Doomed to Blindness

My inner geek is in full swing at the moment.

The new BBC adaptation of Emily Bronte’s classic “Wuthering Heights” is now airing on ABC.  If there is one thing I love better than a Hugh Grant romantic comedy, it’s a bonnet drama.

Unlike the beautiful happy ending of Jane Austen, Cathy and Heathcliffe’s story is doomed from the start. A relationship that destroys them both and the relationships of others around them. 

Destructive relationships are addictive.  When your in one,  you don’t recognise it for what it is (soul destroying) and when it inevitably ends it takes you what seems like a lifetime to recover.

One of my friends has just come out of one of these, and is in the “sitting in your room moping phase”.  I feel sorry for him (yes, it’s a boy recovering from a whore of a girlfriend) because I know what it’s like and I know that everyone else's good wishes means fuck all. 

My destructive relationship, quite frankly, was my own fault.  Everyone knew was a disaster it was, yet the other highlighting characteristic of a doomed relationship is that you refuse to listen to anybody's advice (note for next time – when the boys best friends and family tell you that you deserve better its a good indication your going out with a douche bag).

Looking back on it now, the signs were there from the start.  I have now got a list of guidelines for any prospective relationships.

1. Everyone deserves a second chance. That’s ONE more chance to remain faithful, not 2, 3, 4 or however many more times he cheated on me and didn’t tell me about.

2. Only be with someone who is nice to you.  Not someone who gets drunk and yells in front of all your friends that he hates you, or tells you he wants to fuck other women and proceed to dance with someone fat and ugly.

3. Only be with someone who wants to spend time with you.  Not someone who gives you a kiss on Friday night and returns on Sunday afternoon hung-over, with no money, and demands that you feed them and wash their clothes.

4. Do not, under any circumstances, believe the words of someone who is a borderline alcoholic.  If they say they love you and want to marry you and have babies with you – they don’t mean it, they are only after a blow job.  Do not believe it when they say they miss you, because chances are you will fly across the country to see them, only to be told, whilst you are naked in bed, that they are seeing someone else.

So watching Wuthering Heights, I know that Cathy is a fool, that Heathcliffe is a nutter (although to give him credit, a nutter that is desperate for her – sigh) but I can’t help but wish that it works out.  I have learned my lesson, but when it comes down to it, perhaps love truly is blind. 

Dumb Ass Scientists

On my RSS feeds I stumbled across something that I just stared at for ages. 

“CHILDREN who eat too many lollies are more likely to become violent criminals as adults, new research finds.”

YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FRICKING KIDDING ME!  I’ve seen and done some stupid things in my time. This is right up there with the Snuggie and me doing a business degree and moving home from London. 

To me, this just screams of people who have far too much time on their hands.  Quit studying this crap and put your time and money into cures for cancer or fixing the Global Financial Crisis. 

I’m so baffled by this whole article that I have nothing else to say.  Except that I’m off to have some lollies… so you better watch out for violent tenancies later.

Spoons

Something has been bothering me for awhile now. It’s one of life’s little puzzlers.

Every time I go and get a spoon out of the cutlery draw, the soup spoons have all managed to make their way to the top.  This is despite the fact that no-one in my household uses them.

We all get email forwards where they have little things like this.. but I have never seen this included, so I’m not sure if this is just me.  that the soup spoons somehow know when I am coming for a spoon for my cereal and decide to spite me? 

Now that is something to think about.

Read Me Like An Open Book

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single girl in a group of loved-up women must inevitably spill the beans about her sex life.

This was the case last Saturday night at my beloved friends Baby Shower.  It was under pain of something worse than death – having to discuss child birth, booties and how apparently some peoples sex life disappears for 18 months.  So really I had to take the plunge and save everyone from this talk. 

The night previous to the baby shower I went on a date.  To be totally honest it was possibly the first proper date of my life (The EX never once organised an outing for me, and the few other occasions were blind dates which don’t count).  He and I have been communicating fairly regularly the past few months and I wanted to see if I liked him when I wasn't completely shitfaced (We enjoyed a fairly public and apparently infamous drunken hook-up on New Years Eve)  Anyway to cut a long story short we went out on Friday night, and the night was lovely, he was lovely and I do like him when I’m sober.

And for the first time ever in my life, I didn’t particularly wish to discuss the details of our night with this group of women.  And I can’t figure out why. He was someone that the majority of the girls knew, but this wasn’t the issue. 

I am a communicator. I have been a communicator all my life. I have a few friends whom I email multiple times a day, have always had heaps of pen-pals, I text people fairly nothing-rubbish texts all the time just because I feel the urge to say something to someone (which has frequently scared people off because they don’t understand this is just what I do.  My drunken texts are infamous). Recently I was offline for a few days and got 3 phone calls asking if I was ok because people hadn’t heard from me.  I’m also very open, I don’t believe in bullshitting people, and when asked a question I will answer honestly and in detail.  I was racking my brains all weekend as to why I felt uncomfortable sharing and the only conclusion I can come to is because I like him more than my usual conquests.  I still gave some general detail (I could see no other way to get these champagne filled girls off the topic) but none of the specifics that I would usually freely share.  This was also probably why I felt uncomfortable about Ali, Andre and their housemate teasing me about him.. because they tease me about EVERYTHING and I always just brush it off, but this weekend it really got under my skin.  Unusually I want to keep something private.

The whole thing left me very confused and I think the only thing to do now is have a glass of wine.