Yesterday I had met up with Tucky for a day out in Central London. I know Tucky from Sheffield University. We both studied Law and became acquainted after seeing each other on nights out in Gatecrasher and Kingdom (this is now called Embrace). Tucky is a very pretty girl; at present she has shoulder length mouse blonde hair, a thin face with a sharp nose. In my opinion her best feature is her eyes - they are large, hazel and framed by thick eyelashes. In spite of a diet consisting of waffles, fish fingers and baked beans, she has a slim body that many girls would envy.
She had a boyfriend when we first met and thus rejected my advances. However, in our final year when she split up from her boyfriend our friendship developed into something more. We started sleeping together and I became very fond of her. The sex with Tucky was unbelievable - I can say with absolute certainty that it was the best I have ever had. I believe that the end of university came at a bad time for us; whilst I wanted to continue our romantic involvement we gradually drifted apart and she decided that she only wanted to be friends. She went travelling and eventually ended up getting back with her boyfriend. At the time I am not ashamed to say that this absolutely crushed me. To date, I think that she is the only girl I have been in love with and for a while I distanced myself from her to ease the pain of rejection. I would say that I only really got over her when I started liking another girl around this time last year. Since then we have become best friends: I go to her for advice and vice versa.
To meet Tucky I wore a multi-coloured patterned short-sleeved shirt (asos), black knitted tie (asos), fitted dark jeans (All Saints), thick tan leather belt (H & M), tan Chelsea boots (Jones Bootmaker) and a black leather biker jacket (H & M). She wore a dark blue military buttoned three quarter length coat, a black baggy dress with embellishments on the shoulders, black tights and brown leather boots. Having set the rendezvous point as Victoria Station (since this is where her train comes in from Kent) I had initially planned to go to Somerset House for London Fashion Week. I was not aware that I needed tickets for the weekend event and when we got there it had sold out. Fortunately I had looked into some free London attractions the previous day and ended up visiting the Sir John Soane museum near Holborn Tube station. I was very impressed with the engineer's collection of Ancient Roman artefacts and paintings and it exceeded my expectations. We then sat in a Costa and chatted over a green tea before heading on the tube to Piccadilly Circus.
On the way there I mentioned the Trocadero and was surprised to learn that Tucky had never visited it. I intended to briefly show her around before heading to the National Gallery. However, to my amazement Tucky loved the Trocadero. We spent a lot of time watching people play on the dance and percussion arcades as well as dumping a pound's worth of 2p's into one of those sliding machines. At one point Tucky was scolded by an old woman when she tried to play on her machine as she left to get more change.
After a solid couple of hours in the Trocadero we decided to go to Ripley's Believe It Or Not. However, the queue was very long and after standing in it for 10 minutes we abandoned the idea and went to Exchange Bar in Gerrard Street right in the middle of Chinatown. It amuses me when I think about how we must have looked yesterday: an oriental male who was introducing his white girlfriend to his culture: videogames and his people in Chinatown. I had made a reservation at Grace (formerly Sugar Reef) for dinner in Great Windmill Street. We both had Thai fish cakes for a starter and I had salmon for my main whilst Tucky had chicken fajitas. She selected a nice Sauvignon Blanc to accompany the meal.
Grace has been renovated over the last six months and the club downstairs now has a much trendier decor. Tucky and myself spent most of our time getting drunk sitting in a funky chair. The rest of the night went by in a blur and there are gaps in my memory. I can remember nailing some Jagerbombs in Jewel bar and then getting a cab back to my place to sleep. Tucky had a horrible hangover this morning and she made intermittent trips to my bathroom to make herself sick. It was not pleasant hearing her retch - it was so loud that I could hear her down the corridor behind the closed door of my room. Consequently we cuddled in bed for more than half of the day before she felt well enough to move. Since I was going back to Essex to see my parents I told her that I would give her a lift back to Kent. The one good thing about Tucky being ill on the drive back was that she was powerless to complain about my singing to the radio. By the time I dropped her off at her house she seemed a lot better and was ready to eat something. I would argue that is was my soothing vocals throughout the journey which aided her recovery.
Sunday, 28 February 2010
Saturday, 27 February 2010
Rage
Yesterday I attended a customer meeting in Loughborough which went exceptionally badly. Currently my working hours are consistently 8.30am - 8pm due to the fact that my manager has been offsick for the last six weeks. This has left a hole in the business which I have had to fill. I was ill-equipped at the start, although my knowledge and skill-set has come on leaps and bounds through my endeavours. It is a wonder that I have been able to write my blog each evening.
Therefore due to being under-resourced I have not had the time to visit any customers. This is the first time that I have visited the customer since the end of November and unsurprisingly the Director was not happy. He refused to look at me when he shook my hand and as soon as I sat down he used the meeting as an opportunity to launch a personal attack.
I understand that sucking dick is a large part of any sales job. Most of the time it is an essential tool to build relationships with clients. It is a well known saying in sales that people buy people more than the products themselves. If you can strike up a rapport and deliver results with a client then you will be able to sell him almost anything. I can accept this, although I was not appreciative of the way that this particular Director spoke to me. I found him to be very abrasive and rude which is an attitude to which I will always disengage. After the first five minutes he was threatening to "kick me out" of his office. Now for me, when somebody uses this kind of language it immediately gets my back up.
After an hour and half of constant insults and niggling jibes about my recent non-attendance my rising anger led to violent thoughts. My hands under the table were trembling with rage. I can only describe this Director as having a diminutive stature: about 5ft 7in with a very narrow frame; therefore easy meat for me in a combat situation. I imagined leaping from my chair, across his desk to land a short straight right hand. Launching myself in this way to throw the strike would reduce some of its power and impact since I would not be able to plant my feet. However, catching him in the jaw or face would be more than enough to stun him or possibly knock him off his chair. Once on the floor I would set upon him with controlled aggression. He would most likely start to throw some punches of his back which would not have any power. As alluded to previously, power in punches is generated by planting one's feet to twist the hips into the strike. Off his back he would only be able to throw arm punches which would cause me few problems even if he were to catch me in the face. They would be nothing more than a brief annoyance before I would grab the back of his head with my left hand and drive my right knee into his solar plexus to pin him to the floor. For somebody who is not used to ground fighting this position can be debilitating; I would pull on the back of his neck to drive and twist my knee into his sternum at a different angle. At this point I am sure that I would see a grimace and yelp of pain on his face. The thoughts going through his head would be ones of fear, wishing that he had not continually fucked with me. I would take pleasure in seeing this pain and my racing heartbeat would bring a sort of deranged smile to my face which would make him think that I was a fucking maniac.
In this position the pain caused would have stopped his futile attempts at trying to attack me. The only thing that would be in his mind would be to alleviate the pressure on his solar plexus from my knee, which would be causing him shortness of breath as well as excruciating pain. He would inevitably use both hands to try and push my knee off. In an open space I could grab a hold of his arm, spin, fall back and break his arm in split second. However, in the confines of small space his attention on my knee would leave his head open for strikes. Yanking on the back of his neck with my left hand to control the position would leave my right hand free to rain down hard punches and elbows. Thirty seconds is all I would need to turn his face into a bloody mess - gashes under both eyes, a split lip and a shattered nose which would make his eyes water. I would apply a tight guillotine choke whilst he was lying helpless until he lost consciousness before straightening my suit and tie, mopping my sweaty brow, allowing my breathing and heart rate to return to normal, picking up my bag and casually exiting the scene.
Of course this did not happen. Instead I took his abuse with good humour and laughed. I am certain that this only made him madder but it was the only thing I could do stop myself from ripping his head off. I agreed to meet again next Friday. He assured me that if I am not there then I should not bother turning up at his office for the rest of the year.
Therefore due to being under-resourced I have not had the time to visit any customers. This is the first time that I have visited the customer since the end of November and unsurprisingly the Director was not happy. He refused to look at me when he shook my hand and as soon as I sat down he used the meeting as an opportunity to launch a personal attack.
I understand that sucking dick is a large part of any sales job. Most of the time it is an essential tool to build relationships with clients. It is a well known saying in sales that people buy people more than the products themselves. If you can strike up a rapport and deliver results with a client then you will be able to sell him almost anything. I can accept this, although I was not appreciative of the way that this particular Director spoke to me. I found him to be very abrasive and rude which is an attitude to which I will always disengage. After the first five minutes he was threatening to "kick me out" of his office. Now for me, when somebody uses this kind of language it immediately gets my back up.
After an hour and half of constant insults and niggling jibes about my recent non-attendance my rising anger led to violent thoughts. My hands under the table were trembling with rage. I can only describe this Director as having a diminutive stature: about 5ft 7in with a very narrow frame; therefore easy meat for me in a combat situation. I imagined leaping from my chair, across his desk to land a short straight right hand. Launching myself in this way to throw the strike would reduce some of its power and impact since I would not be able to plant my feet. However, catching him in the jaw or face would be more than enough to stun him or possibly knock him off his chair. Once on the floor I would set upon him with controlled aggression. He would most likely start to throw some punches of his back which would not have any power. As alluded to previously, power in punches is generated by planting one's feet to twist the hips into the strike. Off his back he would only be able to throw arm punches which would cause me few problems even if he were to catch me in the face. They would be nothing more than a brief annoyance before I would grab the back of his head with my left hand and drive my right knee into his solar plexus to pin him to the floor. For somebody who is not used to ground fighting this position can be debilitating; I would pull on the back of his neck to drive and twist my knee into his sternum at a different angle. At this point I am sure that I would see a grimace and yelp of pain on his face. The thoughts going through his head would be ones of fear, wishing that he had not continually fucked with me. I would take pleasure in seeing this pain and my racing heartbeat would bring a sort of deranged smile to my face which would make him think that I was a fucking maniac.
In this position the pain caused would have stopped his futile attempts at trying to attack me. The only thing that would be in his mind would be to alleviate the pressure on his solar plexus from my knee, which would be causing him shortness of breath as well as excruciating pain. He would inevitably use both hands to try and push my knee off. In an open space I could grab a hold of his arm, spin, fall back and break his arm in split second. However, in the confines of small space his attention on my knee would leave his head open for strikes. Yanking on the back of his neck with my left hand to control the position would leave my right hand free to rain down hard punches and elbows. Thirty seconds is all I would need to turn his face into a bloody mess - gashes under both eyes, a split lip and a shattered nose which would make his eyes water. I would apply a tight guillotine choke whilst he was lying helpless until he lost consciousness before straightening my suit and tie, mopping my sweaty brow, allowing my breathing and heart rate to return to normal, picking up my bag and casually exiting the scene.
Of course this did not happen. Instead I took his abuse with good humour and laughed. I am certain that this only made him madder but it was the only thing I could do stop myself from ripping his head off. I agreed to meet again next Friday. He assured me that if I am not there then I should not bother turning up at his office for the rest of the year.
Thursday, 25 February 2010
asos order
I received a package from asos.com today. For the second successive weekend I could not find anyone to go partying with and hence I bought some clothes. I ordered a charcoal waistcoat, a multicoloured striped tie and a white belt which came to £47 in total. I am very happy with the waistcoat and tie. I think that the tie would be best worn with a white or black shirt. The waistcoat is the same cut and tight fit as my tweed one which received very positive comments at Pri's birthday. However, I am not as content with the white leather belt. I own a white belt with a metal studded cross buckle from Guess Jeans. I love this belt and always wear it with a pair of white pointy shoes from Zara (officially my dancing shoes). I wanted another belt to go with the shoes. The first problem with the belt from asos, is that it is too thin which makes it more suitable for casual wear. Secondly, it is too loose, although it is my fault that I ordered this size. The belt only came in two sizes: small/medium and medium/large. I have a 32 inch waist and took a cautious approach in ordering the medium/large size. In spite of my disappointment it only cost me £12 so I will not bother returning it. I can probably wear it with my Adidas Superstars or Converse trainers.
Wednesday, 24 February 2010
Cheryl Cole (soon to be Cheryl Tweedy again)
On the drive to work this morning, the headline story across all of the half-hourly radio news bulletins was that Cheryl Cole had finally decided to split from her husband and Chelsea left-back, Ashley Cole. This has not come as any surprise since it is not the first time that Ashley has been exposed cheating; if anything I am astounded that the marriage has lasted as long as it has.
Since she will soon be single again, it got me thinking that I would massively be her type. I am in no way suggesting that I am in her league. Her beauty is unquestioned: flawless hair and skin, sultry brown eyes, a dazzling set of straight white teeth which would not look out of place on a toothpaste advert and an absolutely breathtaking body to top it all off. A string of chart-topping hits with Girls Aloud and her presence on the judging panel of X Factor has propelled her to new heights of fame which I am sure that even she never believed she would reach. Cheryl has become something of an English institution, revered by men and women alike.
She has publicly stated that she goes for men of mixed-race and being married to Ashley Cole is clear evidence of this. She has also proven this on X Factor since the male contestants she has singled out as "gorgeous" have generally been mixed-race and have tended to have shaved heads. I am oriental and not mixed-race, although I firmly believe that I have the type of look that would appeal to her. I have very short hair and in comparing myself to Ashley I am a couple of inches taller and would estimate that I have more muscle mass. Admittedly he has more chiselled facial features, although I am certain that my wit and banter would more than make up for this. Furthermore, in the words of Tony Montana from Scarface, Cheryl strikes me as having that look in her eye which suggests that she has not been fucked in over a year. I am confident that I could take care of her needs in this department: with a girl who looks as good as her I could maintain an erection for days on end.
I just need to be in the right place at the right time (wearing my lucky pair of white Calvin Klein boxers) and let events unfurl. I wonder how often Cheryl goes to Tiger Tiger in Piccadilly Circus...
Since she will soon be single again, it got me thinking that I would massively be her type. I am in no way suggesting that I am in her league. Her beauty is unquestioned: flawless hair and skin, sultry brown eyes, a dazzling set of straight white teeth which would not look out of place on a toothpaste advert and an absolutely breathtaking body to top it all off. A string of chart-topping hits with Girls Aloud and her presence on the judging panel of X Factor has propelled her to new heights of fame which I am sure that even she never believed she would reach. Cheryl has become something of an English institution, revered by men and women alike.
She has publicly stated that she goes for men of mixed-race and being married to Ashley Cole is clear evidence of this. She has also proven this on X Factor since the male contestants she has singled out as "gorgeous" have generally been mixed-race and have tended to have shaved heads. I am oriental and not mixed-race, although I firmly believe that I have the type of look that would appeal to her. I have very short hair and in comparing myself to Ashley I am a couple of inches taller and would estimate that I have more muscle mass. Admittedly he has more chiselled facial features, although I am certain that my wit and banter would more than make up for this. Furthermore, in the words of Tony Montana from Scarface, Cheryl strikes me as having that look in her eye which suggests that she has not been fucked in over a year. I am confident that I could take care of her needs in this department: with a girl who looks as good as her I could maintain an erection for days on end.
I just need to be in the right place at the right time (wearing my lucky pair of white Calvin Klein boxers) and let events unfurl. I wonder how often Cheryl goes to Tiger Tiger in Piccadilly Circus...
Hi-tops
Hi-top trainers have been in fashion for men and women for the last year now. When I think of hi-tops the first image which comes into my mind is of La Roux wearing a grey pair in the video for "Bulletproof" (2009). The demand for hi-tops started in the 1980s which I believe was a decade interspersed with faux-pas and success for fashion. Whilst I hate the heavily shoulder-padded suits, I admire the sharp suits, starched shirts, coloured hankerchiefs and thick braces from films like "Wall Street" (1987) and "Scarface" (1983).
In my opinion hi-tops are very attractive trainers. I have seen a few pairs on asos.com which I have been close to purchasing. I saw a nice multi-coloured pair which would go with pretty much anything casual, irrespective of colour co-ordination, for £25. However, the only reason that I have not bought a pair thus far is because they need to be worn with one's jeans tucked in.
Whilst I am a fan of hi-tops, I am vehemently against skinny jeans. A few years ago when I was slightly heavier and bigger than I am now, I prefered to wear quite baggy jeans. This was also due to a hip-hop influence in my fashion sense at that time. I have considerably smartened up my appearance since I have left University and I now wear fitted jeans. I have also become more streamline around my lower body which has allowed me to fit into these types of jeans. Skinny fit jeans, however, are still far too tight and uncomfortable for me to adorn. At the back end of last year I accidentally picked a skinny pair of jeans off the hanger at the TopShop flagship store in Oxford Street. In the fitting room I could barely squeeze my legs into them, let alone do zip up the fly at the top. They were testicle-squeezingly uncomfortable around the crotch region.
Now, in no way am I saying that I have thick legs. I would say that they are average size. I have always had strong legs and have squatted 150kg ass to grass in the past, although genetically they have remained relatively thin and lean (thanks Dad). In my mind, a man should seek to possess a muscular set of legs. Nothing conveys strength in a physique like tree-trunk quadriceps; even more so than a barrel-like chest or bulging biceps. Wearing skinny jeans, to me, is almost symbolic of an acceptance of physical weakness. One truly needs chicken legs to fit into them.
Unfortunately for me the types of jeans that I wear would look stupid tucked into hi-top trainers. The options are more plentiful for girls since they can be worn with tights and leggings.
In my opinion hi-tops are very attractive trainers. I have seen a few pairs on asos.com which I have been close to purchasing. I saw a nice multi-coloured pair which would go with pretty much anything casual, irrespective of colour co-ordination, for £25. However, the only reason that I have not bought a pair thus far is because they need to be worn with one's jeans tucked in.
Whilst I am a fan of hi-tops, I am vehemently against skinny jeans. A few years ago when I was slightly heavier and bigger than I am now, I prefered to wear quite baggy jeans. This was also due to a hip-hop influence in my fashion sense at that time. I have considerably smartened up my appearance since I have left University and I now wear fitted jeans. I have also become more streamline around my lower body which has allowed me to fit into these types of jeans. Skinny fit jeans, however, are still far too tight and uncomfortable for me to adorn. At the back end of last year I accidentally picked a skinny pair of jeans off the hanger at the TopShop flagship store in Oxford Street. In the fitting room I could barely squeeze my legs into them, let alone do zip up the fly at the top. They were testicle-squeezingly uncomfortable around the crotch region.
Now, in no way am I saying that I have thick legs. I would say that they are average size. I have always had strong legs and have squatted 150kg ass to grass in the past, although genetically they have remained relatively thin and lean (thanks Dad). In my mind, a man should seek to possess a muscular set of legs. Nothing conveys strength in a physique like tree-trunk quadriceps; even more so than a barrel-like chest or bulging biceps. Wearing skinny jeans, to me, is almost symbolic of an acceptance of physical weakness. One truly needs chicken legs to fit into them.
Unfortunately for me the types of jeans that I wear would look stupid tucked into hi-top trainers. The options are more plentiful for girls since they can be worn with tights and leggings.
Monday, 22 February 2010
Pig shit
At present I am in regular contact with the two girls who messaged me on plentyoffish. Since my last post regarding the free dating website, fey1989 has joined jadeglasto in texting me and adding me to facebook. From looking through fey1989's photos I would never have guessed that she is a mother. She has short dark hair and a cute face with what I best describe as a cheeky, impish smile. Perhaps surprisingly to me (considering she has a child) she has a tight body and a nice rack. In most of her photographs she sports a sexy pout, although there are a few shots where she smiles properly. I can see from these pictures that she has a straight set of teeth; no off-putting imperfections thus far. Aesthetically speaking, she is quite different to Jadeglasto.
However, both girls do have one thing in common: they are both as thick as pig shit. In my teens my outlook on the opposite sex, like most guys at that age, was that intelligence came a distant second to looks. Growing up in Essex I got used to interacting with stupid girls, which had an effect on formulating my beliefs. During my years at University the balance of these beliefs tilted more towards the opposite direction as I mixed with more intellectually stimulating women. Today my attitude remains essentially the same, although there are some instances which one simply cannot overlook.
Both girls seem to have nothing to say other than "Wat r u doin this weekend? x" When I tell them that I went into Central London to buy clothes their follow up question is about what garments I bought. This dull and pointless exchange then comes full circle when they then ask "Wat are u doin now hun/babe? x" Any attempt from my end to find out something insightful about them is ignored in favour of asking me another probing question, e.g. "lol hun wat r ur plans tomora? x" Their atrocious spelling and grammar only make matters worse.
I am very swiftly beginning to lose interest in both girls. However, I will continue to grind it out purely because I have absolutely nothing to lose in doing so. After all, my current mobile phone contract entitles me to unlimited free texts each month.
However, both girls do have one thing in common: they are both as thick as pig shit. In my teens my outlook on the opposite sex, like most guys at that age, was that intelligence came a distant second to looks. Growing up in Essex I got used to interacting with stupid girls, which had an effect on formulating my beliefs. During my years at University the balance of these beliefs tilted more towards the opposite direction as I mixed with more intellectually stimulating women. Today my attitude remains essentially the same, although there are some instances which one simply cannot overlook.
Both girls seem to have nothing to say other than "Wat r u doin this weekend? x" When I tell them that I went into Central London to buy clothes their follow up question is about what garments I bought. This dull and pointless exchange then comes full circle when they then ask "Wat are u doin now hun/babe? x" Any attempt from my end to find out something insightful about them is ignored in favour of asking me another probing question, e.g. "lol hun wat r ur plans tomora? x" Their atrocious spelling and grammar only make matters worse.
I am very swiftly beginning to lose interest in both girls. However, I will continue to grind it out purely because I have absolutely nothing to lose in doing so. After all, my current mobile phone contract entitles me to unlimited free texts each month.
Saturday, 20 February 2010
Pills
One Kirkland multivitamin to start the day, two Tumeric capsules to ease the swelling of existing meniscus and rotator cuff injuries post-training, two 900mg Glucosamine and Chondroitin pills to lubricate stiff joints, three large triple strength Omega 3 fish oil pills, one 500mg green tea supplement (containing the equivalent of four very strong cups of green tea) which acts as a mild fat stripper, all washed down with a Reflex "Instant Whey" protein shake which delivers 50g of high quality, fast absorbing protein to repair minute muscle tears and aid muscular growth and development.
Friday, 19 February 2010
Attn: Rihanna
I saw Rihanna's new video last night for her song "Rudeboy" on MTV Hits. It was also the first time that I had listened to the song. On my commute to and from work I had recently heard little snippets of it on Kiss FM, although I had always changed the station.
The first observation that I had about her video is that it is very colourful, bold and primitive somehow. It immediately reminded me of Beenie Man's video for his song "Dude" from 2005. My second observation was Rihanna's dancing has become much sluttier since her last appearance in the video for "Hard" off the same "Rated R" album. Some of her dance moves are identical to those of Beyonce from her video for "Videophone" (2009), particularly her butt jiggling. Rihanna displays here without a shadow of a doubt, that she is a technically proficient dancer. There is more flesh on show than ever and one cannot deny that she smoulders. Her newfound sluttiness reaches its peak at one point in the video when she is dancing with a guy and takes a peek down his shorts.
However, the new direction that Rihanna has taken with her music has not impressed me lately. "Russian Roulette" was a tame first release and only ascended the Top 40 after her appearance at the end of November on X Factor. It seemed from this song that she had come back after the success of "Good Girl Gone Bad" (2007) with an edgier, darker sound to reflect her domestic abuse last year at the hands of Chris Brown. She followed up "Russian Roulette" with "Hard" which I believe is the worst Rihanna song after "Shut Up and Drive". In this song she has way too much attitude. It is clear to me that she is not hard - the stories that I have read about me makes me think the opposite: she is a whiny, selfish diva.
Her lyrics for "Rudeboy" are quite shocking in a sense considering how clean-cut Rihanna previously was. In the chorus she sings "Come here rude boy, boy, can you get it up? Come her rude boy, boy, is you big enough?" It seems apparent now that she not only wants a men who can pleasure her deep into the night but also a men who have large cocks. I have no problem with her saying what prefers in the bedroom nor would it make me uncomfortable in the knowledge that I would not measure up (not that I would ever get the chance to fuck Rihanna). It would not be the first time that a female solo artist has touched on this subject. I remember the line "Got a nice package alright guess I'm gonna have to ride it tonight" from Janet Jackson's song "All For You" (2001). However, in Rihanna's case it is completely different. She is still a young woman (turns 22 tomorrow according to Wikipedia) and I don't think that she has done enough in her career so far to justify such a stark change. She should have released at least one more pop album. In my opinion she is about as manufactured a popstar as you can get. She has built a big fan base with poppy upbeat hits like "Disturbia" and "Don't Stop The Music". Her music was not exactly meaningful, but it was formulaic pop at its absolute best.
Now it would seem as though she is keen to make some sort of statement with her music, the result of which has been awful so far. Every one I know who owns "Rated R" has said it is mediocre. From the singles she has released to date I would file it under "R" for "rubbish". I hope that she returns to her roots for her next album.
The first observation that I had about her video is that it is very colourful, bold and primitive somehow. It immediately reminded me of Beenie Man's video for his song "Dude" from 2005. My second observation was Rihanna's dancing has become much sluttier since her last appearance in the video for "Hard" off the same "Rated R" album. Some of her dance moves are identical to those of Beyonce from her video for "Videophone" (2009), particularly her butt jiggling. Rihanna displays here without a shadow of a doubt, that she is a technically proficient dancer. There is more flesh on show than ever and one cannot deny that she smoulders. Her newfound sluttiness reaches its peak at one point in the video when she is dancing with a guy and takes a peek down his shorts.
However, the new direction that Rihanna has taken with her music has not impressed me lately. "Russian Roulette" was a tame first release and only ascended the Top 40 after her appearance at the end of November on X Factor. It seemed from this song that she had come back after the success of "Good Girl Gone Bad" (2007) with an edgier, darker sound to reflect her domestic abuse last year at the hands of Chris Brown. She followed up "Russian Roulette" with "Hard" which I believe is the worst Rihanna song after "Shut Up and Drive". In this song she has way too much attitude. It is clear to me that she is not hard - the stories that I have read about me makes me think the opposite: she is a whiny, selfish diva.
Her lyrics for "Rudeboy" are quite shocking in a sense considering how clean-cut Rihanna previously was. In the chorus she sings "Come here rude boy, boy, can you get it up? Come her rude boy, boy, is you big enough?" It seems apparent now that she not only wants a men who can pleasure her deep into the night but also a men who have large cocks. I have no problem with her saying what prefers in the bedroom nor would it make me uncomfortable in the knowledge that I would not measure up (not that I would ever get the chance to fuck Rihanna). It would not be the first time that a female solo artist has touched on this subject. I remember the line "Got a nice package alright guess I'm gonna have to ride it tonight" from Janet Jackson's song "All For You" (2001). However, in Rihanna's case it is completely different. She is still a young woman (turns 22 tomorrow according to Wikipedia) and I don't think that she has done enough in her career so far to justify such a stark change. She should have released at least one more pop album. In my opinion she is about as manufactured a popstar as you can get. She has built a big fan base with poppy upbeat hits like "Disturbia" and "Don't Stop The Music". Her music was not exactly meaningful, but it was formulaic pop at its absolute best.
Now it would seem as though she is keen to make some sort of statement with her music, the result of which has been awful so far. Every one I know who owns "Rated R" has said it is mediocre. From the singles she has released to date I would file it under "R" for "rubbish". I hope that she returns to her roots for her next album.
Thursday, 18 February 2010
Book report: The Twilight Saga (Warning: Spoilers)
As you have probably already gathered, almost everything that I do is geared towards making myself more alluring to the opposite sex. For example, I work hard to get a promotion, to make more money, to buy better clothes and to afford myself a better status, which should make me more attractive to women. I spend hours in the gym each week, train jiu-jitsu and force myself to eat plain, dry, rubbery, sauceless chicken breasts in an effort to improve my physique which, again, should make me more attractive to women. My reading habits have also started to reflect my ultimate goal.
I would consider myself to be an avid reader. In the last two years of my life I have read almost forty novels. With the exception of nineteenth century classics I will read almost anything. I read because I enjoy to do so. I find it educational more often than not and I can appreciate the writing styles of different authors. Whilst I like the wordsplay of Haruki Murakami's stories, my favourite novel is probably "American Psycho" by Brett Easton Ellis. For those who have read this book you can probably tell that my blog draws on many of its influences.
Since the release of the Twilight movie in 2008, there has been hysteria around the series. Stephanie Meyer's saga had already long been an international best-seller, although the movie certainly brought it to my attention and the rest of the mainstream. Almost overnight Robert Pattinson who plays the vampire, Edward, in the film became the world's most desirable man. Tucky, arguably my closest girl friend and a past romantic interest, read the books on her travels to South East Asia, Australasia and America in Spring 2009 and developed an affection for them. Since seeing New Moon she swears that she is in love with the actor who plays Jacob Black, Taylor Lautner.
Tucky has been very influential in recommending books for me to read over the last couple of years. She is a much more prolific reader than myself. She bought me "American Psycho" for my last birthday and thanks to her I have been introduced to Philip Pullman's "Dark Materials" saga. Upon her recommendation I decided over Christmas to read the Twilight Saga. I saw it as a potential opportunity to connect with impressionable eighteen and nineteen year old girls on nights out. I finished the saga two weeks ago.
The first book "Twilight" recounts the story of Isabella Swan (Bella for short) who is uprooted from her life with her mother in Phoenix to live with her father, Charlie in the quiet town of Forks in Washington State. There, she encounters the Cullen vampire family and falls in love with Edward, a stunningly handsome, charming, mind-reading, one hundred year old vampire. Edward is in fact much younger than his adoptive father, Carlisle, who is over three hundred years old. The rest of the family are made up of Esme, Alice, Jasper, Rosalie and Emmett, all of whom are equally striking in looks and some of whom have special powers. The Cullens are considered in this world to be vegetarian vampires since they pledge never to drink the blood of humans, instead hunting animals.
All of the stories are told from Bella's first person perspective. The plot is centred mainly around the attraction between Bella and Edward as they try to figure out a way to maintain a vampire-human relationship as well as make it through high school. It takes Bella a while to figure out that Edward is a vampire and during this time there is plenty of confusion. In my opinion the story is quite dull for the most part until the end where Bella is pursued and attacked by a rival coven. She is of course saved in the nick of time and the story ends with Bella being taken to the prom by Edward.
The second book, "New Moon" covers Bella's despair as Edward leaves for fear of putting her in unnecessary danger. In his absence Bella strikes up a close friendship with the younger Jacob Black. Jacob is of native American descent and his ancestors have protected Forks for generations as mythical werewolves. He later fulfils his destiny in the book and mutates into a large brown werewolf. Jacob is introduced very briefly in the first book and is indeed the person who plants the seed in Bella's head that Edward might be a vampire. He inevitably falls in love with Bella and whilst she does not feel the same way as him this creates an interesting love triangle, which includes Edward, for the rest of the series.
This book also sees the introduction of the Volturi who are essentially the ruling vampire family, residing in Italy. Believing that Bella has committed suicide, Edward decides to end his life at the hands of the Volturi only to be saved at the last minute by Bella and his sister Alice. I found this book to be better than the first although without being riveting.
In the third book, "Eclipse" Edward returns to Forks as Bella's boyfriend and the werewolves and vampires are forced to cooperate to battle an army of vampire newborns created by Victoria (a member of the rival coven from the first book) to kill Bella. This book is Tucky's favourite of the four, since (a) the story is more exciting and (b) due to the more complete development of Jacob's character. I must say that I hated the character of Jacob Black in the Twilight saga. He is desperate, clingy and pathetic in his pursuit of Bella. I can see why girls like his character since he is passionate, idealistic and open about his love. However, in my experience guys who actually behave like this are real-life scarecrows to women. I will admit that Tucky's undying devotion to him makes the character that much more odious to me.
The final part of the series, "Breaking Dawn", is by far my favourite. It is the longest book at almost 700 pages and covers Bella's and Edward's marriage, the first time they have sex, her ensuing pregnancy, motherhood and her transformation into a vampire herself (something that she has wanted since the end of "Twilight"). According to the rules of the Volturi, vampires and humans are forbidden to procreate since the offspring have an uncontrollable bloodlust, and the grand finale takes place when the Volturi march on Forks to destroy Renesmee, Bella and Edward's daughter.
Whilst the saga is not my cup of tea, I can see why teenage girls and upwards get the cream over it. I suppose that it does give one an in-depth insight into Bella's girlish notions as well teenage angst in general. It is well written, although for a male reader it does get difficult to stomach the endless references to Edward's "topaz", "butterscotch" eyes, his "sweet breath" and his "breathtaking" physique. I hope that the investment in time dedicated to reading these books will pay dividends at some point in the near future when it gives me something to talk about with young women.
I would consider myself to be an avid reader. In the last two years of my life I have read almost forty novels. With the exception of nineteenth century classics I will read almost anything. I read because I enjoy to do so. I find it educational more often than not and I can appreciate the writing styles of different authors. Whilst I like the wordsplay of Haruki Murakami's stories, my favourite novel is probably "American Psycho" by Brett Easton Ellis. For those who have read this book you can probably tell that my blog draws on many of its influences.
Since the release of the Twilight movie in 2008, there has been hysteria around the series. Stephanie Meyer's saga had already long been an international best-seller, although the movie certainly brought it to my attention and the rest of the mainstream. Almost overnight Robert Pattinson who plays the vampire, Edward, in the film became the world's most desirable man. Tucky, arguably my closest girl friend and a past romantic interest, read the books on her travels to South East Asia, Australasia and America in Spring 2009 and developed an affection for them. Since seeing New Moon she swears that she is in love with the actor who plays Jacob Black, Taylor Lautner.
Tucky has been very influential in recommending books for me to read over the last couple of years. She is a much more prolific reader than myself. She bought me "American Psycho" for my last birthday and thanks to her I have been introduced to Philip Pullman's "Dark Materials" saga. Upon her recommendation I decided over Christmas to read the Twilight Saga. I saw it as a potential opportunity to connect with impressionable eighteen and nineteen year old girls on nights out. I finished the saga two weeks ago.
The first book "Twilight" recounts the story of Isabella Swan (Bella for short) who is uprooted from her life with her mother in Phoenix to live with her father, Charlie in the quiet town of Forks in Washington State. There, she encounters the Cullen vampire family and falls in love with Edward, a stunningly handsome, charming, mind-reading, one hundred year old vampire. Edward is in fact much younger than his adoptive father, Carlisle, who is over three hundred years old. The rest of the family are made up of Esme, Alice, Jasper, Rosalie and Emmett, all of whom are equally striking in looks and some of whom have special powers. The Cullens are considered in this world to be vegetarian vampires since they pledge never to drink the blood of humans, instead hunting animals.
All of the stories are told from Bella's first person perspective. The plot is centred mainly around the attraction between Bella and Edward as they try to figure out a way to maintain a vampire-human relationship as well as make it through high school. It takes Bella a while to figure out that Edward is a vampire and during this time there is plenty of confusion. In my opinion the story is quite dull for the most part until the end where Bella is pursued and attacked by a rival coven. She is of course saved in the nick of time and the story ends with Bella being taken to the prom by Edward.
The second book, "New Moon" covers Bella's despair as Edward leaves for fear of putting her in unnecessary danger. In his absence Bella strikes up a close friendship with the younger Jacob Black. Jacob is of native American descent and his ancestors have protected Forks for generations as mythical werewolves. He later fulfils his destiny in the book and mutates into a large brown werewolf. Jacob is introduced very briefly in the first book and is indeed the person who plants the seed in Bella's head that Edward might be a vampire. He inevitably falls in love with Bella and whilst she does not feel the same way as him this creates an interesting love triangle, which includes Edward, for the rest of the series.
This book also sees the introduction of the Volturi who are essentially the ruling vampire family, residing in Italy. Believing that Bella has committed suicide, Edward decides to end his life at the hands of the Volturi only to be saved at the last minute by Bella and his sister Alice. I found this book to be better than the first although without being riveting.
In the third book, "Eclipse" Edward returns to Forks as Bella's boyfriend and the werewolves and vampires are forced to cooperate to battle an army of vampire newborns created by Victoria (a member of the rival coven from the first book) to kill Bella. This book is Tucky's favourite of the four, since (a) the story is more exciting and (b) due to the more complete development of Jacob's character. I must say that I hated the character of Jacob Black in the Twilight saga. He is desperate, clingy and pathetic in his pursuit of Bella. I can see why girls like his character since he is passionate, idealistic and open about his love. However, in my experience guys who actually behave like this are real-life scarecrows to women. I will admit that Tucky's undying devotion to him makes the character that much more odious to me.
The final part of the series, "Breaking Dawn", is by far my favourite. It is the longest book at almost 700 pages and covers Bella's and Edward's marriage, the first time they have sex, her ensuing pregnancy, motherhood and her transformation into a vampire herself (something that she has wanted since the end of "Twilight"). According to the rules of the Volturi, vampires and humans are forbidden to procreate since the offspring have an uncontrollable bloodlust, and the grand finale takes place when the Volturi march on Forks to destroy Renesmee, Bella and Edward's daughter.
Whilst the saga is not my cup of tea, I can see why teenage girls and upwards get the cream over it. I suppose that it does give one an in-depth insight into Bella's girlish notions as well teenage angst in general. It is well written, although for a male reader it does get difficult to stomach the endless references to Edward's "topaz", "butterscotch" eyes, his "sweet breath" and his "breathtaking" physique. I hope that the investment in time dedicated to reading these books will pay dividends at some point in the near future when it gives me something to talk about with young women.
Wednesday, 17 February 2010
I hate Personal Trainers
I fucking hate the majority of personal trainers. They parade around gyms with an air of confidence and clipboards in hand. In my opinion, it is all just a big scam to make fat, wealthy people feel good about themselves. Such people are looking for fast ways to lose weight without having to radically change their diets or exercise routines. Hence, the job of a personal trainer is to devise easy routines consisting of brisk walks on the treadmill, half-repetition squats and bicep curls with tins of baked beans which make these people feel as though they are making improvements when in reality, they are no fitter, stronger or more physically attractive than when they started. Getting into peak physical shape requires hard fucking work. I am afraid to say that there is no magical secret.
Personal trainers also have a tendency to talk shit. My good friend, Canadian Steak, has a gym membership at a Fitness First in St. Paul's. He told me recently that he was approached by a large personal trainer who told him "If you give fifty per cent and I give fifty per cent, then that makes one hundred per cent and together we can get you into better shape." What the fuck are you talking about? How about I put in one hundred per cent and you take your fifty per cent and ram it up your arse you cunt.
In spite of my views towards personal trainers, I am normally quite tolerant towards them. After all there is a market for their services and why not take advantage of this for monetary gain? My feelings have reached boiling point recently from training with Pri to help her lose weight for her holiday to Australia. Pri, to her credit, worked admirably over three weeks to lose five pounds. She can now run for twenty-three minutes non-stop and has improved her strength in that short space of time. However, Pri has an annoying tendency to point out that people (including myself) are doing exercises incorrectly. On almost every occasion that she has done this, she has done so unjustifiably.
Ass to grass squats: "You shouldn't squat so deep, it's bad for your knees."
Behind the neck military presses: "It is bad for you to do it behind the neck. It has to be in front of the neck."
Tricep dips: "Your elbows are sticking out."
I know that Pri has gotten this information from personal trainers and gym assistants at her previously fitness club. Whilst I can see Pri's point of view with certain exercises, I strongly disagree that her method is right and any other way is wrong. Pri is naturally an inquisitive person and I know that she would have obtained the opinions of a number of trainers to support her convictions so in this sense I cannot fully blame her for being miseducated. In the interest of time, let me take squats as an example. Pri does what I would consider to be half-repetition squats. As alluded to previously, according to Pri, going any lower than this is bad for your knees and is consequently the wrong way to do it.
Allow me refer to the rules of the International Powerlifting Federation, which documents the world records for squat, bench press and deadlift. Competitors are deemed to have not completed a squat to satisfactory standard if there is a "failure to bend the knees and lower the body until the top surface of the legs at the hip joint are lower than the top of the knees." This would imply that to perform a proper squat one would have to descend in the movement to at least just below parallel. Competitive powerlifters, Olympic weightlifters and many other elite athletes perform squats in this way. Does this mean that they are doing them wrong? I don't think so.
Half-repetition squats with resistance can undoubtedly build the leg muscles. Their appeal is that they are infinitely easier to do compared to full squats and one can use heavier weights. Full squats in comparison utilise more muscles, e.g. the glutes and the lower back, and thus the greater range of movement is better for building muscles and developing strength. This is a fact. Girls are always telling me that they want to tone their legs and bum. Two exercises can achieve this: squats and deadlifts. Instead they mess around on machines in the adductor machines and power plates.
There are also a whole host of exercises which one is unlikely to find in the pages of Men's Health. As a practitioner of Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, a lot of exercises that I do are sport specific. Examples of these include overhead squats, windmills and Turkish get ups which improve balance and core strength. The other day whilst on the treadmill I saw a girl out of the corner of my eye performing one-handed dumbell snatches. This is a rare but useful exercise for developing explosive power. Pri, who was running beside me, told me that she was doing the exercise incorrectly and that she wanted to go over to the girl and show her the correct form. Pri had obviously mistaken this exercise as a retarded attempt to do a one-handed clean and press. I told her as much but she dismissed my opinion.
Let me stress that this is not a personal attack on Pri. I have been resistance-training for nine years and have met many people like this in and out of gyms. Their views are a direct by-product of ignorant personal trainers. I would urge everyone to not believe everything that a personal trainer tells you and I would take the training advice of an elite athlete over a personal trainer any day of the week.
Personal trainers also have a tendency to talk shit. My good friend, Canadian Steak, has a gym membership at a Fitness First in St. Paul's. He told me recently that he was approached by a large personal trainer who told him "If you give fifty per cent and I give fifty per cent, then that makes one hundred per cent and together we can get you into better shape." What the fuck are you talking about? How about I put in one hundred per cent and you take your fifty per cent and ram it up your arse you cunt.
In spite of my views towards personal trainers, I am normally quite tolerant towards them. After all there is a market for their services and why not take advantage of this for monetary gain? My feelings have reached boiling point recently from training with Pri to help her lose weight for her holiday to Australia. Pri, to her credit, worked admirably over three weeks to lose five pounds. She can now run for twenty-three minutes non-stop and has improved her strength in that short space of time. However, Pri has an annoying tendency to point out that people (including myself) are doing exercises incorrectly. On almost every occasion that she has done this, she has done so unjustifiably.
Ass to grass squats: "You shouldn't squat so deep, it's bad for your knees."
Behind the neck military presses: "It is bad for you to do it behind the neck. It has to be in front of the neck."
Tricep dips: "Your elbows are sticking out."
I know that Pri has gotten this information from personal trainers and gym assistants at her previously fitness club. Whilst I can see Pri's point of view with certain exercises, I strongly disagree that her method is right and any other way is wrong. Pri is naturally an inquisitive person and I know that she would have obtained the opinions of a number of trainers to support her convictions so in this sense I cannot fully blame her for being miseducated. In the interest of time, let me take squats as an example. Pri does what I would consider to be half-repetition squats. As alluded to previously, according to Pri, going any lower than this is bad for your knees and is consequently the wrong way to do it.
Allow me refer to the rules of the International Powerlifting Federation, which documents the world records for squat, bench press and deadlift. Competitors are deemed to have not completed a squat to satisfactory standard if there is a "failure to bend the knees and lower the body until the top surface of the legs at the hip joint are lower than the top of the knees." This would imply that to perform a proper squat one would have to descend in the movement to at least just below parallel. Competitive powerlifters, Olympic weightlifters and many other elite athletes perform squats in this way. Does this mean that they are doing them wrong? I don't think so.
Half-repetition squats with resistance can undoubtedly build the leg muscles. Their appeal is that they are infinitely easier to do compared to full squats and one can use heavier weights. Full squats in comparison utilise more muscles, e.g. the glutes and the lower back, and thus the greater range of movement is better for building muscles and developing strength. This is a fact. Girls are always telling me that they want to tone their legs and bum. Two exercises can achieve this: squats and deadlifts. Instead they mess around on machines in the adductor machines and power plates.
There are also a whole host of exercises which one is unlikely to find in the pages of Men's Health. As a practitioner of Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, a lot of exercises that I do are sport specific. Examples of these include overhead squats, windmills and Turkish get ups which improve balance and core strength. The other day whilst on the treadmill I saw a girl out of the corner of my eye performing one-handed dumbell snatches. This is a rare but useful exercise for developing explosive power. Pri, who was running beside me, told me that she was doing the exercise incorrectly and that she wanted to go over to the girl and show her the correct form. Pri had obviously mistaken this exercise as a retarded attempt to do a one-handed clean and press. I told her as much but she dismissed my opinion.
Let me stress that this is not a personal attack on Pri. I have been resistance-training for nine years and have met many people like this in and out of gyms. Their views are a direct by-product of ignorant personal trainers. I would urge everyone to not believe everything that a personal trainer tells you and I would take the training advice of an elite athlete over a personal trainer any day of the week.
Nitpick
Jadeglasto took my phone number from my plentyoffish message and text me late on Tuesday evening. After an exchange of innocent texts she upped the game and added me to facebook. Due to a long day at work I did not get the opportunity to check out her profile until the late the following evening.
It is safe to say that the small picture on her plentyoffish profile is a fair reflection of her actual appearance. She has a pretty, albeit unspectacular, face with thick blonde hair and a tight body. I went through most of her pictures and it would appear to me that she has very nice posterior, which she is not scared to flaunt for the camera. There are more than a few mock-sex photos showing her bent over tables, presenting for a potential mate, as well as a couple of girl-girl kissing action shots. From these photos I can infer that she is quite sexually overt. So far so good, right?
Wrong. I have an uncanny ability to pick out the tiniest flaws in even the most beautiful women. For example: Britney Spears has a rather wide bridge of the nose, Natalie Portman has arms which are too short for her body, Rihanna has a fat nose, Beyonce is just plain fat...I am sure you get the picture. Of course every person has their flaws and ninety per cent of the time I can look past this as long as everything else "fits". I am sure that girls could stand there and pick out every one of my faults. However, sometimes there are just some features which I personally cannot overlook. I went off a girl once when I noticed that she had what I considered to be abnormally large big toes.
In the case of Jadeglasto I noticed from her smile that she has a very small canine tooth to the left of her two front teeth; almost as though it has been shaved at a forty-five degree angle. I think that a great smile can make a big difference to how a girl looks: it can transform her from average to good, good to great and it does not even matter to me if her teeth are not perfectly straight. Jadeglasto's small tooth somehow distorts her smile and it is so apparent that I cannot help but look at it. It could well be possible that she looks better in real life, although with her residing in Chichester it is ultimately unlikely that we would ever meet up anyway.
In the meantime fey1989 has replied to my plentyoffish message saying that she would text soon. Hopefully she does not have any unbearable imperfections.
It is safe to say that the small picture on her plentyoffish profile is a fair reflection of her actual appearance. She has a pretty, albeit unspectacular, face with thick blonde hair and a tight body. I went through most of her pictures and it would appear to me that she has very nice posterior, which she is not scared to flaunt for the camera. There are more than a few mock-sex photos showing her bent over tables, presenting for a potential mate, as well as a couple of girl-girl kissing action shots. From these photos I can infer that she is quite sexually overt. So far so good, right?
Wrong. I have an uncanny ability to pick out the tiniest flaws in even the most beautiful women. For example: Britney Spears has a rather wide bridge of the nose, Natalie Portman has arms which are too short for her body, Rihanna has a fat nose, Beyonce is just plain fat...I am sure you get the picture. Of course every person has their flaws and ninety per cent of the time I can look past this as long as everything else "fits". I am sure that girls could stand there and pick out every one of my faults. However, sometimes there are just some features which I personally cannot overlook. I went off a girl once when I noticed that she had what I considered to be abnormally large big toes.
In the case of Jadeglasto I noticed from her smile that she has a very small canine tooth to the left of her two front teeth; almost as though it has been shaved at a forty-five degree angle. I think that a great smile can make a big difference to how a girl looks: it can transform her from average to good, good to great and it does not even matter to me if her teeth are not perfectly straight. Jadeglasto's small tooth somehow distorts her smile and it is so apparent that I cannot help but look at it. It could well be possible that she looks better in real life, although with her residing in Chichester it is ultimately unlikely that we would ever meet up anyway.
In the meantime fey1989 has replied to my plentyoffish message saying that she would text soon. Hopefully she does not have any unbearable imperfections.
Monday, 15 February 2010
Plentyoffish
Lately I have felt that I have not been giving one hundred per cent in my skirt chasing efforts. I almost always give it my all on the weekends when I go clubbing. However, during the week, I am very much subdued in this regard. There are a couple of reasons for this. Firstly, the standard of women at my workplace is generally poor to average - at least amongst the single women. At a trade conference last year, my Director asked me to list my top three women in the office. He had asked me this question with the intention of possibly playing matchmaker and consequently found it hilarious when all of the women on my list were married. Secondly, I do not like going out on "school nights". I always like to be reasonably fresh for work. Most of my meetings are dull enough without adding a headache and fatigue into the mix.
In an attempt to step change my behaviour I decided to join plentyoffish.com which is the world's largest free online dating service. Whilst I pledged to myself not to join online dating communities, I feel that the fact that plentyoffish does not cost me a dime makes my decision acceptable within my rules. Since I joined three weeks ago I can honestly say that I have not sent one single serious message. For the first three nights I found amusement in sending glib and often rude messages to girls seeking "intimate encounters", some examples of which can be found below:
"Hi. Where do you live in London? We should hook up."
"Hi. Do you want to fuck?"
"Hi. Which one is you in your profile pic? If you are the girl on the right then don't responding because I think you are minging. If you are the girl on the left, however..."
Unsurprisingly I did not get any responses and the novelty soon wore off. As I suspected, I lost interest in plentyoffish until yesterday. When checking my emails I had one which said that I had received a message from a user at plentyoffish. I logged on to my account and found a message from fey1989 which just said "heyx". I immediately checked her profile and saw from her photographs that a) she was pretty hot and b) she had a baby girl. My first thoughts were about what it would be like to have sex with a girl who had a kid. This is something that I have not done before and I have always wondered how tight her vagina would be. After all, Nelly Furtado, named her 2006 album "Loose" in reference to the aforementioned bodily change.
Putting aside these thoughts, I sent back a response, introducing myself and later in the day found out that she was a hairdresser from Colchester, Essex. In the meantime I received another message from jadeglasto entitled "Hola" which read: "Hey how are u, have u had a nice weekend? Have u had much excitement for valentines this year? x". Again I sent a similar response to the one I sent to fey1989 and discovered that she was also 21 years old and a deputy manager at a property firm in Chichester. Jadeglasto only had one picture on her profile and from it I could make out that she was blonde and attractive, with a tight little package. Whilst I find the attention flattering I have already become bored of the small talk. I have sent messages to both girls with my phone number. If they are interested then they will text or call me. I need to make it clear that to them that I am not in this for friendship.
In an attempt to step change my behaviour I decided to join plentyoffish.com which is the world's largest free online dating service. Whilst I pledged to myself not to join online dating communities, I feel that the fact that plentyoffish does not cost me a dime makes my decision acceptable within my rules. Since I joined three weeks ago I can honestly say that I have not sent one single serious message. For the first three nights I found amusement in sending glib and often rude messages to girls seeking "intimate encounters", some examples of which can be found below:
"Hi. Where do you live in London? We should hook up."
"Hi. Do you want to fuck?"
"Hi. Which one is you in your profile pic? If you are the girl on the right then don't responding because I think you are minging. If you are the girl on the left, however..."
Unsurprisingly I did not get any responses and the novelty soon wore off. As I suspected, I lost interest in plentyoffish until yesterday. When checking my emails I had one which said that I had received a message from a user at plentyoffish. I logged on to my account and found a message from fey1989 which just said "heyx". I immediately checked her profile and saw from her photographs that a) she was pretty hot and b) she had a baby girl. My first thoughts were about what it would be like to have sex with a girl who had a kid. This is something that I have not done before and I have always wondered how tight her vagina would be. After all, Nelly Furtado, named her 2006 album "Loose" in reference to the aforementioned bodily change.
Putting aside these thoughts, I sent back a response, introducing myself and later in the day found out that she was a hairdresser from Colchester, Essex. In the meantime I received another message from jadeglasto entitled "Hola" which read: "Hey how are u, have u had a nice weekend? Have u had much excitement for valentines this year? x". Again I sent a similar response to the one I sent to fey1989 and discovered that she was also 21 years old and a deputy manager at a property firm in Chichester. Jadeglasto only had one picture on her profile and from it I could make out that she was blonde and attractive, with a tight little package. Whilst I find the attention flattering I have already become bored of the small talk. I have sent messages to both girls with my phone number. If they are interested then they will text or call me. I need to make it clear that to them that I am not in this for friendship.
Sunday, 14 February 2010
"Francesca" (9in x 5.7in, acryllic on cardboard)
Today I painted this picture on cardboard. It is a study based on Frankie Sandford from a British girl group, The Saturdays. It only took me a couple of hours and I am not one hundred percent happy with it. I believe that the nose is slightly too long, which makes her look older than she is. Had I sketched this in pencil first then I would have rectified this small error. However, I find it more challenging not to sketch it in pencil these days. Apart from the flaw with the nose, I believe that I have captured the beauty of her face (albeit I lost some of her cuteness). I wanted to paint Frankie because of her short hairstyle. Although she has never been my favourite member of The Saturdays, painting her made me realise that she has a very classically beautiful face. She has symmetrical and angular features and is potentially a new muse for me.My main influence at the moment is Roy Lichtenstein. I think that his comic book style art, whilst not expressive, is visually bold. In the past I have tried to draw more from impressionist artists like Monet, having being accused during the past of being nothing more than a draughtsman. In a sense I think that I have regressed over the last couple of months. However, I think changing styles is essential in to my technical development. This is the first time that I have painted anything since December and decided to do something today on a whim because I was bored. I think that this piece is at least good enough to pin up on my wardrobe.
Saturday, 13 February 2010
Covent Garden
At 4pm I headed out for a shopping trip into Central London. For my excursion I wore a white print t-shirt (Levi's), grey tweed blazer (Village Green), dark blue slim jeans (Diesel) and tan Chelsea boots (Jones Bootmaker). I also took out my dark brown leather satchel from Urban Outfitters which my sister bought me for Christmas. I used this bag for the sole purpose of carrying a book ("The Secret History" by Donna Tartt) to read on the train.
I got off the tube at Leicester Square station. I prefer to do this rather than wait for the lift at Covent Garden. I headed up Long Acre towards Covent Garden and entered the Zara at the top of the road. They had blazers on sale and I managed to snag myself a single-breasted grey blazer with fine light pink pin stripes and a burgundy and light blue striped tie for just £23.90. There was a very hot girl who served me at the till. She was tall, slim, had light brown hair and chestnut eyes. From her accent it seemed as though she was of an Eastern European disposition. I would have loved to have talked to her, although the queue behind me was long.
After paying up I turned left onto Neal Street. I browsed the rails of the Urban Outfitters and American Apparel stores, not finding anything which caught my attention, before I found another sale section in Mango. Here, I purchased another blazer - this one was houndstooth and quite magnificent in my opinion. The price was reduced from £85 to £39.90. I can't wait to wear this particular item of clothing the next time I hit the scene.
I got off the tube at Leicester Square station. I prefer to do this rather than wait for the lift at Covent Garden. I headed up Long Acre towards Covent Garden and entered the Zara at the top of the road. They had blazers on sale and I managed to snag myself a single-breasted grey blazer with fine light pink pin stripes and a burgundy and light blue striped tie for just £23.90. There was a very hot girl who served me at the till. She was tall, slim, had light brown hair and chestnut eyes. From her accent it seemed as though she was of an Eastern European disposition. I would have loved to have talked to her, although the queue behind me was long.
After paying up I turned left onto Neal Street. I browsed the rails of the Urban Outfitters and American Apparel stores, not finding anything which caught my attention, before I found another sale section in Mango. Here, I purchased another blazer - this one was houndstooth and quite magnificent in my opinion. The price was reduced from £85 to £39.90. I can't wait to wear this particular item of clothing the next time I hit the scene.
Brazilian Jiu Jitsu
I became interested in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu (BJJ) through watching re-runs of the Ultimate Fighting Championship (UFC) on Bravo in 2005. What initially seemed to me to be brutal and violent, quickly became my favourite spectator sport. I had long since tired of watching football. I used to love football when I was at high school. I was the goalkeeper on our first team and used to train twice a week, with a match day on either Wednesday or Saturday. At the age of 16, my father bought me weights bench and bodybuilding became my main hobby. My interest in football waned as I dedicated myself to developing my arms and chest muscles through lifting heavy weights.
I continued in this vein until the my second year of University. Regular viewings of the UFC made me realise that the mainstream perception of two mindless thugs beating each other to death in a cage, was false. The ground fighting in particular was highly technical. My father had made me watch boxing from a young age during the golden age for British Middleweights in the early 1990s. My favourite fight is still Nigel Benn's Super Middleweight title defence against Gerald McClellan in 1995. The ground fighting, which seemed commonplace in the UFC, was unlike anything I had ever seen before. I first discovered the Gracie legacy from researching the first UFCs. Royce Gracie won the first UFC tournament submitting all of his opponents with ease. It seemed that the Gracies proved that BJJ was the superior fighting style: Royce was the smallest man in the tournament (175 lbs) and brushed aside a boxer, wrestler and karate fighter.
I did have a background in martial arts, having reached brown belt level in karate when I was a kid. Although I had not trained in combat sports for 8 years I knew that I wanted to indulge my curiosity in BJJ. If anything, I wanted an outlet for my weight training. I first started attending classes whilst at Sheffield University at the local Gracie Barra club. The club was about 4 stops away on the tram. During the first term of university my attendance was sporadic and hence I barely improved and got my ass handed to me each lesson. However, once the workload eased up (I chose a couple of easier legal modules in the second semester) I started attending three times per week. Training at Sheffield was fun and by the time I graduated I had three stripes on my white belt.
When I returned to Essex and started looking for a job I joined a new Gracie Barra club. The head instructor there was Marc Walder, who at the time was only one of three British black belts. To put this into context my instructor in Sheffield, Jon Goldson, was a purple belt. Under Marc's tutelage I improved rapidly. He awarded me my blue belt in September 2007 (about two months after I joined) and my game came on leaps and bounds. Marc encouraged technique over strength and I really benefitted from relaxed rolling and leaving my ego at the door. There were a number of purple and brown belts in the class who could also offer advice. I entered my first competition at the Seni Martial Arts Expo in London in April 2008, losing my first fight via advantage. I had cut 20 lbs in seven weeks to make the under 76kg limit which I believe sapped my energy levels during the fight. I had to go vegetarian in the last two weeks to make the weight.
Since then I make sure that I never exceed 170lbs so as to not endure another difficult weight cut. I won Marc's interclub tournament in October 2008 in the blue belt division and then reached the semi-finals of the absolute weight class later in the day. It was with great regret that a promotion in my job forced me to relocate to West London, which meant that I could no longer train at Marc's. I was a 2-stripe blue belt when I left the class and I felt that with my rate of improvement it would only have been a matter of time before I advanced to purple.
I started training at the Carlson Gracie club at the start of 2009. It was only a five minute drive from my house which seemed ideal. The standard at the club was very high, although I felt that I could more than hold my own with most of the other blue belts. I had been warned that they trained balls to the wall at the club and this proved true when I tore the meniscus in my right knee in my second week of training there. This tear caused my knee to lock and was excruciatingly painful. I was out for 6 months during which time I saw a knee specialist and had an MRI. I was told that there was nothing they could do due to the fact that the tear was so deep in the meniscus. The tear could be healed, although to do so would have required the removal of about 85% of my meniscus. Whilst this procedure would take care of the problem in the short term, the expert predicted that I would develop arthritis in that knee within 10 years. Thus he would not perform the operation on ethical grounds.
I returned to training in July but heavily strapped my knee with weight-lifting straps. Although my knee did lock on occasion there was no pain when it happened and it only took me about 10 seconds to unhinge it and carry on fighting. However, within two months of training I obtained another injury in my right rotator cuff. This injury actually affected my sleep patterns as the throbbing pain woke me up two or three times a night. The last time that I trained was in August.
This morning I decided to resume my BJJ training. I had been flirting with the idea of training at Andy Roberts' class in Farnborough for a while and feeling surprisingly fresh when I awoke I made the trip there in my car. Andy Roberts is a two-stripe brown belt under Mauricio Gomes who is the father of Roger Gracie, the world's best grappler. The advanced class was very relaxed being mainly populated by fellow blue belts and a smattering of high ranking white belts. In spite of the fact that my grappling fitness is not where it needs to be (my lungs were screaming during the warm up) I enjoyed myself and felt that I held my own against most of the guys. Compared to Carlson's the students are more relaxed when the roll and this is better for a person with existing injuries like myself. My right knee was stiff and locked a number of times. However, I am positive that with regular training it will loosen up. I sat out the last 20 minutes of the 90 minute lesson due to my exhaustion but I feel good now. In my opinion there is nothing better for fitness than combat sports. Looking at myself now my muscles are sore but look more vascular than they had this morning.
My reflection in the mirror also reveals a few bruises: a couple of purplish splotches on my chest and a small, but noticeable red gi burn on the left hand side of my face near my forehead. I have to admit that I do like having bruises and the lack of training over the last five months has made me miss them somewhat. This might sounds strange but I think that bruises and cuts are the mark of a fighter. I wear them with pride, although I do concede that they are not especially attractive to women.
I intend to train at least twice a week at Andy Roberts' this year. Whilst I am currently in good shape, the BJJ training will improve my cardiovascular fitness and harden up my body. As long as I pay relatively strict attention to my diet and continue to lift weights I expect to be sporting razor sharp obliques within the next few months.
I continued in this vein until the my second year of University. Regular viewings of the UFC made me realise that the mainstream perception of two mindless thugs beating each other to death in a cage, was false. The ground fighting in particular was highly technical. My father had made me watch boxing from a young age during the golden age for British Middleweights in the early 1990s. My favourite fight is still Nigel Benn's Super Middleweight title defence against Gerald McClellan in 1995. The ground fighting, which seemed commonplace in the UFC, was unlike anything I had ever seen before. I first discovered the Gracie legacy from researching the first UFCs. Royce Gracie won the first UFC tournament submitting all of his opponents with ease. It seemed that the Gracies proved that BJJ was the superior fighting style: Royce was the smallest man in the tournament (175 lbs) and brushed aside a boxer, wrestler and karate fighter.
I did have a background in martial arts, having reached brown belt level in karate when I was a kid. Although I had not trained in combat sports for 8 years I knew that I wanted to indulge my curiosity in BJJ. If anything, I wanted an outlet for my weight training. I first started attending classes whilst at Sheffield University at the local Gracie Barra club. The club was about 4 stops away on the tram. During the first term of university my attendance was sporadic and hence I barely improved and got my ass handed to me each lesson. However, once the workload eased up (I chose a couple of easier legal modules in the second semester) I started attending three times per week. Training at Sheffield was fun and by the time I graduated I had three stripes on my white belt.
When I returned to Essex and started looking for a job I joined a new Gracie Barra club. The head instructor there was Marc Walder, who at the time was only one of three British black belts. To put this into context my instructor in Sheffield, Jon Goldson, was a purple belt. Under Marc's tutelage I improved rapidly. He awarded me my blue belt in September 2007 (about two months after I joined) and my game came on leaps and bounds. Marc encouraged technique over strength and I really benefitted from relaxed rolling and leaving my ego at the door. There were a number of purple and brown belts in the class who could also offer advice. I entered my first competition at the Seni Martial Arts Expo in London in April 2008, losing my first fight via advantage. I had cut 20 lbs in seven weeks to make the under 76kg limit which I believe sapped my energy levels during the fight. I had to go vegetarian in the last two weeks to make the weight.
Since then I make sure that I never exceed 170lbs so as to not endure another difficult weight cut. I won Marc's interclub tournament in October 2008 in the blue belt division and then reached the semi-finals of the absolute weight class later in the day. It was with great regret that a promotion in my job forced me to relocate to West London, which meant that I could no longer train at Marc's. I was a 2-stripe blue belt when I left the class and I felt that with my rate of improvement it would only have been a matter of time before I advanced to purple.
I started training at the Carlson Gracie club at the start of 2009. It was only a five minute drive from my house which seemed ideal. The standard at the club was very high, although I felt that I could more than hold my own with most of the other blue belts. I had been warned that they trained balls to the wall at the club and this proved true when I tore the meniscus in my right knee in my second week of training there. This tear caused my knee to lock and was excruciatingly painful. I was out for 6 months during which time I saw a knee specialist and had an MRI. I was told that there was nothing they could do due to the fact that the tear was so deep in the meniscus. The tear could be healed, although to do so would have required the removal of about 85% of my meniscus. Whilst this procedure would take care of the problem in the short term, the expert predicted that I would develop arthritis in that knee within 10 years. Thus he would not perform the operation on ethical grounds.
I returned to training in July but heavily strapped my knee with weight-lifting straps. Although my knee did lock on occasion there was no pain when it happened and it only took me about 10 seconds to unhinge it and carry on fighting. However, within two months of training I obtained another injury in my right rotator cuff. This injury actually affected my sleep patterns as the throbbing pain woke me up two or three times a night. The last time that I trained was in August.
This morning I decided to resume my BJJ training. I had been flirting with the idea of training at Andy Roberts' class in Farnborough for a while and feeling surprisingly fresh when I awoke I made the trip there in my car. Andy Roberts is a two-stripe brown belt under Mauricio Gomes who is the father of Roger Gracie, the world's best grappler. The advanced class was very relaxed being mainly populated by fellow blue belts and a smattering of high ranking white belts. In spite of the fact that my grappling fitness is not where it needs to be (my lungs were screaming during the warm up) I enjoyed myself and felt that I held my own against most of the guys. Compared to Carlson's the students are more relaxed when the roll and this is better for a person with existing injuries like myself. My right knee was stiff and locked a number of times. However, I am positive that with regular training it will loosen up. I sat out the last 20 minutes of the 90 minute lesson due to my exhaustion but I feel good now. In my opinion there is nothing better for fitness than combat sports. Looking at myself now my muscles are sore but look more vascular than they had this morning.
My reflection in the mirror also reveals a few bruises: a couple of purplish splotches on my chest and a small, but noticeable red gi burn on the left hand side of my face near my forehead. I have to admit that I do like having bruises and the lack of training over the last five months has made me miss them somewhat. This might sounds strange but I think that bruises and cuts are the mark of a fighter. I wear them with pride, although I do concede that they are not especially attractive to women.
I intend to train at least twice a week at Andy Roberts' this year. Whilst I am currently in good shape, the BJJ training will improve my cardiovascular fitness and harden up my body. As long as I pay relatively strict attention to my diet and continue to lift weights I expect to be sporting razor sharp obliques within the next few months.
Friday, 12 February 2010
Stevie Hoang: the calm before the storm
This morning I saw a video on The Box by a new artist named Stevie Hoang. The first thing that I noticed about Stevie is that he is oriental. My second observation was that he also has very short hair like myself. I conclude that he looks like an uglier and shorter version of me. The video for his song "No Coming Back" was The Box's VIP track of the week and upon further investigation this afternoon I have discovered that he is currently supporting JLS on their UK tour. A less than complimentary review of his music on The Guardian website also reveals that, like me, he is an Essex boy and he is marketing himself as the "Chinese Ne-Yo". Oh dear.
His debut release is quite catchy and it would seem that he has the potential to establish a foothold on the UK pop music scene. Depending on how popular he gets, I anticipate that people will start commenting on how I look like him. My mates will definitely pounce on this opportunity to hurl abuse my way. I have considered that there is a possibility (albeit a very slim one) that girls might start thinking that he is hot, which could perhaps open new doors for me. However, in reality I am preparing myself for the shitstorm that is on the horizon...
His debut release is quite catchy and it would seem that he has the potential to establish a foothold on the UK pop music scene. Depending on how popular he gets, I anticipate that people will start commenting on how I look like him. My mates will definitely pounce on this opportunity to hurl abuse my way. I have considered that there is a possibility (albeit a very slim one) that girls might start thinking that he is hot, which could perhaps open new doors for me. However, in reality I am preparing myself for the shitstorm that is on the horizon...
Thursday, 11 February 2010
Valentine's Eve
I am currently in the process of trying to find people to go out with this weekend. My friends in relationships are obviously spending Valentine's with their girlfriends. Normally I could rely on Casanova or Canadian Steak to team up with me on a cunt hunt somewhere in the city. However, Cas is journeying to Portsmouth again to visit his piece up there, whilst Steak is on lockdown due to revising for College of Law midterms. Therefore I am without a partner in crime and it looks like this weekend will be an uneventful one.
Having never had a girlfriend, Valentine's Day is something which passes under the radar for me. There have been times in the past where I have felt that the occasion has exposed the shortcomings in my love life. These days I see Valentines Day as a golden opportunity: it is the only night of the year where every woman who is out at a club or bar is single and more importantly desperate and ravenous for cock.
In thinking about what I could potentially miss out on by not hitting the town on Saturday night I have devised the concept of Valentine's Eve. As you can imagine, this steals a lot of ideas directly from New Years Eve. Valentine's Eve would be held on February 13th. It is important to note that since Valentine's Day is not a public holiday, these parties can only realistically take place on weekends, to allow hangover recovery, and consequently twice every seven years (maybe thrice considering that Thursday nights are now the new Friday nights). This year Valentine's Day falls on a Sunday, so this will be the last time for six years that such a party would be feasible.
Nightclub promoters take note: the night would be almost exactly the same as every other club night, aside from a few of important exceptions. Firstly, in the same vein as New Years, the DJ would give clubbers a countdown to the onset of Valentine's Day. Fifteen minute reminders from eleven pm onwards would alert partygoers that the time they have to find someone to kiss at midnight is diminishing. Once the clock strikes midnight clubbers would rejoice "Happy Valentines!" and embrace each other (some more passionately than others). At this point everybody would be showered with confetti and shiny heart-shaped balloons. Instead of the traditional New Years Eve song "Auld Lang Syne" being sung at this point I would instruct the DJ to play "Lovefool" (1996) by the Cardigans to complete the setting. For the rest of the night clubbers would be left to bask in the romantic ambiance and I am certain that almost everyone would leave with a "result".
I ran this idea past my good friend, Reeves, in a phone conversation earlier in the evening. He laughed and dismissed it as one of the most pathetic ideas he had ever heard of. He is probably right, but if it ever does catch on then remember that you heard it here first.
Having never had a girlfriend, Valentine's Day is something which passes under the radar for me. There have been times in the past where I have felt that the occasion has exposed the shortcomings in my love life. These days I see Valentines Day as a golden opportunity: it is the only night of the year where every woman who is out at a club or bar is single and more importantly desperate and ravenous for cock.
In thinking about what I could potentially miss out on by not hitting the town on Saturday night I have devised the concept of Valentine's Eve. As you can imagine, this steals a lot of ideas directly from New Years Eve. Valentine's Eve would be held on February 13th. It is important to note that since Valentine's Day is not a public holiday, these parties can only realistically take place on weekends, to allow hangover recovery, and consequently twice every seven years (maybe thrice considering that Thursday nights are now the new Friday nights). This year Valentine's Day falls on a Sunday, so this will be the last time for six years that such a party would be feasible.
Nightclub promoters take note: the night would be almost exactly the same as every other club night, aside from a few of important exceptions. Firstly, in the same vein as New Years, the DJ would give clubbers a countdown to the onset of Valentine's Day. Fifteen minute reminders from eleven pm onwards would alert partygoers that the time they have to find someone to kiss at midnight is diminishing. Once the clock strikes midnight clubbers would rejoice "Happy Valentines!" and embrace each other (some more passionately than others). At this point everybody would be showered with confetti and shiny heart-shaped balloons. Instead of the traditional New Years Eve song "Auld Lang Syne" being sung at this point I would instruct the DJ to play "Lovefool" (1996) by the Cardigans to complete the setting. For the rest of the night clubbers would be left to bask in the romantic ambiance and I am certain that almost everyone would leave with a "result".
I ran this idea past my good friend, Reeves, in a phone conversation earlier in the evening. He laughed and dismissed it as one of the most pathetic ideas he had ever heard of. He is probably right, but if it ever does catch on then remember that you heard it here first.
Wednesday, 10 February 2010
Lily Allen
I am a simple guy. I don't really pay too much attention to the news and I cannot say that I have any particularly strong political views. When I get home from work in the evening I load up my laptop and sit in front of the TV. More often than not I find myself flicking between music channels, most commonly MTV Hits, VIVA, The Box, 4Music and Kiss. On these channels I can find the music videos to all of the chart songs that I hear on the radio on my drive to and from work. Music video became popular in the 1980s with the inception of MTV and I think that it is an important part of today's culture. The significance of music video for me manifests itself in the way that I can start to like a song I initially disliked upon seeing its video. The most recent example of this would be Shakira's song "She Wolf" (2009). Hearing it for the first time I dismissed it as merely another quirky Shakira song. However, the mesmerizing video showing her prancing around in a gold and flesh-coloured jump suit instantly won me over.
Lily Allen has held a strong presence on my favourite music channels for a number of years now. She first burst onto the pop landscape with her critically-acclaimed debut album "Alright, Still" in 2006. I did not pay too much attention to her until I heard the infectious "LDN" which was the second release off the album. I can't say that I was a fan of the style and look she sported in the video back then - the whole billowing dress and Reebok Classics look just screamed "try hard" to me. In spite of this I have always said that there was something about her, which would make me jump her bones (if I ever had the opportunity) in a heartbeat. I like to think that I saw the potential in her at a very early stage. I always thought that she had a cute face and an impish, mischievious smile. Lily also struck me as being a cool chick: easygoing and up for a laugh. She became my guilty pleasure as virtually none of my other mates thought that she was in any way sexy. In the last four years it is clear to see that she has blossomed as a woman. She has lost any of the puppy fat that she was once carrying and is now a bona fide fashion icon.
Lily has always been outspoken about her sex life and this has piqued my interest. She admitted in an interview in 2008 that she enjoyed anal sex with her then boyfriend, Ed Simons from the Chemical Brothers. I had always thought that she was an absolute filthbox and reading this interview merely confirmed this suspicion. Apart from singing, she looks as though she was put on this planet to handle cocks.
I would imagine Lily Allen to be very forthcoming in the bedroom. She strikes me as the sort of girl who would not think twice about unzipping your fly and wanking you off in a taxi, whilst letting you finger her pussy through her knickers in full view of the cab driver, on the way back to hers or yours, after a night out. Once behind closed doors I envisage her being eager to take your clothes off as fast as possible to engage in sexual contact. From the way she confidently carries herself she seems like a girl who is highly skilled in fellatio. I am sure that she would willingly deep throat and swallow your load after bringing you to climax. She has a very liberal attitude to her body and has been snapped topless by the paparazzi on a number of occasions. Although she is undoubtedly slim with small shapely breasts, I still think that she has curves in the right places to grab onto during intercourse. Her don't-give-a-fuck persona for some reason makes me assume that she is susceptible to unkempt pubic growth every once in a while, which to me is not such a bad thing.
I think that Lily knows exactly what she wants in bed. She almost says as much in her single "Not Fair" from her 2009 album "It's Not Me, It's You". One can infer from this song that if you suffer from premature ejaculation or are bad at cunnilingus then you might as well not bother with Lily. Although she sings about a selfish lover on this single, it also makes me consider that she is maybe difficult to make come? She definitely has a wild look in her eye and I do not think that she would be averse to biting and scratching in bed. I believe her scent would be that of cigarette smoke infused with the sweet smell of Chanel Mademoiselle, which would personally be a turn on for me. I imagine that she would enjoy intercourse in a variety of positions, although her favourite would be doggy style with her head buried in a pillow to muffle her screams. Obviously the awkward subject of anal sex would not be an issue with Lily; from the sounds of it she would almost find it rude if you did not stick it in her pooper. My only concern with Lily's love of anal sex is that I think that you would probably arrive at a point at which she would seek to stick her finger up your arse. Although I am not a fan of this, I am sure that she could be very persuasive.
It is safe to say that I have let my imagination run riot. In all honesty these are split-second thoughts I currently have when I look at women. Of course my thoughts are merely baseless assumptions and I am most likely wrong a lot of the time. I would be very surprised though if I am wrong about Lily.
Lily Allen has held a strong presence on my favourite music channels for a number of years now. She first burst onto the pop landscape with her critically-acclaimed debut album "Alright, Still" in 2006. I did not pay too much attention to her until I heard the infectious "LDN" which was the second release off the album. I can't say that I was a fan of the style and look she sported in the video back then - the whole billowing dress and Reebok Classics look just screamed "try hard" to me. In spite of this I have always said that there was something about her, which would make me jump her bones (if I ever had the opportunity) in a heartbeat. I like to think that I saw the potential in her at a very early stage. I always thought that she had a cute face and an impish, mischievious smile. Lily also struck me as being a cool chick: easygoing and up for a laugh. She became my guilty pleasure as virtually none of my other mates thought that she was in any way sexy. In the last four years it is clear to see that she has blossomed as a woman. She has lost any of the puppy fat that she was once carrying and is now a bona fide fashion icon.
Lily has always been outspoken about her sex life and this has piqued my interest. She admitted in an interview in 2008 that she enjoyed anal sex with her then boyfriend, Ed Simons from the Chemical Brothers. I had always thought that she was an absolute filthbox and reading this interview merely confirmed this suspicion. Apart from singing, she looks as though she was put on this planet to handle cocks.
I would imagine Lily Allen to be very forthcoming in the bedroom. She strikes me as the sort of girl who would not think twice about unzipping your fly and wanking you off in a taxi, whilst letting you finger her pussy through her knickers in full view of the cab driver, on the way back to hers or yours, after a night out. Once behind closed doors I envisage her being eager to take your clothes off as fast as possible to engage in sexual contact. From the way she confidently carries herself she seems like a girl who is highly skilled in fellatio. I am sure that she would willingly deep throat and swallow your load after bringing you to climax. She has a very liberal attitude to her body and has been snapped topless by the paparazzi on a number of occasions. Although she is undoubtedly slim with small shapely breasts, I still think that she has curves in the right places to grab onto during intercourse. Her don't-give-a-fuck persona for some reason makes me assume that she is susceptible to unkempt pubic growth every once in a while, which to me is not such a bad thing.
I think that Lily knows exactly what she wants in bed. She almost says as much in her single "Not Fair" from her 2009 album "It's Not Me, It's You". One can infer from this song that if you suffer from premature ejaculation or are bad at cunnilingus then you might as well not bother with Lily. Although she sings about a selfish lover on this single, it also makes me consider that she is maybe difficult to make come? She definitely has a wild look in her eye and I do not think that she would be averse to biting and scratching in bed. I believe her scent would be that of cigarette smoke infused with the sweet smell of Chanel Mademoiselle, which would personally be a turn on for me. I imagine that she would enjoy intercourse in a variety of positions, although her favourite would be doggy style with her head buried in a pillow to muffle her screams. Obviously the awkward subject of anal sex would not be an issue with Lily; from the sounds of it she would almost find it rude if you did not stick it in her pooper. My only concern with Lily's love of anal sex is that I think that you would probably arrive at a point at which she would seek to stick her finger up your arse. Although I am not a fan of this, I am sure that she could be very persuasive.
It is safe to say that I have let my imagination run riot. In all honesty these are split-second thoughts I currently have when I look at women. Of course my thoughts are merely baseless assumptions and I am most likely wrong a lot of the time. I would be very surprised though if I am wrong about Lily.
Tuesday, 9 February 2010
I am an absolute cunt
Today my meeting in Manchester ran over by an hour and half and this meant that I did not depart for home until 5.20pm. I had text Glin earlier in the day to tell her that I could not meet up with her, although as I headed towards Warrington and the A57 via Liverpool Road I made a probing phone call to see what she was doing. I figured that the traffic would be bad and I would get home late anyway, so what difference would an hour make if she was up for it?
Glin initially answered the phone to tell me that she was filling up her car at the petrol station and that she would call me back after she had finished. This was the first time that I had spoken to Glin since our one night stand (we had previously been texting and facebook messaging each other) and her voice sounded a bit deeper and her accent more Northern than I remembered. With my car stationary in traffic she returned the call 5 minutes later.
We exchanged pleasantries before I asked her where she resided in Manchester. She told me that she lived in Swinton which was near Salford. "Is it anywhere near Liverpool Road?" I asked. "Yeah, it is only fifteen minutes from my house. Why do you ask?" Although I was sure that she could read my mind I explained to her that I was in the area and I had an hour to spare. She seemed keen to meet up and gave me her post code. Whilst still on the phone (I was on my handsfree before I am accused of breaking the law), I entered her postcode into my Garmin Sat Nav and selected the new destination. Arrival time: 5.46pm. Even though I had driven in the wrong direction her house was only 21 minutes away. I did some quick calculations in my head: I could get to hers for 6pm, hook up, and be out of there by 7pm. Accounting for a break at a service station to refuel and get a bite to eat I would get back to London at midnight. However, it would be more than worth it to get laid. I started to get excited as I envisioned her pretty green eyes and lithe body.
"So are you actually coming then?"
"Yeah I think so. I should be there in 20 minutes" I replied. "Great! I will see you then" I could tell that she was smiling from the way that she said this. Just one last question from me: "So, just to check, is your housemate going to be in?" Although this would not put me off going round, I considered that we would not be able to be as loud as we wanted.
"No, I live with my parents."
What? I wasn't sure that I had heard this correctly. "You live with your parents?" I echoed. "Yes," she confirmed. "when you came over last time I was staying at my mate's house."
SHIT. This changed everything. I had thought that she was on the same page as me, but obviously I had made a major miscalculation. Had I been staying in a hotel then I would have not objected to meeting her for a drink prior to sexual intercourse. However, there was no way I could justify meeting up with her for an hour and not getting any sexual gratification: a whole lot of effort for minimal return on investment. "Errrm..." I stuttered "...OK, I don't think that I can come round now..." I searched my brain for an answer as to why I could not come round. "No it's fine, I can come and meet you! I don't have a curfew you know!" Silence. Normally I am good at thinking on my feet. However, this was one of the rare occasions in life where my brain completely failed me. I had nowhere to run or hide so I just came out with the truth.
"Glin, I am going to level with you. I thought that I was just going to come round to have sex for an hour. Fuck, I feel awful for saying this but I thought that this was a mutual agreement! I would love to take you out for a drink and catch up but I am operating on time constraints." My eyes widened and the muscles in my jaw tightened as I anticipated an angry response. To my relief, Glin laughed it off. She also wanted to fuck and agreed that it would be a bit of waste of time to just chat for an hour. We could just as easily do this over the phone after all. We decided to leave it until the next time I would be Manchester on business and "catch up" properly.
Hence, apart from not getting laid all is well that ends well. Why can't all girls be as understanding as Glin?
Glin initially answered the phone to tell me that she was filling up her car at the petrol station and that she would call me back after she had finished. This was the first time that I had spoken to Glin since our one night stand (we had previously been texting and facebook messaging each other) and her voice sounded a bit deeper and her accent more Northern than I remembered. With my car stationary in traffic she returned the call 5 minutes later.
We exchanged pleasantries before I asked her where she resided in Manchester. She told me that she lived in Swinton which was near Salford. "Is it anywhere near Liverpool Road?" I asked. "Yeah, it is only fifteen minutes from my house. Why do you ask?" Although I was sure that she could read my mind I explained to her that I was in the area and I had an hour to spare. She seemed keen to meet up and gave me her post code. Whilst still on the phone (I was on my handsfree before I am accused of breaking the law), I entered her postcode into my Garmin Sat Nav and selected the new destination. Arrival time: 5.46pm. Even though I had driven in the wrong direction her house was only 21 minutes away. I did some quick calculations in my head: I could get to hers for 6pm, hook up, and be out of there by 7pm. Accounting for a break at a service station to refuel and get a bite to eat I would get back to London at midnight. However, it would be more than worth it to get laid. I started to get excited as I envisioned her pretty green eyes and lithe body.
"So are you actually coming then?"
"Yeah I think so. I should be there in 20 minutes" I replied. "Great! I will see you then" I could tell that she was smiling from the way that she said this. Just one last question from me: "So, just to check, is your housemate going to be in?" Although this would not put me off going round, I considered that we would not be able to be as loud as we wanted.
"No, I live with my parents."
What? I wasn't sure that I had heard this correctly. "You live with your parents?" I echoed. "Yes," she confirmed. "when you came over last time I was staying at my mate's house."
SHIT. This changed everything. I had thought that she was on the same page as me, but obviously I had made a major miscalculation. Had I been staying in a hotel then I would have not objected to meeting her for a drink prior to sexual intercourse. However, there was no way I could justify meeting up with her for an hour and not getting any sexual gratification: a whole lot of effort for minimal return on investment. "Errrm..." I stuttered "...OK, I don't think that I can come round now..." I searched my brain for an answer as to why I could not come round. "No it's fine, I can come and meet you! I don't have a curfew you know!" Silence. Normally I am good at thinking on my feet. However, this was one of the rare occasions in life where my brain completely failed me. I had nowhere to run or hide so I just came out with the truth.
"Glin, I am going to level with you. I thought that I was just going to come round to have sex for an hour. Fuck, I feel awful for saying this but I thought that this was a mutual agreement! I would love to take you out for a drink and catch up but I am operating on time constraints." My eyes widened and the muscles in my jaw tightened as I anticipated an angry response. To my relief, Glin laughed it off. She also wanted to fuck and agreed that it would be a bit of waste of time to just chat for an hour. We could just as easily do this over the phone after all. We decided to leave it until the next time I would be Manchester on business and "catch up" properly.
Hence, apart from not getting laid all is well that ends well. Why can't all girls be as understanding as Glin?
Monday, 8 February 2010
Unfortunate circumstances
Tomorrow I have a business meeting in Manchester. I have been busting my balls recently to cover my line manager who unfortunately is on sick leave at the moment. I was told a couple of weeks ago that the meeting would be an overnight stay and that our company Amex cards could be used to pay for a decent meal. Whilst I appreciate the kind gesture I would rather not spend an evening with two middle-aged men who are my line managers. Therefore I lined up a little something for the evening, provided I could feign illness and sneak away from my line managers.
Back in December 2009 at a reunion with some of my uni mates in Manchester, I met a girl, Glin, in Tiger Tiger and ended up going back to her place and fucking her brains out. I have to say that it was probably the best sex of my life and I decided that I would keep in touch with her via text and facebook just in case I was ever in her neck of the woods. Knowing that I would be in Manchester, I text her yesterday evening to see if she would be interested in meeting up. She replied saying she was keen to hook up, which was exactly what I wanted to hear.
I called my boss today to arrange a meeting point tomorrow only to be informed that we would not be staying overnight now. Apparently they had decided to defer this event until the end of February. Frustratingly somebody fucking neglected to tell me! So not only am I not going to laid, but I will also have to drive nine hours to Manchester and back to attend a two hour meeting. Brilliant. Furthermore I will have to break the bad news to Glin at some point.
To cap off a truly shit day, I got stuck in two hours of traffic on the way home from work following an accident on the M4 and I have yet to receive a response from the text I sent to Laura from Fez on Saturday night. I don't quite feel like Mikey from Swingers - I at least applied the two day text rule. In all honesty I can't say that I am surprised that she has not text back. She was so battered that I doubt that she even remembers copping off with me. I am looking forward to the weekend already.
Back in December 2009 at a reunion with some of my uni mates in Manchester, I met a girl, Glin, in Tiger Tiger and ended up going back to her place and fucking her brains out. I have to say that it was probably the best sex of my life and I decided that I would keep in touch with her via text and facebook just in case I was ever in her neck of the woods. Knowing that I would be in Manchester, I text her yesterday evening to see if she would be interested in meeting up. She replied saying she was keen to hook up, which was exactly what I wanted to hear.
I called my boss today to arrange a meeting point tomorrow only to be informed that we would not be staying overnight now. Apparently they had decided to defer this event until the end of February. Frustratingly somebody fucking neglected to tell me! So not only am I not going to laid, but I will also have to drive nine hours to Manchester and back to attend a two hour meeting. Brilliant. Furthermore I will have to break the bad news to Glin at some point.
To cap off a truly shit day, I got stuck in two hours of traffic on the way home from work following an accident on the M4 and I have yet to receive a response from the text I sent to Laura from Fez on Saturday night. I don't quite feel like Mikey from Swingers - I at least applied the two day text rule. In all honesty I can't say that I am surprised that she has not text back. She was so battered that I doubt that she even remembers copping off with me. I am looking forward to the weekend already.
Sunday, 7 February 2010
Casanova's 25th - Fez Club
Casanova is one of ex-housemates from Sheffield University. He is one of my closest friends and is a regular visitor to my flat, coming up to party at least once a month. He stands 6ft 3.5in, is good-looking and always impeccably dressed. At university he always stuck out like a sore thumb, wearing shirts, ties and blazers to the student union when the normal male student style consisted of t-shirts, jeans and trainers. However, as we have all made the transition from students to young professionals, it is clear to see that he had the right idea all along. With a dry wit, an overuse of the word "cunt" and a tendency to speak his mind, Casanova never fails to entertain. Currently out of my group of friends he gets the most attention from girls on a night out.
Last night we celebrated his birthday at the Fez Club in Putney. Lately Casanova has been too busy "hanging out the back of" (his words not mine) his latest love interest at Portsmouth University and therefore did not find the time to organise his own birthday party. Hence I set up a facebook group to send out details and invites to some of Cas' closest friends. Due to the short notice the crew I assembled was small yet tight-knit. The lineup for the trip to the Fez Club included Cas, my housemate and best friend Aces, Dealer, Newb and myself (all Sheffield University alumni). Dealer and Newb are also good friends of mine and lived with Cas in his final year at university.
I wore almost exactly the same outfit as the night before: white shirt, tweed waistcoat (asos), smart jeans (All Saints), chocolate brown belt (Kenneth Cole) and brogue boots (Jones Bootmaker). The main diffference from my outfit at Pri's birthday was that I wore a gold bow tie instead of the tweed tie. I do not normally wear the same outfit two nights in a row. However, I received excellent feedback from the girls at Pri's birthday on Friday night and decided to adopt the "if ain't broke then don't fix it" policy.
Due to Cas misplacing his wallet just before we were due to leave the flat (it actually turned out that Newb picked it up by accident) we arrived at Fez quite late and had to spend 20 minutes in the queue. Once inside I noticed immediately that it was rammed. It took an age to get the first round of drinks and it was very difficult to find a spot to "scout the trout" without getting bumped into. It took a while for me to get into the spirit of things. I started to feel energised after going out for my first cigarette of the night and thereafter I felt the urge to dance.
My previous trip to the Fez Club two weeks ago was highly frustrating due to the fact that three girls on approached me on separate occasions to tell me that I was a good dancer and asking for a dance. On each occasion when I moved in for a kiss I was told that they couldn't because they had boyfriends. This led to me posting the following status on facebook:
"Ladies: I know that I'm a good dancer. Don't come up to me in a club to tell me what I already know unless you are willing to put out. I am not your gay best friend and you are wasting my motherfucking time."
I got 13 "likes" and 8 responses to this status. Although I did this mainly for comedic purposes, the frustration I felt still remains. This trend looked set to continue last night when I was approached by an attractive brunette named Sarah. She opened conversation with flattery by firstly telling me that she thought I was by far the best dressed male in the room. I returned the compliment with regards to her flowery dress and then had a little dance with her. She then asked me if I was gay as well as the rest of the group I was with. I corrected her immediately and then told her that I only talk to attractive girls and that was the only reason I was talking to her. She laughed and then, obviously realising my true intentions returned to her friend. I saw her glancing over at me over the next 10 minutes before she left the stage to buy a drink.
During one of the breaks in dancing I was conversing with Aces over whether or not a girl in close proximity was fit. In the lighting it was difficult to determine a rating out of 10. We scored her at either a 6 or a 6.5 out of 10. Upon closer inspection I recognised that she was a girl who I had seen earlier in the smoking terrace. She had dragged me through the queue to get me into the smoking section, probably feeling slightly bad that she had pushed in front of Cas and myself. I decided to talk to her as it was getting late in the night and I wanted to at least pull a girl. I introduced myself and asked her if she wanted to go outside for a cigarette. She came outside with me and it wasn't before long that I could see that she was absolutely smashed. I discovered that her name was Laura and she taught drama to young children in Putney. She was the kind of pissed that made me feel positively sober (even though I was not) as evidenced from the fact that it took her three attempts to roll a cigarette.
Whenever I try to pull a girl I like to there to be a level playing field and in this case there clearly wasn't. However, at this point I was too horny in all honesty to care. She had a reasonably attractive and expressive face - mouse blonde hair and pretty green eyes. She was probably the same height as me wearing heels and her major selling point was her tight body. She started asking me why I had not previously come over to dance with her earlier. Without offering an explanation I dragged her back into the club to dance.
We went back to the spot where I had introduced myself earlier to find that all of our friends had disappeared and the crowd in the club had noticeably thinned out as people started to make their way home. I danced with her for 10 minutes trying to decide whether I wanted to pull her. After bumping and grinding for some time she announced that she needed to find her friend and told me that she would be back as she was enjoying herself with me. It was at this point that I checked my phone to discover that my friends had left the venue and were waiting for me outside. I told Laura that I needed to go and took her phone number before going in for a kiss. I thought that she was a very good kisser and I believe that I almost tempted her to sack off her friend and come back with me. In the end we parted ways with me telling her that I would drop her a text in the near future.
Due to not having any signal on my personal phone, I got outside to see 3 messages buzz through at once. The third message told me that my crew had returned back to the flat in Chiswick. Resigned to the fact that I would have to get a taxi home on my own, I went to Flames takeaway and picked up some cheese and chips to satiate my hunger. All in all that kiss cost me £14. That is the money that I would have saved if I had gotten a taxi home with my mates. I will decide tomorrow whether or not I will text Laura. From the way she kissed this makes me inclined to think that she would be a decent fuck if I ever got the chance.
Last night we celebrated his birthday at the Fez Club in Putney. Lately Casanova has been too busy "hanging out the back of" (his words not mine) his latest love interest at Portsmouth University and therefore did not find the time to organise his own birthday party. Hence I set up a facebook group to send out details and invites to some of Cas' closest friends. Due to the short notice the crew I assembled was small yet tight-knit. The lineup for the trip to the Fez Club included Cas, my housemate and best friend Aces, Dealer, Newb and myself (all Sheffield University alumni). Dealer and Newb are also good friends of mine and lived with Cas in his final year at university.
I wore almost exactly the same outfit as the night before: white shirt, tweed waistcoat (asos), smart jeans (All Saints), chocolate brown belt (Kenneth Cole) and brogue boots (Jones Bootmaker). The main diffference from my outfit at Pri's birthday was that I wore a gold bow tie instead of the tweed tie. I do not normally wear the same outfit two nights in a row. However, I received excellent feedback from the girls at Pri's birthday on Friday night and decided to adopt the "if ain't broke then don't fix it" policy.
Due to Cas misplacing his wallet just before we were due to leave the flat (it actually turned out that Newb picked it up by accident) we arrived at Fez quite late and had to spend 20 minutes in the queue. Once inside I noticed immediately that it was rammed. It took an age to get the first round of drinks and it was very difficult to find a spot to "scout the trout" without getting bumped into. It took a while for me to get into the spirit of things. I started to feel energised after going out for my first cigarette of the night and thereafter I felt the urge to dance.
My previous trip to the Fez Club two weeks ago was highly frustrating due to the fact that three girls on approached me on separate occasions to tell me that I was a good dancer and asking for a dance. On each occasion when I moved in for a kiss I was told that they couldn't because they had boyfriends. This led to me posting the following status on facebook:
"Ladies: I know that I'm a good dancer. Don't come up to me in a club to tell me what I already know unless you are willing to put out. I am not your gay best friend and you are wasting my motherfucking time."
I got 13 "likes" and 8 responses to this status. Although I did this mainly for comedic purposes, the frustration I felt still remains. This trend looked set to continue last night when I was approached by an attractive brunette named Sarah. She opened conversation with flattery by firstly telling me that she thought I was by far the best dressed male in the room. I returned the compliment with regards to her flowery dress and then had a little dance with her. She then asked me if I was gay as well as the rest of the group I was with. I corrected her immediately and then told her that I only talk to attractive girls and that was the only reason I was talking to her. She laughed and then, obviously realising my true intentions returned to her friend. I saw her glancing over at me over the next 10 minutes before she left the stage to buy a drink.
During one of the breaks in dancing I was conversing with Aces over whether or not a girl in close proximity was fit. In the lighting it was difficult to determine a rating out of 10. We scored her at either a 6 or a 6.5 out of 10. Upon closer inspection I recognised that she was a girl who I had seen earlier in the smoking terrace. She had dragged me through the queue to get me into the smoking section, probably feeling slightly bad that she had pushed in front of Cas and myself. I decided to talk to her as it was getting late in the night and I wanted to at least pull a girl. I introduced myself and asked her if she wanted to go outside for a cigarette. She came outside with me and it wasn't before long that I could see that she was absolutely smashed. I discovered that her name was Laura and she taught drama to young children in Putney. She was the kind of pissed that made me feel positively sober (even though I was not) as evidenced from the fact that it took her three attempts to roll a cigarette.
Whenever I try to pull a girl I like to there to be a level playing field and in this case there clearly wasn't. However, at this point I was too horny in all honesty to care. She had a reasonably attractive and expressive face - mouse blonde hair and pretty green eyes. She was probably the same height as me wearing heels and her major selling point was her tight body. She started asking me why I had not previously come over to dance with her earlier. Without offering an explanation I dragged her back into the club to dance.
We went back to the spot where I had introduced myself earlier to find that all of our friends had disappeared and the crowd in the club had noticeably thinned out as people started to make their way home. I danced with her for 10 minutes trying to decide whether I wanted to pull her. After bumping and grinding for some time she announced that she needed to find her friend and told me that she would be back as she was enjoying herself with me. It was at this point that I checked my phone to discover that my friends had left the venue and were waiting for me outside. I told Laura that I needed to go and took her phone number before going in for a kiss. I thought that she was a very good kisser and I believe that I almost tempted her to sack off her friend and come back with me. In the end we parted ways with me telling her that I would drop her a text in the near future.
Due to not having any signal on my personal phone, I got outside to see 3 messages buzz through at once. The third message told me that my crew had returned back to the flat in Chiswick. Resigned to the fact that I would have to get a taxi home on my own, I went to Flames takeaway and picked up some cheese and chips to satiate my hunger. All in all that kiss cost me £14. That is the money that I would have saved if I had gotten a taxi home with my mates. I will decide tomorrow whether or not I will text Laura. From the way she kissed this makes me inclined to think that she would be a decent fuck if I ever got the chance.
Saturday, 6 February 2010
Pri's 23rd Birthday - Tiger Tiger
Pri is one of my best girl friends. She is one of the four girls who I am very close to and I talk to her daily. Our contact has increased more recently since she has been promoted to a head office role. She now only sits 10 feet away from me in the office. Although I have never been attracted to her, objectively speaking one cannot deny that she is a good-looking girl. Her mother is Italian and Pri's raven hair and olive skin are evidence of this. She has high pronounced cheek bones, large deep brown eyes and a slim body. In the short time that I have been working at the company I have seen just about every one of my male colleagues get a hard-on over her. In terms of her personality, she is friendly, approachable and has a good sense of humour (Lord knows she needs it with me as her friend). I would say that she very much has a "girl-next-door" look about her and I can only assume that is part of her appeal. In the last few weeks she has been on a health kick in an effort to tone up for her holiday to Australia and she has enlisted my help. Although she does not need to lose the weight she has dropped a few pounds and has significantly improved her cardiovascular fitness in the short space of time. Not only has her effort impressed me (in my experience the words "girl" and "gym" rarely go hand in hand) but it seems to have boosted her confidence.
Last night was Pri's birthday party and much to my delight she chose Tiger Tiger as the venue. She had told me beforehand that she had invited a hot single girl who would be right up my street. Prior to the night out I could not resist checking out this girl's facebook profile and I must admit that I was blown away by her photos. I had her booked as a solid 8 out of 10. What I mean by this is that I don't think that ANYONE (including Brad Pitt and George Clooney), irregardless of standards could score her lower than this. From perusing her bikini photos, I arrived at a conclusion that she would be about as hot a girl that I realisitically could hope to get with. This made me approach the night with excitement and slight trepidation. Although I wasn't about to put myself under any unnecessary pressure, I wanted to bring my A-Game to the table.
I wore a fitted white shirt, tweed waistcoat and tweed tie (all from Asos), dark blue jeans (All Saints), chocolate brown belt (Kenneth Cole) and chocolate brown brogue boots (Jones Bootmaker). In terms of accessories I wore my usual chrome Seiko Kinetic (this never leaves my wrist), a silver Gucci ring and a Tiger Eye bracelet. I had a very similar look to Justin Timberlake in his video for "My Love" from 2007 featuring T.I.
As luck would have it I was seated next to the short-term object of my affection during dinner. I shall call her The Dentist since I found out that she is a postgraduate Dentistry student at Kings College London. The Dentist is actually a recent acquaintance of Pri who knows her through her best friend, Ski, from Durham University. I have met Ski on numerous occasions and have always found her to be entirely agreeable. Ski is doing a postgraduate Masters programme at UCL and through Gumtree found The Dentist and an American girl, Chicago (also hot) to live with in Old Street. They have become good friends ever since.
The first thing that I noticed about The Dentist was that she looked as she did in her photos: small pretty face with dark brown eyes and sleek brown hair. For me her most striking feature was her wide smile which revealed two rows of perfect gleaming white teeth. Ideal for a dentist no doubt - she clearly practices what she preaches. I told her as much which made her laugh. Whilst conversation wasn't sparkling it was comfortable and easy. We covered a broad range of topics including her travels in South East Asia, her course (I also went to KCL for a year to study History so we had something in common there) and the Twilight Saga amongst other subjects. It was quite educational for me since I only had a root canal on a molar on Monday. Apparently chewing gum is very good for your teeth and you should wait an hour after eating sugary foods before brushing your teeth. Doing so before this will only weaken the enamel.
Inevitably we got onto the subject of relationships and sex. I discovered that she has an affinity for men with dark features. I asked her to put that into a celebrity context which she struggled with. I went out for a cigarette and when I came back I offered two suggestions for her ideal man: actors Oliver Martinez and Rodrigo Santoro. I must have hit the nail on the head because she was amazed that I managed to pick her type. If we think about this interaction as a sales pitch, I believe that this point was the hook. However, I did not follow up for three reasons. Number one, I did not really get the vibe that she was attracted to me and it would have been a real effort to try to progress and number two I had not even really talked to anyone else up until that point, including the birthday girl. Lastly, I knew from Pri, that The Dentist was a "good girl" who had only just ended a 6 year relationship. Therefore not one night stand material and ultimately too nice for me. As alluded to in my Introduction post, I like to "neg" (see The Game by Neil Strauss if you are unsure of this term) girls and I felt that I had to massively rein in my personality.
I spent the rest of the evening dancing and entertaining the group. Highlights thereafter included impressing the girls with a performance of the exact dance routine from the Lady Gaga's Bad Romance video and Chicago's energetic drunken dancing at the end of the evening. I did get some attention from one girl who seemed to take a liking to the way I was throwing shapes. However, her average face and the noticeable spare tire that she was carrying around the midsection turned me off. I would have to be a lot more inebriated before I would resort to going for that.
The taxi ride home with Pri and her housemate, Harley, was spent debating who would be better in bed out of The Dentist and Chicago. No success last night but I would like to think that I at least made a good impression on The Dentist. Anything can happen in the future.
Last night was Pri's birthday party and much to my delight she chose Tiger Tiger as the venue. She had told me beforehand that she had invited a hot single girl who would be right up my street. Prior to the night out I could not resist checking out this girl's facebook profile and I must admit that I was blown away by her photos. I had her booked as a solid 8 out of 10. What I mean by this is that I don't think that ANYONE (including Brad Pitt and George Clooney), irregardless of standards could score her lower than this. From perusing her bikini photos, I arrived at a conclusion that she would be about as hot a girl that I realisitically could hope to get with. This made me approach the night with excitement and slight trepidation. Although I wasn't about to put myself under any unnecessary pressure, I wanted to bring my A-Game to the table.
I wore a fitted white shirt, tweed waistcoat and tweed tie (all from Asos), dark blue jeans (All Saints), chocolate brown belt (Kenneth Cole) and chocolate brown brogue boots (Jones Bootmaker). In terms of accessories I wore my usual chrome Seiko Kinetic (this never leaves my wrist), a silver Gucci ring and a Tiger Eye bracelet. I had a very similar look to Justin Timberlake in his video for "My Love" from 2007 featuring T.I.
As luck would have it I was seated next to the short-term object of my affection during dinner. I shall call her The Dentist since I found out that she is a postgraduate Dentistry student at Kings College London. The Dentist is actually a recent acquaintance of Pri who knows her through her best friend, Ski, from Durham University. I have met Ski on numerous occasions and have always found her to be entirely agreeable. Ski is doing a postgraduate Masters programme at UCL and through Gumtree found The Dentist and an American girl, Chicago (also hot) to live with in Old Street. They have become good friends ever since.
The first thing that I noticed about The Dentist was that she looked as she did in her photos: small pretty face with dark brown eyes and sleek brown hair. For me her most striking feature was her wide smile which revealed two rows of perfect gleaming white teeth. Ideal for a dentist no doubt - she clearly practices what she preaches. I told her as much which made her laugh. Whilst conversation wasn't sparkling it was comfortable and easy. We covered a broad range of topics including her travels in South East Asia, her course (I also went to KCL for a year to study History so we had something in common there) and the Twilight Saga amongst other subjects. It was quite educational for me since I only had a root canal on a molar on Monday. Apparently chewing gum is very good for your teeth and you should wait an hour after eating sugary foods before brushing your teeth. Doing so before this will only weaken the enamel.
Inevitably we got onto the subject of relationships and sex. I discovered that she has an affinity for men with dark features. I asked her to put that into a celebrity context which she struggled with. I went out for a cigarette and when I came back I offered two suggestions for her ideal man: actors Oliver Martinez and Rodrigo Santoro. I must have hit the nail on the head because she was amazed that I managed to pick her type. If we think about this interaction as a sales pitch, I believe that this point was the hook. However, I did not follow up for three reasons. Number one, I did not really get the vibe that she was attracted to me and it would have been a real effort to try to progress and number two I had not even really talked to anyone else up until that point, including the birthday girl. Lastly, I knew from Pri, that The Dentist was a "good girl" who had only just ended a 6 year relationship. Therefore not one night stand material and ultimately too nice for me. As alluded to in my Introduction post, I like to "neg" (see The Game by Neil Strauss if you are unsure of this term) girls and I felt that I had to massively rein in my personality.
I spent the rest of the evening dancing and entertaining the group. Highlights thereafter included impressing the girls with a performance of the exact dance routine from the Lady Gaga's Bad Romance video and Chicago's energetic drunken dancing at the end of the evening. I did get some attention from one girl who seemed to take a liking to the way I was throwing shapes. However, her average face and the noticeable spare tire that she was carrying around the midsection turned me off. I would have to be a lot more inebriated before I would resort to going for that.
The taxi ride home with Pri and her housemate, Harley, was spent debating who would be better in bed out of The Dentist and Chicago. No success last night but I would like to think that I at least made a good impression on The Dentist. Anything can happen in the future.
Friday, 5 February 2010
Arrival of Topman Order
A feeling of relief washed over me when I saw the email from the post room at the office informing me of the arrival of my parcel. I placed an order with topman.com on Sunday evening hoping that my items would arrive in time for the weekend festivities. I have two birthdays to attend: Pri's 23rd birthday tonight at Tiger Tiger in Picadilly Circus and Casanova's 25th tomorrow night at the Fez Club in Putney.
The delivery time on the Topman website says 2-4 working days. I received an email to my hotmail account on Wednesday afternoon saying that my order had been despatched. Hence when my order still had not arrived yesterday I decided to call their Customer Services department. The girl on the other end of the phone was very polite and assured me that I would receive it before the end of the day. However, when the parcel still hadn't arrived at the close of play yesterday I readied myself to launch a tirade at any person unfortunate enough to answer my call at Topman Customer Services today.
My anxiety and anger has completed subsided now that the package is in my possession. In a way I am ever-so-slightly disappointed that I did not get a chance to reproach those at Customer Services: if there is one thing that you should know about me it is that I love having a legitimate excuse to behave like a cunt. I behave like a cunt at the best of times so you can only imagine what I am like at the worst...
The contents of the parcel: Tweed blazer, white shirt and black knitted tie to replace the one that I lost in Birmingham recently. Total cost: £111. Had I spent the same amount on asos.com I would have gotten free next day delivery. Another reason why asos trumps Topman.
I will not wear any of my new garments to Pri's party tonight but intend to trial them at Casanova's outing on Saturday.
The delivery time on the Topman website says 2-4 working days. I received an email to my hotmail account on Wednesday afternoon saying that my order had been despatched. Hence when my order still had not arrived yesterday I decided to call their Customer Services department. The girl on the other end of the phone was very polite and assured me that I would receive it before the end of the day. However, when the parcel still hadn't arrived at the close of play yesterday I readied myself to launch a tirade at any person unfortunate enough to answer my call at Topman Customer Services today.
My anxiety and anger has completed subsided now that the package is in my possession. In a way I am ever-so-slightly disappointed that I did not get a chance to reproach those at Customer Services: if there is one thing that you should know about me it is that I love having a legitimate excuse to behave like a cunt. I behave like a cunt at the best of times so you can only imagine what I am like at the worst...
The contents of the parcel: Tweed blazer, white shirt and black knitted tie to replace the one that I lost in Birmingham recently. Total cost: £111. Had I spent the same amount on asos.com I would have gotten free next day delivery. Another reason why asos trumps Topman.
I will not wear any of my new garments to Pri's party tonight but intend to trial them at Casanova's outing on Saturday.
Thursday, 4 February 2010
asos.com
In my opinion asos.com is the world's greatest (non-porn) website. I first heard of it when I was a penniless student at Sheffield University. Now that I have a regular income it is a site that I seem to frequent every day.
Wikipedia tells me that it is now the second largest fashion distributor in the UK after Next and it continues to grow. Asos always presents the latest trends to ensure that a young man can look sharp on a night out. They do sell some pretty shit brands - I am thinking specifically here of Ringspun, Superdry and Franklin Marshall, although these are the exceptions. The rest is by and large top quality clobber. I used to have to make trips to Oxford Street or Covent Garden to expand my wardrobe. However, unless there is a big sale these days I rarely venture into town to shop.
For me the best part about asos is their own brand. It is cheap and of very good quality. I have rarely been disappointed with their own brand clothes - nice fitted shirts and excellent denim. I recently bought a beige mac which made me stand out in the office over the Winter period. In my opinion it is superior to all of its high street competitors with the exception of Zara. Having an affordable alternative to the catwalk brands also allows me be more daring in trying new looks. If it doesn't suit me then I can always take solace in the fact that the garment only cost me £20. Free standard delivery on orders over £75 and free next day delivery on orders exceeding £100 are the cherries on the cake.
Wikipedia tells me that it is now the second largest fashion distributor in the UK after Next and it continues to grow. Asos always presents the latest trends to ensure that a young man can look sharp on a night out. They do sell some pretty shit brands - I am thinking specifically here of Ringspun, Superdry and Franklin Marshall, although these are the exceptions. The rest is by and large top quality clobber. I used to have to make trips to Oxford Street or Covent Garden to expand my wardrobe. However, unless there is a big sale these days I rarely venture into town to shop.
For me the best part about asos is their own brand. It is cheap and of very good quality. I have rarely been disappointed with their own brand clothes - nice fitted shirts and excellent denim. I recently bought a beige mac which made me stand out in the office over the Winter period. In my opinion it is superior to all of its high street competitors with the exception of Zara. Having an affordable alternative to the catwalk brands also allows me be more daring in trying new looks. If it doesn't suit me then I can always take solace in the fact that the garment only cost me £20. Free standard delivery on orders over £75 and free next day delivery on orders exceeding £100 are the cherries on the cake.
A product of my society...
I believe that it is important to define myself: I am a heterosexual oriental male. I hate the term but I am what is known as a British Born Chinese (BBC). The reason for my hatred of that term is because I do almost everything I can to remove myself from my culture. My father is Chinese-Malaysian and my mother is Filipino and I cannot speak a word of their native language. I would say that I regret not taking more of an interest in learning at a younger age, firstly since it would be nice to be able to converse with my relatives and secondly because being fluent in a couple of foreign languages looks awesome on the CV and makes one more employable.
In terms of disowning my culture I suppose the best example of this would be that I prefer steak and potatoes to egg fried rice. Another aspect which I deplore is the attitude of Chinese people in the UK who only hang around with other Chinese people. Whilst I do not mind this so much of my parents' generation it vexes me that some BBC people of my generation have yet to kick the habit. To each his/her own I guess but I personally think that it shows a lack of effort to properly integrate.
In spite of the fact that I am oriental I categorically do NOT go for Chinese women. In fact I go exclusively for Caucasian girls. This is not to say that I am racist. I like to think of it more that I am a product of my society. Since my discovery of masturbation, my bedroom wall has almost always been adorned with the latest pin-up. I used to get a hard-on for Louise Redknapp in particular back in the day. As I left my fantasies behind me growing up, my penchant for white girls and white girls only, has remained.
Therefore I believe that I make things more difficult for myself. I would like to think of myself as a relatively attractive oriental male - at 5ft 10in I am perhaps taller than your average Chinese guy and eyes are a bit wider than most in my opinion. Over the Easter weekend last year I went out to a club called Agenda near Fenchurch Street to catch up with a friend who had been travelling, without knowing that it was a BBC night. I made no effort to approach any women that night but I was approached by 8 girls asking me to dance and 3 girls requested to have photographs taken with me. It was one of the strangest nights of my life. Without trying to sound arrogant, I could have had my pick of the girls that night, yet I abstained - just not my cup of tea.
Whilst society is certainly more diverse these days I still firmly believe that white girls tend to gravitate towards white guys. I would say that girls have a more open-minded attitude than guys, although you only have to go onto any internet dating site to see that a lot of girls put caucasian males as their preference and fair enough in my book. I also think that Chinese guys are the ethnic minority that a white girl is least likely to go for. If you think about it for a second, how often do you see a Chinese male/white female couple? You are much more likely to see a Asian/Black guy-white girl couple on the street. I suspect that the stereotype of Chinese guys having small cocks does not help the cause!
What then makes my job trying to pull women that much harder is that I tend to go for women in the upper-middle class range of society (if such a thing still exists). These girls are even more likely to have entrenched social beliefs which would restrict them from "experimenting". This is not always true...I have known my fair share of rich girls who behave like massive slags, although if I had to generalise then this would be my observation.
In spite of the odds I still hold on to the hope that there is a cute Mischa Barton look-a-like waiting for me out there. I will just need to work harder to get what I want. I have always had a good work ethic so I am sure that this will stand me in good stead. Oh, and this is about as philosophical as I get so don't expect entries like this to appear on a regular basis...
In terms of disowning my culture I suppose the best example of this would be that I prefer steak and potatoes to egg fried rice. Another aspect which I deplore is the attitude of Chinese people in the UK who only hang around with other Chinese people. Whilst I do not mind this so much of my parents' generation it vexes me that some BBC people of my generation have yet to kick the habit. To each his/her own I guess but I personally think that it shows a lack of effort to properly integrate.
In spite of the fact that I am oriental I categorically do NOT go for Chinese women. In fact I go exclusively for Caucasian girls. This is not to say that I am racist. I like to think of it more that I am a product of my society. Since my discovery of masturbation, my bedroom wall has almost always been adorned with the latest pin-up. I used to get a hard-on for Louise Redknapp in particular back in the day. As I left my fantasies behind me growing up, my penchant for white girls and white girls only, has remained.
Therefore I believe that I make things more difficult for myself. I would like to think of myself as a relatively attractive oriental male - at 5ft 10in I am perhaps taller than your average Chinese guy and eyes are a bit wider than most in my opinion. Over the Easter weekend last year I went out to a club called Agenda near Fenchurch Street to catch up with a friend who had been travelling, without knowing that it was a BBC night. I made no effort to approach any women that night but I was approached by 8 girls asking me to dance and 3 girls requested to have photographs taken with me. It was one of the strangest nights of my life. Without trying to sound arrogant, I could have had my pick of the girls that night, yet I abstained - just not my cup of tea.
Whilst society is certainly more diverse these days I still firmly believe that white girls tend to gravitate towards white guys. I would say that girls have a more open-minded attitude than guys, although you only have to go onto any internet dating site to see that a lot of girls put caucasian males as their preference and fair enough in my book. I also think that Chinese guys are the ethnic minority that a white girl is least likely to go for. If you think about it for a second, how often do you see a Chinese male/white female couple? You are much more likely to see a Asian/Black guy-white girl couple on the street. I suspect that the stereotype of Chinese guys having small cocks does not help the cause!
What then makes my job trying to pull women that much harder is that I tend to go for women in the upper-middle class range of society (if such a thing still exists). These girls are even more likely to have entrenched social beliefs which would restrict them from "experimenting". This is not always true...I have known my fair share of rich girls who behave like massive slags, although if I had to generalise then this would be my observation.
In spite of the odds I still hold on to the hope that there is a cute Mischa Barton look-a-like waiting for me out there. I will just need to work harder to get what I want. I have always had a good work ethic so I am sure that this will stand me in good stead. Oh, and this is about as philosophical as I get so don't expect entries like this to appear on a regular basis...
Introduction
I am starting this blog mainly to document, for my own personal record, my many failures and few successes with women. All my life I have tried to please girls and have sought emotional gratification. Where has this gotten me? I am 25 years old, have not had a serious relationship and have been walked all over by a series of girls. I recently came to the realisation that this needs to change and as a consequence of this, I would now say that I consider myself to have a somewhat cavalier attitude towards girls: if you don't like me for who I am then fuck you, I don't give a shit.
Before I am accused of being sexist allow me offer an explanation. I am deep down a nice guy. I have 3 or 4 trusted girl friends who would attest to this fact. In terms of advice and an insight into the female psyche, I am confident that I do not need any more girl mates. Over the years any girl who I have become close friends with outside of this small group has used any kindness I have shown them to use to their advantage. Very recent examples would include constantly asking for lifts to and from work (without giving me any prior notice that they were going to be working late) and "borrowing" my CDs and not returning them. The second example is still something of a sore point: the perpetrator has had the CDs for over 6 months and I am sure is hoping that I will eventually forget about them. Return the CDs or pay me £45 bitch! My commute to work has not been the same since without the sounds of Now 68, 70, 71 and 72!
Nevertheless I digress. The point that I am trying to make is that outside of my core group of girl friends I now view every other girl as a sex object: either I want to have intercourse with you, or not. I would agree with anyone who believes that this is an absolutely disdainful attitude to take. My mother and sister certainly disapprove. However, I can safely say that my change in approach has made my life much more fun. I can honestly say that I have had some of the funniest nights out when I have been rejected by females who have found me overly vulgar. I like to test the limits of what a man can say to a woman without getting rejected. Essentially it makes for better reading.
Whilst I can't guarantee that I will have any success stories to report, rest assured there will be plenty of stories of rejection. I really hope that this is something that I keep up and not let fall by the wayside.
Before I am accused of being sexist allow me offer an explanation. I am deep down a nice guy. I have 3 or 4 trusted girl friends who would attest to this fact. In terms of advice and an insight into the female psyche, I am confident that I do not need any more girl mates. Over the years any girl who I have become close friends with outside of this small group has used any kindness I have shown them to use to their advantage. Very recent examples would include constantly asking for lifts to and from work (without giving me any prior notice that they were going to be working late) and "borrowing" my CDs and not returning them. The second example is still something of a sore point: the perpetrator has had the CDs for over 6 months and I am sure is hoping that I will eventually forget about them. Return the CDs or pay me £45 bitch! My commute to work has not been the same since without the sounds of Now 68, 70, 71 and 72!
Nevertheless I digress. The point that I am trying to make is that outside of my core group of girl friends I now view every other girl as a sex object: either I want to have intercourse with you, or not. I would agree with anyone who believes that this is an absolutely disdainful attitude to take. My mother and sister certainly disapprove. However, I can safely say that my change in approach has made my life much more fun. I can honestly say that I have had some of the funniest nights out when I have been rejected by females who have found me overly vulgar. I like to test the limits of what a man can say to a woman without getting rejected. Essentially it makes for better reading.
Whilst I can't guarantee that I will have any success stories to report, rest assured there will be plenty of stories of rejection. I really hope that this is something that I keep up and not let fall by the wayside.
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