Because Admitting You Have A Problem Is The First Step To Solving It.

Someone asked me this week why I blog. It's an interesting question, because I suppose everybody has a reason. I first started blogging because I was studying journalism, and some employers won't even consider you for a job unless you blog regularly. I also blog because I find it quite therapeutic, and I get a lot of positive feedback from people. I've also heard the criticisms - I don't really care what people have to say; they're still reading it. Obviously, I'm now just blogging for the big bucks - and in the hope someone will want to make a film about my life. I'd like Scarlett Johannson to play me. And I'd have "Something Inside So Strong" as the title song. I've not really thought about it though.  

Anyway, the same person who asked me why I blog also got me to look over a post of their own. It was centered around how they were feeling about someone they loved who had hurt them. It was quite specific and although it was well-written, it was equally obvious who it was aimed at. Regardless, it got me thinking; do boys actually realise what they do to a girl when they hurt them?

Now before an outcry comes from the male human race that girls hurt boys too - I know that. I've done it; in some ways we probably do it a lot better. So I look forward to reading a post from a guy that explains it from the other side. But as a girl, I'm going to talk about how it feels to be hurt by a boy.

When he makes negative comments about how you look. When he talks about how pretty other girls are in front of you. When he sleeps with someone else, whether it's behind your back or blatantly. When he ignores you for no apparent reason. When he says he loves you then does something completely contrary to the meaning of those three words. When he eats the last chip (I'm kidding). I could go on and on; all of these actions are detrimental to a girls confidence and make them feel like absolute shit. I can't put it any simpler.

The reason I'm talking about this is because I feel there is a constant pressure for girls to be strong and maintain a "big girls don't cry" mentality. I'm an expert at putting on a brave front - I had to endure 3 vaccination jags this week - but sometimes it's healthier to confront a problem. No girl wants to admit they got hurt, or spent hours crying over someone who they felt didn't give a shit - but we all have, and at some point we probably all will again. Some girls, myself included at times, can be of the opinion that revealing feelings of hurt can give satisfaction to the boy doing it - but if that's the case when you tell someone they've upset you then you don't want to be with them anyway. Bye. See ya! Win, win.

So girls, my consensus is that next time a boy hurts you - tell him. Mope around about it, bitch about it, cry about or blog about it all you want, but get to the root of the problem. Because I guarantee you, if you've always been there for the person you love, at some point they'll realise and regret the mistakes they made. And then the satisfaction is all yours.

Goodbye Student Discount.

I'd actually forgotten I have a blog - I'm sure most of you lot had too. Unfortunately neglecting this old thing has been a consequence of working for Housing Scotland Magazine, The Scottish Sun and gaining a 2:1 degree in Journalism, and I've carried the guilt with me every day since November. However, never fear - I'm back!

The reason I'm writing this is because I feel I need an appropriate channel to voice how I've been feeling over the past few days. Graduation was on Wednesday; it was a hot, sweaty stressful affair. I have been blessed with extraordinarily sweaty hands , both of which decided to pick graduation day as the best time to help with the drought in Africa. My feet joined in with the cause too which resulted in them trying to burst through the holes in my peep toe shoes presumably in order to help start building a well - I'm resigned to the fact that I will never be sexy.

Although it was lovely to see my friends and foes gain their degrees, Graduation Ball was for me the highlight of my university career. Everyone looked beautiful, everyone had a fantastic time and I learned a valuable lesson; if you Ceilidh dance with someone as enthusiastic as my good friend Graeme, the result will be a bruised arm.

Whilst Graeme's enthusiasm was extremely admirable, I obviously felt that my dancing ability was of a much higher caliber - I've been reliably informed I was mincing around for part of the night stating "They call me Cha-Cha because I'm the best dancer at St. Bernadettes". I can't dance. I went to Firrhill High School. And the only nickname I came away with after 4 years hard graft was Racky Balboa.

For me, Grad Ball was also a chance to clear the air in some respects and I think everyone I truly care about now knows that even if it wasn't clear before. After everything I've been through with some of the people I've met over the years, it was the easiest thing in the world to say how I felt. A lot easier than I thought actually. Sometimes it's necessary for your own sanity and happiness to put differences aside.

So why am I babbling on about all of this? Simply because it is the end of a phenomenon. Stirling University gave me the best four years of my life, and regardless of ups and downs I've gained an education and a few hard lessons from the School of Life. Nothing lasts for ever, so you should enjoy whatever makes you happy whilst you still can. That's why I've invested a large sum of money in wine.

This is all getting a bit heavy in terms of what I usually post so I'll end on a high; my best boy friend got engaged at graduation and has been buzzing ever since. I'd like to take this opportunity to congratulate Ross Chapman and his fiance Sandi and I wish them every happiness. The very thought of marriage makes me hyperventilate but then again I feel that if I find someone willing to put up with me I really should make them make an honest woman of me.

I promise this post will be a one off and I can't wait to post my inane ramblings more consistently. However just this once it's an emotional one, and I hope all of my friends from Stirling University get everything they ever dreamed of. Next time I'll talk about boys and that ken?

Psychics and Psychos.

I cannot believe it's been nearly two months since I blogged, and all letters of complaint can be directed straight to Stirling University who have been keeping me held hostage with numerous essays, scripts and lectures - which I now consider to be meditation hours. It's the only beneficial reason I can give for keeping my eyes closed. Pretending that my tutour's voices are actually the calming noise of whale calls has proven slightly more difficult.

So I was having a look at where I last left off and burst out laughing at the list of 'good points' I had applied to my new Turkish buddy. Unfortunately that relationship has turned sour - it's just never going to work when the non-English speaking member of the couple is sending abusive messages over Facebook because the other person went to a nightclub. I'm the one that speaks English by the way, although I am now also fluent in the broken form of my language and particularly familiar with the well known phrase 'you are slack girl'.

It got me thinking about the fine line between jealousy and full on psycho patter. I will be the first one to admit I can be jealous, but I believe most girls who have minor insecurities can be guilty of overanalysing things. However when you're being asked to delete all your Facebook photos that show you with boys (the one of me licking someone's nipple went down REALLY well), to stop speaking to any member of the male human race - although some of my boy pals might actually appreciate me not talking for a while, whilst running up phonebills which will no doubt be paying for every single O2 employee's Christmas Bonus, it's time to say "gule gule!" 

So once again I am on the rack of love, a lost soul...and to be perfectly honest, I'm much happier this way than I've ever felt before. Part of this new found feeling of contentment may be to do with the fact that I went to see a psychic! Now I'm normally quite sceptical about these things, but my flatmate Teacakes had been earlier that day and was convinced that June was genuine. So I saddled up my donkey, and set off on the 3-day journey to her caravan up in the mountains - I exaggerate, she works in town. I didn't really know what to expect, and to be honest I was a bit of a nervous wreck before I even got in the room! I did it though, and it was one of the most wonderful experiences of my life. She told me I was going to go to Japan (at that point I was already applying), she told me about the person I was going to spend my life with (a hottie with the personality of Boris Johnsson...yeah moving on) and she knew about personal things I had gone through and how my life was going to change. Maybe she was fake. Maybe she played me like a chessboard. But I believed every word she said, and took great comfort from it in the process.

So the real question is...where is this good-looking , Boris Johnsson-esque love of my life? June also said she think he is a doctor, but as a result of my eagerness NHS24 have barred my calls. Apparently you aren't meant to use that service as some sort of personal dating line. Until next time folks!

Olum!

Well...I'm back! I'm sure you will all have missed my inane ramblings, and at this point I've got so much to say I don't know where to start! So lets begin with Turkey...

So! Me and my infamous partner in crime (and best friend) Claire spent a couple of weeks in August in the beautiful city of Icmeler, Turkey. This was my third time visiting the country and I fall more and more in love with the place everytime I go. However on this particular trip I made the rookie mistake of also falling for one of the oh-so-beautiful Kurdish boys who spend their summer working in the town. As a result of this I have now found myself in a loving, committed and very serious 3-week-relationship with a boy who doesn't approve of me talking to other guys, the length of my dresses, going to nightclubs without asking him, drinking, dancing or breathing without permission (kidding...kind of!). Oh and he's Muslim and says he would really like me to meet his mum at some point. I can just picture her face as she is introduced to me; an albino skinned, Scottish, peroxide blonde, overly made-up Aethiest with a penchant for such Western nonsense as fake tan, McDonalds and Jagerbombs. There's also the minor issue of me not being able to speak Kurdish...I'm starting to see cracks appearing in yet another of my excellent life choices but I'm keeping positive!



The young man in question does have his good points though; he's funny, and caring and friendly - and should be put on TV based on his dancing ability! And yes, before any of you say it, I have seen 'The Inbetweeners' film with the cheating Spanish waiter. And YES before you say it I'm well aware that it is highly likely at this moment in time he is telling some other poor, unsuspecting girl that she is his everything/showing her his willy. But a bit of holiday romance never hurt anyone - look at Danny and Sandy! I think I might teach him the words to "You're The One That I Want" now incase things work out...Turkey's a bit hot for a leather catsuit though. Just a minor issue at this stage.

Should holiday romances stay purely as that though? Is it the dangerous combination of beautiful weather, no stress and constant flattery that gives these relationships a sense of idealism? The amount of folk who have found it utterly hilarious that I have a supposed 'Turkish boyfriend' bemuses me - my boy pals found it particularly funny. But as far as me and my love life are concerned it can't be ANY worse than going out with a guy here. Infact looking back at my romantic history - 'the relationship from hell', 'the humper and dumper', 'the flopstar' and my numerous internet beaus - adding 'romance with a foreigner' is just a natural progression for me, an obvious next step if you will! Plus if I didn't get myself into these insane scenarios I'd have nothing to blog about...and if it's between that and dating a Kurd, then you can book me on the first flight to Turkey!

Going, going, gone...

I'm very sorry for the lateness in this latest episode of my meaningless ramblings, but access to a computer has been scarce due to some technical difficulties. Never mind, I'm back now!

So I would like to start off by revealing the unbelievably exciting news that POF boy texted me last night. I was in the car on the way home from Alton Towers, wired to the moon on Rockstarr and Wham bars, and for a few seconds after I'd read the message, I thought perhaps I was on some weird sugar trip. The unicorn sitting next to me thought the same. It certainly came as a surprise, as it's normally me doing the chasing and it got me thinking about why people go back to someone they've had previous with.

Now obviously, the fact that POF boy has decided to get back in touch is quite a mild case of what I like to call Repetitive Partner Syndrome (RPS) as nothing has ever happened between us bar texting. But when I think about my last relationship and how many times I went back to something which should have been hung up, shot, chained up in a titanium box and dropped in the Forth, I started wondering why people go back to the all too familiar.

For me the biggest reason was still being in love - or what I thought was love. Despite the fact he was decidedly wrong for me, I was besotted. It's amazing how quickly you forget what went wrong after you've split up with somebody that you still have feelings for. You start to recall the days the two of you sat infront of a roaring fire toasting marshmallows...the time you both kissed passionately in the rain on the bridge..that night in Paris...I mean none of this actually happened but you start to believe you walked away from the most idyllic relationship in the world - and subconsicously decide it would be silliness to let go of the situation.

Another reason - whether girls want to admit it or not - is sex. If you meet somebody new and decide you'd like to...ahem...you know, then this inevitably leads to meticulous and obsessive personal grooming. This will normally consists of you putting Veet EVERYWHERE, whilst slapping on copious amounts of fake tan, a facemask and all the while frequently looking at yourself naked in the mirror asking why you ever starting consuming solids. Whereas with ex's, they've seen you at your worst - vomiting, farting, peeing (it was just once, I promise) - and therefore the pressure is off and the lights can stay on.

The darker side of running back to the same person is of course personal insecurities. Feeling like you're never going to find someone else is, I'm sure, a common notion among the female population. My friend Meghan recently said to me "There's no point being tied down with someone who isn't right for you, because you'll miss out on all the nice, normal, hot guys that come along" - and it really is that simple. I should have drawn a line under my last relationship LONG before it came to the sticky end it did based purely on that reasoning. It all depends on how far you're willing to be pushed as to when you feel compelled to call 'time!'.

POF boy said he'd had a lot going on recently which is why contact had been none existent? Am I going to give him the benefit of the doubt and start texting again? We'll see...oh and can you pass me the St. Tropez!

Is He Looking?

So I'm walking with confidence (hips swaying whilst trying to stop my bum from wobbling), laughing attractively (loud enough to catch his attention, but not so that my mouth looks like the Clyde Tunnel) and tossing my hair with what I imagine is poise, grace and femininity. And does he notice? Does he hell.

I think I've already mentioned that texting my POF boy kind of fizzled out - the success of my blog is probably quite intimidating for some guys, I've got to remember that in future. Oh, and I have a further revelation; I've deleted my dating profile. I know, I know...just when I was so close to finding a husband as well (!). The thing is when you've got the same guy adding you on Facebook, adding you on Twitter, poking you on Facebook and then on top of all this you're getting strange phone calls late at night, I for one am quite happy to say goodbye to Internet dating before I have to say hello to a restraining order. I had visions of waking up in a predicament similar to the one experienced by Vince Vaughn's character in Wedding Crashers; tied to my bed with a stranger insisting we'd "had a moment" online and asking if I'd like to play tummy sticks.

So I've had to revert back to reality to find a man, and this has led me to think about the things that girls do to get a guy's attention - hence my opening paragraph. That was an example of my own technique - it' obviously fool proof going by the amount of boys I'm attracting at the moment - and I'm of the opinion that every girl has their own unique way of reeling in the fellas! After doing a bit of research (asking my best mates) it is obvious that the more a girl likes a guy, the more devious these tactics become. For example, if the apple of your eye is going to be on the same night out as you, there is the classic "I've seen him in my peripheral vision but I'm just going to ignore him so he definitely doesn't think I'm interested" - pure genius. Then there's the old "I'll go over and say hello to all his friends in full view of him so he feels compelled to come over and mark his territory" - inspired. And my favourite of all is turning up at a club wearing an "I LOVE [insert name here]" sandwich-board whilst a brass band marches behind me belting out 'I Love You Baby'. OK I made the last one up, but apart from it being a little full on, it would probably turn out to be the most successful technique. From what I know of my guy mates, lads just like to know where they stand - a lot of these 'cunning tactics' wash right over their heads, and I genuinely think they would be terrified if they knew just how much planning can go into even the most casual of social encounters.

It is so much fun though isn't it? You'll be sitting in your jogger bottoms, tub of ice-cream in one hand, spoon in the other, Marley & Me on the TV...and suddenly you receive word that your one true love will be out this evening. Normally this word is in the form of text message, but whether it's phone, email or carrier pigeon, you get your butt in the shower pronto, get gorgeous and proceed to practice a few casually beautiful faces in the mirror. Then it's off to wherever he may be so you can talk to his pals, walk about in front of him 'looking sexy' and blatantly ignore him for most of the evening. You will then go home that evening alone (in my case probably crying) and ponder with your girlfriends as to why the object of your affections did not work out that the reason you were blanking him is because you wanted his babies. Men really are bastards.

Pick-A-Little-Talk-A-Little.

Where I stay, everyone's business always gets played out to an array of spectators. When I refer to spectators I mean the majority of Stirling University. And when I say 'everyone's business' what I really mean is drama, drama, drama.

Now lets be serious...who doesn't love a bit of gossip? It's impossible to avoid, and no matter what sort of person you are, to say you don't enjoy discussing the personal matters of others is nothing short of pure denial. There are differents levels of gossip though; the irrelevant 'who's sleeping with who' chit chat that normally arises after a night out, to the more advanced stages of tittle-tattle such as 'who's being extradited on drug trafficking charges'. I happen to think that the classification given to drugs could probably be applied successfully to gossip aswell - it's an addictive, recreational habit after all. Although I've yet to see Channel 4 do a Dispatches programme on how gossip has ruined someones life and I doubt someone has ever sold their PlayStation in order to be able to afford a copy of OK! I might make some enquiries at Cash Converters - maybe this is an issue that people are ignoring. I could start a charity and...I digress!

As I was saying - nothing stays secret in Stirling. I actually toyed with the slightly pretencious idea of becoming the Gossip Girl of the city and anonymously spilling the beans on my peers - some of the chat that circulates this place is hilarious. However in saying that, I'd probably have to include some of what I get up to in these revelations, and while I can laugh at my 'mishaps' - I wouldn't recommend watching 'So You Think You Can Dance' then trying to emulate some moves whilst blind drunk on a club's deserted dancefloor by the way - writing them down in black and white is probably going to earn me a good few years on the psycologists couch. Where a couple of folk think I should be already - or so I've been told?

Anyway, I'm all too aware I'm yet to make a serious point within these ramblings. What I have actually observed is that while people gossip idly or talk about people's business with or without malicious intent, seemingly meaningless chats about the lives of others can have SUCH a monumental influence on the outcome of a situation that I'd put gossipping up there as one of the most dangerous acts in the world. One little spilled detail can be the difference between a reconciliation or a break up; a full blown fight or make-up sex. It's like that theory that scientists have that when a butterfly beats it's wings, that starts a chain reaction of events off. Everyone's been there; you open your mouth to someone, information comes tumbling from your lips - information that you've been so desperate to tell you swear you can see the words doing a conga line down your tongue - and before you know where you are, you have unwittingly started the next World War and have made a mental note to yourself that a) Perhaps building an Anderson Shelter at the bottom of the garden might be a shout and b) You are a fucking idiot.

However, I happen to think that places like Stirling thrive on gossip. It's what brings folk together in all walks of life; the chat after a night out is like one big bonding session for men and women across the globe. Mother's coffee mornings - a pirhana pool of scandal, deceit and custard creams - are a prime example of uniting in gossip. And companies looking to improve their team building skills should save themselves the money they spend on training, send their employees on a drunken night out and then get them all to talk about it the next day - I'd more than happily take the sessions, especially as I'd probably provide most of the material. This would all be inbetween my charity work for Gossipers Anonymous that is - I think I'm definately on to something there. Tell your friends! (As if I even need to say that eh.)