That don’t impress me much

Hi! first, I would like to make an addition to last week’s post on mooncups/organicups/diva cups or whatever your preferred brand is. My friend was convinced by my review to give it a try, and she is one of those way-too-enthusiastic people who leave encouraging notes on the back of toilet doors now, if that helps anyone (although I’m sure she’s probably the only one that reads this). Anyway, she made commented that on my review I seemed too astonished by its size and alarmed her. So she was pleasantly surprised when she received hers in the mail. She made this very excellent point: it’s not nearly as big as a dick. Lol. I mean, it’s not quite as… um… aerodynamically shaped… but yeah, if you can manage that, you’ll have no problem. Very good point worth mentioning.

OK the true point of today is: irritating people. But specifically the ones who irritate you with no real just cause, which irritates you more, because you feel like it’s your fault but also your inner Neanderthal instinct just says ‘no’ to that person.

I know a few people like this. One just got engaged. Very sweet girl. Used to be a close friend of hers at one point. But she slowly grew to irritate me so deeply that I can no longer speak to her. Usually I would greet engagement news even of a long-distance acquaintance with genuine joy and happiness, but hers just irritated me. Why? I don’t know. I feel dreadfully uncharitable. I have no reason!!! She’s just ANNOYING. She’s too sickly sweet. She puts on airs like she farts peaches and cream. Can’t be doing with it.

Another is this very mild very tiny sitch that I have going on, and again, it’s filling me with this irrational desire to be extremely rude. Guy in question is, on the face of it, very inoffensive. Why has he irritated me so much? Possibly because I know where he’s heading and I don’t like it. Or I think I know what he’s thinking and I really don’t like it. Maybe I don’t, maybe I’ve got him all wrong, but then again maybe I haven’t… but I just can’t be as rude to him as he makes me want to be, so I’m going to vent it on the internet instead, where no-one will ever find it.

Because I’m between uni and home, I don’t go to my home church all that much now. There’s a guy, we’ll call him John, I’d guess about twenty, really tall, long black hair, very awkward. Fairly new as our congregation goes, I reckon he’s only been coming about four years (hahaha no really. Ours is full of elderly lifers). Felt like I ought to get to know him a bit because it’s important to make newbies feel welcome. In the end, I didn’t, because I didn’t want to encourage…. anything. So basically I’ve never spoken to him.

Backstory: when you’re the only teenage girl at a small village church, you pick up a fair bit of unwanted attention. ‘Nice guys’, who are anything but. Been burnt a couple of times like this, hence the wariness. I’m not being a deliberate knobhead, I’ve just had enough of midnight messages of ‘will you be my girlfriend’. In the end I ‘married’ my best friend on facebook to stop the stupid relationship requests from coming in. ‘C— has listed you as his girlfriend, will you accept?’ Fuck no. In this instance the person in question was special and had no concept of boundaries. Made my life a bit miserable for a while. And you have to be a lot more careful around special people. It sorted itself out in the end after a few excruciating conversations, not just with him either. Parents, church wardens etc. I just do. Not. Need. That.

ANYWAY. Went to church on Sunday as I’m back home for my Easter hols. ‘John’ was in church. Our only contact was a handshake during the peace (you literally shake hands with – or hug, or kiss, if you’re so inclined – EVERYONE and say ‘peace be with you’, a part of the service I actually really love). Got home to find a facebook friend request. I thought, “Do I want to add him? No I do not.” But then my kindlier half said, “Give him the benefit of the doubt, he maybe just adds every randomer on facebook, not everyone is weird.” So I accepted.

WHY ARE GUYS SO ANNOYING? I bloody KNEW I shouldn’t have. Female intuition. Definitely a thing.

Seconds later, I get a message. I’ll type them in and you can see if you find them irritating. It’s not so much what he says, it’s what’s behind it, and his weird faux-interest and admittedly v. mild humble bragging. I nearly sent him a gif of dear Shania in her leopard-print crop top/cape. ‘That don’t impress-a me much, uh uh uh-huh.’

Here we go:

Him: ‘Hey, we’ve met at church a few times. Saw you play the piano- its really good! I’m a strong Chopin man myself, what kind of music are you into?’

Me, after considering immediately blocking him for no reason other than the ‘strong Chopin man myself’ part: ‘Hey, yeah I’ve seen you a few times, I’m never at church really because I move around a lot, live in —- at the moment. Thank you very much, that’s very kind. Hope you had a good easter.’ (Deliberately ended the convo and avoided the question hoping he’d get the hint. Nope.)

Him: ‘Yeah I know what you mean, are you at uni? It’s the same here, I’m half here half in —-. No worries, you have any particular music favourites  like? Yeah my Easter was good thanks, kinda got roped into preaching next week though which makes this week interesting :0’

Me: (inner swearing at him but unable to bring myself to blank him because I am too polite): ‘Piano, I’ll play anything. I like classical too. Music, I like punk, 1970s rock. Cool, what are you doing at —? good luck next week, what are you speaking on?’

Him, a day later: ‘Ah nice! How long have you been playing the piano? 70s rock is big in our house, I can defs appreciate it 🙂 Cheers, I’ll be speaking on the perfection of faith in the disciples. Will I see you around?’

Me, ready to jinx him: … silence, I think I’ve decided to blank this one. I have all sorts of comebacks I can’t actually say. Like ‘How long have you been playing the piano?’ ‘Almost as long as you’ve been alive’, sort of thing. Or maybe ‘Roped into preaching? Sounds painful.’ Oh, and obvs just sending Shania’s glorious leopard-print outfit, a thought which fills me with joy. It came so, so close. I know there definitely is the perfect gif because my fingers hovered over it for a second… Do you think I could just drop little nuggets in like ‘Do you have a comb up your sleeve, just in case?’ Mind you, he’d probably just think I was very very strange, he’s probably not old enough to catch the joke. If it gets awkward I could finish it with ‘Don’t get me wrong, yeah, I think you’re all right…’

 

Oh literally as I’m writing this I get a notification. ‘John likes your video.’ Oh great.

Do you know what I mean, though? I’ve never spoken to him. I don’t want to speak to him. I don’t care about music particularly and it’s the worst conversation opener ever. But he hasn’t done anything WRONG. He’s been totally polite and nice. Why is he so annoying? My best pal is 9847 x more chill than I am and I can almost hear her now saying ‘Why are you like this? He’s done nothing. Just talk to him. Maybe he’s lovely. He just wants a friend. Why has he annoyed you?’ Dear, I know. I don’t understand either. He just has. Male entitlement I guess. And because… I feel like he’s led in with the intention of asking me a question I do not want to have to listen to. And then I will have to give an answer and it will all be horrible. Just leave me alone pls. Ah this dance of politeness… It will only cause embarrassment in the end. Thing is, I can’t even head him off early with ‘I’m seeing someone else’ because what if he isn’t heading to the inevitable place I think he is? It is a lose-lose.

OK chatting it out with an invisible, possibly imaginary, audience has made up my mind. I’m gonna ignore him henceforth.

I’m pissed off for a few reasons really in that a) he’s taking up my time and b) I’m worrying about hurting his feelings already and c) why do they not get the hint and d) if you can’t speak to me in person don’t ask me weird questions on the internet and e) I really don’t care boy bye. FEMINISM. No time any more. I want to claim my own space.

Huge overreaction probably but I have almost no fucks left to give.

So anyway guys, thanks, you were all really helpful J I’ll keep y’all updated if anything interesting happens, or anything that’s enough to push me over the edge into sending him Shania in her absolutely fucking iconic leggings and matching suitcase.

Yours not-very-impressedly,

Georgie

 

In other news, taking the piss is like breathing in our house

I went out with my parents. We’d gone out for a pub dinner and when we came back I was so stuffed I announced, “I am going to have to undo my flies.” Mum looked at me with such utter disgust. I said, “What? I got genes from both of you.” And we laughed madly.

My dad alternates between calling himself an ooooold man and telling us how he rowed 10,000m in 42 minutes this morning. He is funny, generally. He still makes my mum giggle madly after thirty-five years. Goals.

Anyway he just said something about not being able to get up in the morning (even though he’s retired) and obviously we started rolling our eyes.

Mum goes, “Behind every great man, there is a woman – taking the piss.”

Then me and Dad had a disagreement over who won our game of Name That Tune yesterday and he turned to my mum and said, “She’s got such an irritating character… just like you.”

Now Dad’s winding her up and she goes, “Get OFF I told you, otherwise I will poke you in the eye!” we started sniggering again and Dad huffs, “Oh, yeah, and then you’ll hurt your finger, and that’ll be my fault an’ all.” They are really funny.

 

How Not To Date

Hola friends, good evening to you all, hope you’ve had merry weeks.

I have decided this week to share a formative experience with you all.  A lesson in How Not To Date.

Whichever gender you are dating, these are not OK. This was my first ever date. FIRST EVER! It was over a year ago, but it sticks vividly in my mind. Probably due to trauma. Anyway, this first date – let’s call him Tim, because in my head this kind of suits him. I had vaguely seen Tim around for about a year, and on one occasion stood and talked to him for a while and he seemed nice. And the day after this, he asked me to the cinema over Facebook.

Lesson 1: unless you’re between the ages of 11-15 this is not a good move. I should have known then. But I was happy someone had offered at all, frankly, so I said yes.

The evening in question arrived and I had spent some time and effort getting ready. We met on the corner. He was punctual, at least, but he was dressed in really scruffy clothes.

Lesson 2: turn-off right there folks. I mean, what message do you want me to receive here?

We walked to the cinema, and the way there was littered with fumbling chat, questions, but I was doing all the work. The only questions he asked me were to parrot back whatever I’d just asked him. Annoying. But whatever.

We got to the cinema and it was 2 for 1 Wednesday tickets,  because we were both poor students. But here is the rub. When we got inside to pay for the tickets, I got my purse out in the queue. He made no move whatsoever until I was actually paying, and I didn’t have enough money for a whole ticket and, foolishly, I’d presumed that as he’d asked me out, he might at least throw in his half. Not pay for me. I don’t like that. We’re an equal society. Apparently. Just pay your half! It’s not much! Only when he realised I was scrabbling for coppers and the lady behind the till was looking both irritable and a bit sorry for me, did he say, “Sorry, did you need a bit more?”

“I need another pound,” I said through gritted teeth. And he put down the pound. And we got ten pence change, and he took it and put it in his pocket. This, I’m sure you will understand, was infuriating.

Lesson 3: Share! Do not expect me to pay for you too. I do not expect you to pay for me. When I have paid, you do not pocket the change. I am poor, you are poor, but you suggested this. Get a grip!

We entered the cinema. I was trying to hide my disproportionate irritation (I KNOW it’s unreasonable, but the whole atmosphere was wrong). We took our dark seats, and I fished a bag of Minstrels from my handbag, opened them, and put them on the seat between us. He had brought nothing.  He didn’t realise they were already open, and whispered, “Do you need help?”

I felt like saying, “No, I fucking don’t,” but I felt this was not conducive to a good atmosphere, so I merely said, “No, they’re open,” and sat on the edge of my seat as far away from him as possible. He proceeded to grope in the bag and swallow almost all of the sweets.

Lesson 4: I can’t believe I even have to say it. Don’t eat all my food! I am happy to share. All about the sharing. But I feel like you eating all my sweets doesn’t count as sharing. Don’t eat all of mine before I’ve even had any! You are RUDE. And I am starting to dislike you, and the film has not even started.

And now the real trauma began. Sitting in the dark, the film now playing, I heard a fake little yawn, the arms went up, and a trembly limb snaked its way across my shoulders. I shit you not. I thought this move belonged in the bad low-budget rom-coms, not a city cinema full of normal people.

Oh dear goodness. He was shaky, it was horrible, and really distracting, and really uncomfortable, and when he relaxed a little bit, his sweaty hand rested on my bare upper arm. By this point I had ceased to pay any attention to the film, my whole attention taken up with pure irritation and discomfort. If this happened now I’d be a lot more confidents about going, “Get OFF!” but at the time, I wasn’t. I just fidgeted so much that he eventually moved his damn arm. I had a bit of a Dobby moment – “Georgie. Is. Freeeeee!” – but it was not to last, as he suddenly placed that sweaty, sweaty palm over my hands, clasped in my lap. How very dare you. Get off.

Lesson 5. Do not touch me without permission, especially when you have barely even spoken to me and we’re in a place I can’t get away from you. If I show discomfort, leave me alone, for Pete’s sake. And don’t hold my hand if yours are sweaty. Nobody likes a lily-pad palm.

At the end of the film, most of which I missed because of furious tirades swishing round my brain, I pocketed the tiny amount of leftover Minstrels (which I would never normally buy, they cost 25% of my normal week’s food budget. Can you see why I felt irritable?). And he suggested going for a drink in a nearby pub. I suggested a different one, and he looked panicked and said people he knew would be in there.

Lesson 6: If you are embarrassed to be seen with me, what are we doing here?

I sighed and decided to give him one last chance as long as he didn’t try to hold my hand again. He paid for the drinks and I let him because of the cinema debacle. This bit went OK, and he walked me home. Then, right outside my door (so now he knew where I lived, aaargh) he said very quietly to his tattered shoes, “I’ve really liked you for ages, will you go out with me?”

Lesson 7: We barely know each other and you’re asking me to be your girlfriend on the first date? And are you not getting clear signals from me? Don’t spring this on me! Why would you do that?! Were you on a different date to me? This is unreasonable!

I turned him down as politely as possible, fled into my house and up the stairs and hid from my flatmates.

Afterwards I felt like I overreacted, but hey, maybe not. I did not have a good time. Tim needs to learn some dating etiquette for sure. Not that I’m an expert. But guys, wet  hand-holding is no fun for anyone except an octopus. Shudder.

Yours … a bit fussily, I know, but it all got to me… Georgie

In Other News, en Francais

Skyped my parents after their holiday touring France. I was facing my Mum and I could see Dad in the background, looking bored. Mum was talking excitedly.

“It was so beautiful, and there were so many circuses! One in every village we went to!”

My deadpan Dad said, dully, over Mum’s shoulder, “We literally saw two.”

Mum paid him no heed. “And we took the kayak out – went on a beautiful lake. Absolutely stunning. I wasn’t that good at steering so we went a little bit wonky – ”

Dad interrupts again, wearily. “That’s her version. My version: circles.”