baggy nude tshirt tucked into his jeans. (“You’re a beautiful young lass! Bet you’re not interested in old men like me… no, you strike me as a lass who fancies trendy people with trendy beards. They’ll just break your heart!” My only real retort was “What’s a trendy beard?!”)

We left town relatively early because we’d had a discussion about these amazing spicy sausage things you can buy in ASDA and decided it was super important to go there, buy wine & return to my house for some more dancing.

In ASDA, we fanned out, each searching for our own specific brand of glutton and Dean and I, naturally, headed for the sausages and wine (“That’s us all over innit love, not happy unless we’ve got a glass in our hand and a sausage in our mouths!” *cue cackling*) I decided that it was very important to eat hummus with breadsticks, but couldn’t find any breadsticks… so we went searching. I couldn’t find them, but did manage to find some footballs just lying in the aisle, and, being the football enthusiast I am (like, seriously, I love football) I thought I’d kick it by doing a bit of a run up.

Now, I’m not sure if you’ve ever seen a drunken, chubby Geordie laden with Hummus, milk and a box of wine run towards a football before, but if you haven’t, it was apparently a sight to behold. Especially when she misses the football completely and falls backwards, landing on her arse and smacking her drunken head off the floor, groceries spilling everywhere.

“DORIS, you feckin eejit, what are you doing, you daft git!”

There were witnesses bent over their trollies laughing heartily at my expense as I lay on the floor laughing hysterically at my own idiocy. My sister, the only sober one of us, was naturally concerned, but still had the time to take photos and text my dad (reply: Stupid Doris) and shortly after that, her boyfriend came toddling around the corner with a vuvuzela screaming through it.

I’m genuinely surprised we weren’t escorted out by security, but apparently, the staff loved us. I can’t imagine they often come across friendly, playful drunks conversing in depth about the scarcity of breadsticks

“Seriously, though, Dean, there should be like, an ailse dedicated solely to the munchies. Imagine? You pick up your hummus, turn around and BAM breadstick city… I could die a happy lady if I knew that was my legacy. Do you reckon the manager would be interested in that?”
“No, you daft fuckin mare, just pick the sticks up and let’s go!”

When we got back to mine, the food we’d bought seemed somewhat lacklustre and the spicy sausages we raved about were gone in seconds. But the music was flowing and the dancing was terrible and all in all my night was amazing. The music started off rather sensible and quickly descended into screaming along to Jennifer Hudson, rapping and flouncing along to Dr Dre & ending with my general adoration of Beyoncé and her affinity for “Surfboard”… me too, love!

I woke up this morning feeling rather fragile, but I have been smiling to myself all day at the people I choose to share my life with. There are post it notes all over my house (including some on my shoes) that simply say Love You x and I just feel like there’s nothing about my life that I don’t like. I don’t do a grand amount of things and I am single as fuck, choosing only to go on dates with people I really don’t fancy, because the idea of actively pursuing someone I do fancy makes me feel uncomfortable. I can feel my tongue swelling at the thought: “oi you, yeah, you there! I like your face, would you like to put your mouth on my mouth? No? Yeah I don’t blame you… sorry!” But, other than that, I really am a super happy lady! I was talking to a friend about it the other day and I know I always say that I’m happy, but I really am. I finally feel pretty content with all the things that are happening and all the heartache and sadness that ended last year has evaporated. I really don’t care about it any more. I also told him that blogging has seriously helped my self esteem and GAD and that’s also been picked up by Dean.

“I didn’t realise how low you were. You were – no offence love – fat and you didn’t do anything without looking at him” – said with extreme disdain – “first. You were a shell and now… now I could cry because my old Doris is back and I’ve missed her so much!”

I’m actually crying my eyes out writing all that, but never mind. I am a leaky tap and my wine induced emotions are seeping through. Anyway, I’m pretty fucking happy now and am so excited to see what else 2014 has to offer me. I’m hoping it will involve lots more wine & a lot of flirting with handsome people with kind eyes, but I’d also be pretty happy with a new pair of shoes and a kebab.

Another amazing thing about hanging out with people who make you really happy is the fact that we’re so content just doing nothing with each other. Tonight we’re going to watch The Wolf of Wallstreet and maybe a few horror films (which I can watch because I have people to hold my hand when I get scared) and ordee some pizzas to soak up the Merlot we’re going to guzzle. And tomorrow we’re going to see Godzilla and then go to Whickham to catch up with some friends and drink even more wine.

In the words of Penny Lane, it’s all happening!

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Let the Mayhem ensue!

My best friend is visiting from Whitehaven this weekend and I actually can’t contain my excitement.

I assume I’ll update more this weekend, but if not that’s because I’m in a gin/wine coma and will be unlikely to string sensible or coherent sentences together (not much change there then, Doris, you all cry in unison) (shut up, you guys). 

Since breaking up with my ex I have seen my best pal more and more and one of his payday habits is to come play with me and spoil me rotten cos he’s the best person I know. Not that that’s why I enjoy his company… I mostly enjoy his company because I don’t know another human soul who has the same affinity for drinking red wine & screaming along to Toni Braxton’s Unbreak my Heart (my cool points seriously diminishing,  but fuck all ya’ll I am the greatest)

I’ll probably post some photos or write about something horrific shortly as my laptop should be fixed shortly. If not I have a really super old one that I’m going to Frankenstein so I can post. I miss waking up on a Saturday and spending all morning in bed blogging with mugs of tea and awesome music.

Oh, I also showed my first ever real life human who I have to see on a daily basis my blog and he actually liked it (Hi, Brain 😊) and didn’t request I be forcibly discharged from the building so that’s good. 

Anyway, you guys, have a good weekend & I’ll see you when I’m hungover xxx

19.05.14

Seen as I’m only posting from my phone,  I thought I’d do mini posts, lest I get out of the habit and my blog dies alongside all of the other blogs long since forgotten by their creators… I like my blog and I like everyone who takes the time out of their day to read it & also to my followers… what has gone wrong in your life for you to actually want to follow the (probably) drunken ramblings of a chubby Geordie? Poor bairns.

I started a new job a while back, which means I spend my weeknights pretty sleepy and it’s currently 9.30pm and I’m in bed with a peppermint tea, book & music for company.

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Pamela des Barres is one of my heroes and the first woman I felt a strong connection to, in the sense that she encapsulated exactly how I feel about the music and musicians she writes about. Mick Jagger, Jimmy Page, Bob Dylan… She just got me and when I first read I’m With the Band, I knew that my obsessions were totally rational and my own groupie heart and it’s yearnings for handsome bearded men was totally normal too.

I’m also, as ever, besotted with Jeff Buckley, who’s voice and amazing lyrics do the most wonderful things to my heart… excellent bed time listening!

Anyway, there’s not much going on in my life other than reading, listening to music & watching excellent movies in between working, networking and socialising (jeez). But I thought I’d blog about it, because at the minute, I can safely say that I am the happiest, most contended and at peace I’ve ever been in my life… and I thought that deserved documenting so that when I’m old and looking back on how brilliant I was, I can flick through this & remember exactly what, when, why and who was able to put a smile on my face & a flutter in my heart.

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