Revenge

Revenge. 

Now that's an interesting concept.

I love this song. And of course it suggests that exacting revenge on someone - probably a vile ex - is a bad idea..

''The ricochet is the second part''

''There's no way to stop
And the more I try to hurt you
The more it backfires...''

I'm not convinced revenge is a bad idea all of the time. I can think of at least one person who sorely deserves it. I wouldn't say that I spend my spare time plotting doom on those fuckwits who have earned a hefty dose of just-desserts, but equally, I wouldn't rush to help them up if they were dangling over a cliff. In a bad moment, I might silently wish them under a bus. When it comes to some of my own ex boyfriends... I am sadly not as honourable as to say that I wish them well. I don't tend to think about them often - but moments like now - where I clearly am thinking about them and trundling down memory-lane, I don't remember them fondly. Or hope that they are happy. I have a mean streak a mile wide. I know this. Most people who know me also know this. It's a flaw.

Tampa

So, a colleague that I know at work loaned me a book recently, which I have devoured. It's called 'Tampa' by Alissa Nutting. And I have to say, I have been morbidly fascinated. I think the last time I felt so caught up by a book... well, a few years back I went through a phase where I basically read biographies about serial killers. As a result I know a lot of useless crap about various psychopaths... Henry Lee Lucas, Myra Hindley, Ted Bundy, Fred West, Aileen Wuornos. And then when I was studying for my MA, I read books about the Marquis De Sade constantly, which is pretty disturbing. I'm fairly sure that I'm completely unable to be shocked by literature any more. I have become desensitised entirely. 

Anyway. So, as soon as I started reading this book, I felt uncomfortable in my skin. It didn't shock me - but it certainly did make me ask uncomfortable, difficult questions. I read parts of it, and I felt like I might fall into the words on the page. Some words seem huge, gaping voids, that swallowed up the rest of the book. At times I found myself re-reading sentences and paragraphs, because I felt like I was reaching into some very dark truth about people. The last time I felt like that, I read this sentence: “Those who say they would rather fight to the death than be raped are fools. I would rather be raped a thousand times. You do what you have to.” - Alice Seabold. (Taken from her book Lucky). *at the time, I had been drinking and had been listening to Hole (amazing band) and it all seemed very mystic, important and profound. It's one of the boldest things I think I've ever read, ever.

But, this book... it's something else. I don't want to spoil it for you all - because I'd urge you to read it. But it features Celeste Price, a beautiful, wealthy school-teacher who is 'singly attracted to fourteen year old boys.' She is by definition of the word, a paedophile, but obviously, while I'm sure they do exist, she isn't what you might conjure up when you consider the definition of the word. For an obvious start - she's female. I mean, the typical image is a grubby, older, fatter man with a shitty job... a typical, unassuming, would-ignore-if-you-passed-him-in-the-street kinda guy. Which is a taboo concept in itself. I don't think the world really accepts yet - or talks about - the fact that some men are abused by women. If memory serves, it is legally impossible for a woman to rape a man. And then there's the unsettling notion that if a hot, skinny, blonde, busty teacher comes onto a walking hard-on that is a fourteen year old boy, is that abuse? Well, it is - I think - but it's a slippery slope... it's one that would be argued, by some people. It's rather like the old adage - a woman goes out, wearing something short and skimpy, someone rapes her - people STILL make the argument that she looked a certain way, so she was 'asking for it.' This argument REALLY pisses me off. Since when was anybody sexually entitled to anything, based on clothing? If a woman sees a man in a hot suit, nice shirt, does that mean she is entitled to coax him down a back-alley and rape him? It's fucking preposterous. But anyway - that is a rant.

One of the main things I was thinking about, as I was driving home from work today, is how much more different this story would be if Mrs Price, was a Mr Price and Jack Patrick was Jacqui Patrick. Would there be as much manipulation involved? How would this begin? I wonder if the thought processes of Mr Price would be as elaborate and intricate as those of Mrs Price? After all, Mrs Price doesn't ever use violence, threats or even intimidation, really, in her arsenal. 

I think that's what makes this novel especially terrifying. The thought processes of Celeste are well-thought out, planned and calculated. She is organised. She is careful and never really out of control. She is very manipulative - all of these factors equal one scary person, psychopath. She is one of those people who knows just what to say, in just the right tone to the right person. Is this the difference between the male and female paedophile?

Again, I can't say too much, without spoiling it - but I think Alissa Nutting makes a very valid point about double standards between men and women and how much they do or do not get away with. Celeste reminds me, in a lot of ways, of the Marquis De Sade's Juliette - who I wrote part of my MA dissertation on. She is a woman run wild - to the point where she is really the neither woman or even man - she's too clever for that. She is monstrous. She is the anti-woman.

I also love the name of the novel. It's been a long, LONG, time since I've ever written academically, or maybe even articulated myself in this way, but did anyone else notice the play on words for the title? Or was that just me?

I really should read more.

Drops

Drops, a photo by Click Flash Repeat Photography on Flickr.

Beach Huts

Beach Huts, a photo by Click Flash Repeat Photography on Flickr.

Beach

Beach I, a photo by Click Flash Repeat Photography on Flickr.

Mannequin - Blonde

IMG_1238-2, a photo by Click Flash Repeat Photography on Flickr.

Mannequin

IMG_1235-2, a photo by Click Flash Repeat Photography on Flickr.

Etsy Shop

So, I've had a plan for a while... but I don't know whether to actually proceed.

I've always loved making things. I am quite crafty, and since we've been planning our wedding, I've had the chance to make and up-cycle various things. And, since I've been doing this, the amount of times that various other people have said 'Oh, I really love that ****', or 'Where did you get that picture?' and it's been things I've made - or photographed. 

I was thinking of opening a shop on Etsy and sort of seeing how that goes. I've wanted to sell my photography for a long time... and other things.The obvious one is candles. I've been making candles since I was a teenager - I have quite a few tea-cup candles in my living room.

I'd love some constructive feedback about this... in the mean time, I'm slowly getting things set up...

Doll Face

http://www.buzzfeed.com/ellievhall/x-men-actress-finds-creepy-childrens-book-in-her-bedroom?sub=2526695_1513829

Undertow

''Your brown eyes are my blue skies
They light up the rivers that the birds fly over
Better not to quench your thirst
Better not to be the first one diving in
Though you caught me and you know why
You breathe in the deepest part of the water..''

Exiting the Comfort Zone

So, at my kickboxing class tonight, we practised a few self-defense moves. I've probably blogged about this before, but bizarrely, self-defense always makes me super nervous. This is ironic because unfortunately there have been occasions in the past when knowing self-defense would have been REALLY USEFUL. I can only hope I have completed my quota and I won't ever need to use it.

Self-defense takes me out of my comfort zone, because I then have to think about a. the possibility of being attacked and b. what I would do about that. I don't like to think about this. Because I don't think about it hypothetically. 

It's amazing how much I've come out of my comfort zone this year... and kickboxing has something to do with it. I'm always slightly amazed at what I can do now, compared to say, last year. Sure, I'm definitely not as fit as some of the crew that I train with, but you know, if someone had told me that I'd be keeping up with that kind of intense work out several years ago, I'd have laughed and had another biscuit.

ANYWAY - I digress - so just as we were doing this segment on self-defense, one of our instructors was talking about the difference between anger and aggression, which I think is really interesting. It got me thinking about how people deal with this. Aggression is an interesting concept. I think lots of guys like to pull this one out of the bag for show, but anger is something else altogether - aggression is the rehearsal for anger. It's almost an act, isn't it? Who hasn't seen a group of lads falling out of a pub on a Saturday night and picking on each other like kids in the play-ground. No-one knows each other, so no-one wants to back down. Anger/Rage are a different ball-game. I've been on the receiving end of proper full-blown rage before, and it's like industrial strength, corrosive anger. I've also felt that - so furious that the fist must go through the wall. The last time I felt rage, I punched a solid wooden fire door and didn't feel anything. I scarred my knuckles. Anger has passion and emotion behind it, which is not to be trifled with. This is why self-defense scares me... it's defense against someone who is very angry and who wants to hurt you. It's not a game.

And then I was thinking about self-defense generally. I honestly believe that the concept of stranger-danger is horribly damaging. Sure - don't trust strangers, that's probably a good idea... but we all got so side-tracked by the bogey man wearing the trench-coat, that we forgot to look at the people we know best. I mean - 59% of violent crime is committed by someone you know. The actual chance of you being singled out by a stranger is fairly low compared to you being assaulted by your partner- or even worse. Around 100 women are murdered in the UK by their current or ex-partner. And if you're not assaulted or murdered, chances are you might be a victim of rape.

Alas, I know a LOT of people that have experienced domestic violence. I have a serious issue with this kind of thing - it gets me up on my box ranting (like now). I realise how I must sound... but you know? More people need to talk about this. It doesn't get talked about enough.

Then, if you think about it - how often do we not trust our instincts? Our instructor mentioned personal space. I know that this has happened to me - someone gets in your personal space, you step away, they step up, you step away and they keep coming - you do nothing. You stand there, or try and talk, reason with said person. How many people are hurt by the failure to act, even when they know their instincts are correct? Maybe it's just me - but I think that there have been times when I have on a guttural level known that something was horribly wrong but not reacted until it was too late. Only afterwards I've wondered why I didn't do anything. 

I suppose I'm trying to say - from a female point of view - I would encourage other women to learn kickboxing, or self-defense - whatever takes your fancy. There are tonnes of reasons why - and not just the ones above. There are way nicer reasons. I initially started because a. I'm fat and b. I wanted to make friends. But I'm finding more and more reasons that I'm glad that I do it - and not just for the physical benefits. 

If you have any doubts, look at this cool picture of me kickboxing. This is way better than knitting. 

Can't STOP.

This weekend has been one of the nicest ones I can remember in a while.

I have gotten sooo much stuff done. After weeks of bitching about our spare room being basically full of crap, I cracked the whip yesterday and attacked that room, which is now completely clear and clean. The stuff that was in there, has been thrown away or stored. We found boxes in there that were still in there from when we moved in 18 months ago.

I also ended up cleaning most of the house, washing dishes, clothes, hoovering, sweeping, mopping, polishing... cleaned the chickens out, cleaned the window-sills. It's ridiculous... I work really hard during the week and don't get a huge amount of time. I get up at 6.30am, leave the house at 7.45am, get to work for about 8.45am, then I leave usually at about 5pm, hit all the traffic in the world, get home for about 6-6.30pm and then by the time I've showered and eaten it can be as late as 8pm. By which time I usually feel exhausted and not very much like doing anything. Then you have to factor in the fact that I go kickboxing two-three times a week, and usually try to hit the pool at least once a week. So once daily life is done, I always feel like I have NO free time. My point being, during the week I'm usually out of the house for about 11 hours a day, I also have insomnia - so I usually feel tired - by the end of the week, you'd think I'd feel that the best thing to do would be to relax and NOT DO ANYTHING at the weekend.

Oh no. I might sleep in for a while, but I find it incredibly difficult to stop and not do anything. I have multiple to-do lists. I can't switch off. I routinely think about work out of work time, I usually end up emailing myself with reminders to do certain things.

When I do have free time, I always feel like I have to be doing something. It's almost like I feel guilty for NOT doing anything. It's why, when I'm not away at weekends seeing friends or family, I'm constantly busy with various things that I need to do around the house. And annoyingly, a messy house really stresses me out... I can't relax if the place is untidy or needs cleaning. And, since we moved, the house is much bigger, which of course presents its own set of challenges. It's a nightmare to keep on top of everything.

I need a holiday. And a maid.

First Dance Music

So I'm getting married next year, and have been having discussions with my long-suffering better half about what we're going to shuffle to as our first dance.

It's prompted some interesting conversations.

I LOVE Rock & Metal music. He does not. There are plenty of unconventional love songs out there, with absolutely beautiful words, but alas, not many people know them. And in the pastel-puke worthy world that is the typical wedding, most people plump for something uber-cheesy. I had hoped to avoid this and have something a. cool and b. that I like. After all, if you MUST dance like you're trying to move a large wardrobe around, at least do it to a song you like? But like Ian pointed out, the entire concept of the first dance is ridiculous, humiliating and embarrassing and we'll never get away with NOT doing it... so, and it's hard to argue against this, why not make it SO smoochy and cheese-tastic that it becomes ironic and privately amusing? He even suggested Three Times a Lady AND Barry White, to which I say NO! For the love of all things musically sacred NO. I have my limits.

Ian has come up with a lovely song that we probably will use, but in my fantasy land, I'd be shuffling to one of these: The Only Reason (Puddle of Mudd), I Was Married (Tegan & Sarah) or Yellow (Coldplay).

Ruminations on the Royal Baby

So, unless you've been living under a rock, you'll know that the newest member of the royal family - Prince George - has now arrived. 

It seems to me that most people are thoroughly interested and excited about this, or couldn't care less about it. I would say that I am mostly ambivalent, although of course it's great to hear good news for a change. 

My thoughts though, don't stem from what it means to have a monarchy in this day and age, or about whether or not it might be redundant or why... actually, I was thinking that baby George is going to grow up in the hypothetical goldfish bowl. His life will never be normal - in fact, it'll be mapped out for him from today. I was thinking about this and it occurred to me - isn't this true for most people?

I mean, most of us will end up in certain kinds of jobs, living in similar places.. I mean, how different are our lives anyway? In one of my favourite author's books, 'This is How' by Augusten Burroughs, he talks about how on a day to day basis most of us stay within a small geographical area. So the chance to do new things and to go to new places are minimal, unless we make a huge effort otherwise. 

And, once you're settled into mediocrity, we do and say the same things over and over on a day to day basis. One of the things that bothers me most about my life is repetition... I try to make sure I do difference things. In the last year or two, I've been continually working on new photography projects and I've started kickboxing regularly. I've passed my driving test and started a new job. Fortunately, I'm at a point where I've got lots to look forward to and things to plan... namely my wedding. It is just the little things that are tedious. Housework is a perfect example of this. The routine of getting up and getting to and from work is another. They say don't sweat the small stuff, but I have to say it's the small stuff that pisses me off the most. It's the stuff that gets in the way.

Sometimes I wonder what would happen if we all were to get up one idle Tuesday and throw caution to the wind... to abandon time and routine. What would work be like if we didn't all continue to adhere to social codes, etiquette or civility. When I go to work I very much put my 'diplomatic' and 'friendly' head on - where I normally don't feel much like that. How much happier might we be? I'd love to never have to iron again. Or to think that I need to wash the dishes or that I've run out of cat food and have to go and buy some more. Would it be so bad if we were just ourselves and could do the things we really wanted to do? Of course this assumes that we want things to be different. I think most people seem fairly content with cheeseburgers, beer and TV and that is where the problem lies. But that's another topic for another day.

Maybe for baby George, it WILL be different. After all... he'll grow up with the world watching him, but equally, he'll be less constrained than the rest of us. After all, it won't be him scrubbing the toilet on a Thursday evening, or popping to the shop for milk. He'll be able to pursue whatever career he might want - or not - because nothing will be off limits. So, maybe he'll get a better deal than the rest of us drones after all...

Song of the Day

Eternal Sunshine

I'm watching 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind'. I remember watching it when it first came out. It spoke to me in some huge profound way. I really like Clementine. I thoroughly identify with her... this broken, bizarre person, with the desperate urge to 'apply my personality through a paste' - hair-dye obviously. But I just really like the story.

There's a perfect moment where Clementine receives the tape from the session when she has her memory of Joel erased. They hear her saying the most acerbic things about him, about how he's boring, how he's changed her and all the tiny minute things he does that piss her off. The typical petty things that emerge when you've been in a relationship with someone. And then of course, she goes to his flat, and he has a tape, in which he talks openly about her - the things she does. And she listens to it. They verbally destroy each other. Hearing the worst about yourself from the person you love is always terrible. But it happens - it will happen. It has happened for me.

And then this happens:

How perfect. After all, you can't know how much you will love someone until the next person comes along. And you will either love them more or less, which will create a fork in the hypothetical road that you walk down. You will stay, or go. You will stay and try because whatever it is that you have means enough that you don't want to let go.

I suppose the real question is - deciding what to keep and what to discard.

If you knew that all you'd have left would be tears and heartbreak, would you keep that, rather than have nothing at all?

I'm reminded of this quote, which explains what I'm trying to say much more elegantly than I ever could:

''There's just this for consolation: an hour here or there when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we've ever imagined, though everyone but children (and perhaps even they) know these hours will inevitably be followed by others, far darker and more difficult. ''
Michael Cunningham, The Hours

Oh, Baby.

So, I've been having a recurring dream that I have a child. I say dream, it's more like a nightmare. It's incredibly vivid. In it, I wake up and find that I have a baby boy, called Henry, with blonde curly hair and blue eyes. That's all that really happens in this dream.

It's scary for me because I'm not the sort of person who has ever really strongly wanted children. I could only foresee myself having children if I had some kind of by-accident. However, as I am the kind of girl who takes the issue of contraception seriously, I can't see how I might inadvertently get pregnant. I suppose, if I did, I'd roll with it and work it out. But it's not something I am necessarily planning.

I mean, the whole issue of pregnancy and childbirth really freaks me out.

But the bigger issue in hand is what I privately refer to as 'the morph'. I know lots of people that get married - and the morph happens then too - but worse, they have children and they basically deteriorate into dumbness. They cease to be able to have conversations about anything other than pregnancy/the baby they've just had. Or they talk about awful, socially-unacceptable things, like breastfeeding, what it was like to give birth etc. I don't care what anyone says, no-body really wants to know how it feels to squeeze out a watermelon through something that only a grape ought to pass through. I. DON'T. WANT. TO. KNOW.

I mean, there are so many things to talk about at any given time - I just think that women who have just given birth to babies, their world shrinks and becomes so tiny that they don't know how to react to other normal, childless people any more. Some of these women never actually come out the other side of the morph. The change is permanent.

You can tell which women are susceptible to the powers of the morph - these are the women who suddenly have an inexplicable desire to bound home and cook their husbands dinner and wash their socks. They love housework. They want to give up work. They like to bake. They stop going out. I seriously think that this anti-feminist attitude is still out there at work, it's still brainwashing women. And for those that resist 'the morph' they are made to feel like they're abnormal - weird.

Perhaps this is more my issue... it's not necessarily about becoming a mother, it's more about a loss of identity. If you become Mother, does that mean you lose something? It's a bit like titles. A man is always Mr. A woman is initially Miss and she's expected to become Mrs when she gets married, and change her name. If she sticks two fingers up at the world and opts for Ms, there are sniggers as she isn't obeying the status quo. This is why on my email signature at work, I don't use a title. I just use my name. Because I want to avoid this whole issue. It's why I have an issue with changing my surname once I'm married next year. And I don't know how I'll avoid the issues of titles. I wish I was a Dr and then I wouldn't have to do this.

Marriage and parenthood has the capacity to wreak havoc with a woman's sense of identity and who she is. The thing is, I quite like being me. I appreciate one's personality will of course change over the years, but I don't know that I like the change being foisted upon me.

Love

So, I must confess, I'm a long-time admirer of Courtney Love. I also think she is incredibly attractive.

Admittedly, there are many things she's done that are pretty bad... drug use, blah, blah. She's a woman who understands the concept of excess. I know lots of women who gently and quietly self-destruct, or basically fade away in front of your eyes, but she is a force of nature. She is a fireball, and I absolutely love it. I mean, if you are going to hell, take everyone else with you.

I love that she's viewed as controversial. If she were a man, no-one would give a shit about the things she's done. But, most people don't know what to do with women like her. That's one of the reasons why I like her. She completely subverts expectations of what women are ''supposed'' to be like. She's like the anti-woman, hence, why she scares the shit out of everyone.

Perhaps this is more a statement about me, but I thoroughly identify with most of the songs she has done either solo, or with Hole. They do speak to me.

For me, she's my generation of Feminist. She's a colossal fuck-up, BUT she dares to be different. She seems unafraid. And rather like a lot of other Feminist-y people that you might look up to, she hasn't been broken. Most women ahead of their time are crushed by circumstances.

Take a listen to the below... enjoy :)

War

So, after a night's sleep and pondering on the thoughts of yesterday, I don't really feel a whole lot better.

Having said that, I might have lost the battle, but I won't lose the war.

Speaking

So, yesterday I had a very weird experience... weird for me.

I don't want to talk about what led to this experience - rather, it is the feelings involved that are important.

I was in a situation where I had an opportunity to speak to my mind, discuss my feelings and even air my grievances but, when the moment came, I was unable to do so. The last time I checked, this wasn't a problem for me. At work, if I need to, I'm able to raise my concerns and give my opinion, even if it goes against the consensus. If people upset me in my personal life - I'm usually able to find the words to have a conversation about the said problem. I wouldn't say that I was afraid of confrontation particularly. I mean, I don't like it, but if it has to happen - if it is essential to clear the air, or the only way to make yourself heard, well then, fine. The thought of an argument does not unnerve me. 

I'd been thinking about this particular moment for quite some time. I even thought a little about what I'd want to say and how I'd want to say it. I would even go so far as to say, I was ready for an argument, should it happen. In this example, I have the moral high ground - I am not the guilty party, but rather the injured. Right is on my side, I thought.

But - when the opportunity revealed itself - actually, was on its knees begging to be had, I just didn't have the words to speak. 

Afterwards, I was annoyed. I'm not sure if I'll get this chance again. I console myself with the notion that sharing my thoughts probably wouldn't have changed anything - it wouldn't make things different, I'd just feel a little better, I suppose. I could have scored a tiny moral victory and kept the triumph for myself - I'd have been the only one to feel it. The flip-side to this coin is - I didn't play my hand and make myself emotionally vulnerable, which could have been much worse.

If this chance comes again, I need to choose my battlefield better. Sometimes, you can be outnumbered, but where you choose to fight is half of the battle. I overlooked this. It's interesting how much of a difference the location can make.

I think, also, that the other person involved in this has an advantage. They intimidate me. 

This comes to mind:

Regression

noun

• 1a return to a former or less developed state:

  it is easy to blame unrest on economic regression

I didn't find my voice - my ability to stand up for myself, at the very earliest, until I went to College. It has taken a lot of therapy for me to even acknowledge that I'm allowed to speak, that my feelings are just a valid and worthwhile as anything anyone else wishes to say. 

I spent my teenage years desperately seeking approval from people that would never give it. I used to be a terrible people-pleaser. I was never popular. I didn't have many friends. I was frightened to say and do the things I wanted and so I'd let myself do the things other people wanted in the hope that they might like me. It didn't help that I always felt horribly different anyway, and so it was probably better to be like them. At the time, I didn't realise that all the ways that I was different were precisely all the ways that made me special. It never occurred to me that it was OK to just be myself.

People that know me now find it hard to believe that I was bullied. 
Or more to the point, that I allowed myself to be bullied. 

I probably do over-compensate for this now and I am very different. I don't care what other people think about me. Life is too short to be sensitive about what other people think.

It's precisely this fact, and the fact that I still am able to be catapulted by some people, back into those horrible, awkward teenage years, to a time where I am continually anxious, worried, where I don't know what to say, or how to say it, and when I do have the words, I'm too terrified to dare to voice them that upsets me so. This isn't me. Why am I acting this way? Why am I not talking? Heaven for-fend that someone else is hurt by the things I have a right to say. 

I can't believe myself sometimes.

Tumble & Fall

I was listening to some music this morning while eating breakfast, and this song came on to my mp3:

It's been a very long time since I heard this song. It brings back memories, driving along the coast, with Mr Wrong, when I was still foolish enough to think he was Mr Right... We tried to be friends, but the truth was, that just never worked out. 

This song reminds me of a sense of loss and beautiful summer afternoons. 

Get Busy....

This really reflects my state of mind right now. 

Things feel like they're getting on top of me. Work is mental, things are very much following a routine right now, and it's boring. It's driving me a bit nuts. I need some excitement, something different, something fun. Something MEANINGFUL.

I don't know what that is yet, but I am going to work it out and beat this funky mood I've been in. 

After all... get busy living, or get busy dying. What's it going to be?

Bucket List

So I was thinking the other day about a few experiences I'd like to have before I die, in no particular order:

1. Go in a hot air balloon. I don't know why, but I've always wanted to do this. The photographer in me gets a bit orgasmic about the photo opportunity that this would present.

2. Drive a tank. I just think this would be incredibly satisfying.

3. See an Opera. In Italy. I was supposed to do this on my last holiday (Florence) but it was cancelled. 

4. See the Mona Lisa. Self-explanatory.

5. Scale the Eiffel Tower. Again, self-explanatory.

6. Visit Rome.

7. Visit Venice.

8. See the Grand Canyon, preferably from a Helicopter.

9. Go back to Las Vegas.

10. Write a book and publish it. Because everyone has at least one good story, right?

11. Start my own photography business.

12. Get my black-belt in Kickboxing.

13. Earn £xx the-amount-in-my-head.

14. Fall asleep under the stars. (I'm a lousy romantic, obviously).

I fully intend to update this list as and when I think of more to add to it.

Listening to:  Video, Tegan & Sara

Shut UP

Kickboxing Seminar

So, at the weekend, I attended the Bill Wallace seminar organised by the 

instructors, of my kickboxing academy.
 
I had no idea what to expect... It was incredibly good and so informative 

although I am now very sore and tired, my left arm and hand especially - 

I'm convinced it has been replaced by a chimp-arm, 

dragging along the floor.

Bill Wallace is a very cool guy - and training with him kind of reminded

me of this:

 
But that said, I'd go again.

Kickboxing Thoughts

So, some of you may know - that I go kickboxing. I've only been doing it for a few months - not even a year, and have only test twice so far. I'm due to test for my 3rd belt in a fortnight or so, which is exciting.

I'm very lucky - because despite numerous horror stories I've heard, my instructors are lovely and incredibly talented. Actually, one of my instructors just successfully tested for his 8th Dan in Black belt. (Way to go Sir, if you happen to read this!)

I got involved in kickboxing when my Mum started doing it, and recommended it to me. I searched on Google for a local club, and located Master Drury's academy a five minute drive away from my house. It took me several weeks to build up the courage to arrange to go, and then another week to actually make it there. 

I find situations like this nerve-racking and I'm not always confident about bounding into new environments with new people.

The first day I went along, I arrived early, and opened the door, inside leaning against a counter were three burly guys, all black belt. My immediate thought was "Holy shitballs, I've made a terrible mistake. Leave now. Leave immediately."

But I didn't, I stayed and that first class nearly killed me. I hadn't exercised for probably five years before that day and so was in for a very rude physical awakening. But I did what I could and I got through it, and then I went back. I discovered those endorphins fitness nutters are always going on about. Up until this point, I'd assumed that was bullshit. 

The first month was very hard. But now I can't imagine not doing it, although sometimes it is hard to get motivated. 

I do find kickboxing challenging. Not just physically. But sometimes it causes me to go out of my emotional comfort zone. This happened just the other day actually, when we were practising self-defence techniques, ironically. 

I think self defence techniques make me nervous because they are so real.

Sometimes when I'm kickboxing, I feel like I'm doing a move or a combination of moves and I don't always feel that it relates to the human body, although I do of course understand the practical application. When I do a roundhouse kick to a punch-bag, or a hook punch, I'm not necessarily thinking that if I had to, that this would work perfectly in someone's ribs and hurt them.

So I think when we practice self-defence moves and knife defence with the realistic rubber knives, it just felt a little too much like real life. 

I hope that I never have to be in a situation where I need to defend myself.
I have been in the past and my instinct was not to protect myself and fight back. My instinct deserted me and instead I basically let myself get hit.

I think if it ever did happen again, I'd be rendered useless. 

I go kickboxing because a. I'm a little too fat and b. It's great for stress. I don't go because I want to learn how to seriously hurt someone.

It's why I felt so uncomfortable when I first started sparring. I feel horribly uncomfortable practicing hitting and kicking someone else, even if I trust the other person and the movements are slow and controlled. It makes me very nervous. I'm more confident now than I ever was, but it's something that needs work. And the funny thing is - and an instructor pointed it out to me - sparring is not like an actual fight. It's a bit of fun and a way of practicing. An actual fight is something else all together. 

Sometimes it's hard for me not to bring my own baggage with me. Sometimes it makes me think a little too hard. Sometimes I walk down memory lane and don't recall fondly what I find there.

But what I do know is that all the training and practice is worth it - because as nampy-pampy as it sounds, it makes me a better person. It makes me more disciplined. It gives me a sense of achievement. And maybe with enough time, exertion and practice with my amazing instructors I'll have enough confidence to use what I've learned if I ever had to. 

I hope one day, that I'll be black belt. I lust after that as much as I did when I used to fantasise about completing an MA when I was still doing my A-Levels. And the day I graduated was just so sweet. It was perfect. And I hope one day, if - and when, I get to black belt, it'll be equally as good. And as much effort, time and energy will have been invested in it. My instructor quite often says, a black belt is a white belt that never quit. 

Every once in a while....

You can be a real cunt.

I Was A Fool

I'm a huge Tegan & Sara fan. I heard their music alot during my holiday in Canada a couple of years ago, and I've been hooked ever since. And not just because I have got a huge-monster-girl-crush on Sara.

Their new album is fantastic... this is my favourite song from it, and the video is just beautiful.

http://youtu.be/WZHGeg_0Rlo 

Happy Friday everyone!

I Could Not Have Tea....

So I was feeling a bit sad earlier and so I decided that I wanted to watch "Scott Pilgrim vs the World", which is one of my favourite films. It's a modern day, geeky love story, which I can totally identify with.

A girl I dated once said that I reminded her of Ramona Flowers, and not just because I dyed my hair a different colour every week. That's one of the nicer compliments I've received.

http://m.youtube.com/?reload=9&rdm=mltlka4y4#/watch?v=kRKGNTFuKZk

This is one of my favourite, most charming moments in the film... I really do love this movie. It makes me smile.

Favourite Quotes:

Kim Pine: Scott, if your life had a face, I would punch it.

Knives Chau: I've never even kissed a guy before.
Scott Pilgrim: Hey... me neither.

Scott Pilgrim: I have to go pee due to boredom.

Stacey Pilgrim: [Scott has just broken up with Ramona] Did you really see a future with this girl?
Scott Pilgrim: Like... with jet-packs?

Scott Pilgrim: I know you play mysterious and aloof just to avoid getting hurt. And I know you have reasons for not wanting talk about your past. I want you to know that I don't care about any of that stuff. Because I'm in lesbians with you.

And now I've watched this movie, something about it has flipped the "everything-is-fine" switch in my brain and I feel very depressed. :(

Insomnia

This is my life.

Something Interesting Possibly Happened...

What's in a name?

Sooo, I've a dilemma on my hands.

As you may or may not know - I'm getting married next year.

Me and the hus-bot-to-be had a discussion about whether or not I would change my surname. Initially, I was very vocal about NOT changing my name. I think first he was expecting this as par-for the-course, however, I won *that* argument thusly:

''So, would you change your name to Mr Webb?''
''God, no.''
''I rest my case''

Sabrina, 1, Ian, 0.

My compromise was to go for a double-barrelled name. Sabrina Andrews-Webb. I quite like the sound of that as a possibility, I mused. But still... the hassle of it. And the fact that it's my name - do I really want to change it? Really? Should I have to? 

And a little time has passed. And now I'm having doubts.

We went for a walk on Saturday, along the beach in the sunshine, quaffing ice-cream and for whatever reason, I decided to raise the subject for discussion. Ian declared that he was ambivalent about said name change. And then he said, that if I didn't want to change my name to Andrews, then he'd prefer if I just kept Webb. At first I wondered if this was a sneaky way of getting me to change my mind in his favour. The reason: a double barreled name sounds pretentious. I'm not convinced by this argument at all. I rather like it. And I was a little miffed that he wasn't more impressed with me offering up this as an option, which I felt, was very fair and generous.

If he'd been angry about it, the decision would have been an easy one. I'd have kept my own name and that would have been that - as a feminist point of principle. BUT because now he's capitulated and been super-cool, it's a harder thing for me to decide. Because there is no obstacle - it really is a preference thing. It's down to me to decide, because the more he talked, the more I realised, he doesn't mind what my name is. 

It is a very important decision for me though. If I do decide to change my name - I'll only do it once. So the reasons have to be right. I have to be sure. 

The biggest con for me is - it's my family name. I have a photograph on my hallway wall of my great-grandad Frederick - in his uniform - he fought in the great war. My granddad was in the RAF and worked as a paramedic for many years. Skipping over the next generation - my Dad is a douche-bag - but there is a lot of history in that name. I was the first Webb to go to University, and certainly the first one to complete an MA degree. My graduation certificates say that Sabrina Webb achieved those qualifications. So do my kickboxing certificates. 

And lets not forget....I'm the last Webb in our family. If I change my name, there are no more of us. 

Does it make us any less of a couple if my name stays the same? 
Does it make us any less married?
Does it make us any less of a family?

No, not really.

I think what I'm feeling is the pull of tradition and ''what people normally do.'' 

I guess I have a lot of thinking to do. 

What I'm Listening to:
The Smiths – This Charming Man

Bananas

I heard the other day, albeit on a radio ad, that humans share 50% of their DNA with bananas.

I have no idea if this is true, but it might explain a few things.

Shoe Whore

Since I saw these shoes, I've been slightly obsessed with them. Especially the Fetish Ballerina shoes by Louboutin.

My initial thoughts were 'is this a joke?' 

There are several different variations of women: nice-underwear women, bath-products women, handbag women and shoe-women. I am a bath-products woman. But even then my attitude to this is slightly lax. I personally feel that in a rush, essential beauty products would include hair-wax, mascara and a spritz of perfume (my current favourite is Deep Night, Ghost). Oh, and don't forget sunglasses...

Shoes... I don't understand the appeal. 

I don't ''do'' heels. I can't wear them and owing to having ridiculously big feet, it used to be tough for me to find heels in my size. I'd spend my limited amounts of cash as a younger-twenty-something on gorgeous shoes that I could barely stand up in, feet scrunched up, rubbed, red, blistered, pinched in. I don't care what anyone says, they are NOT comfortable. You can't walk in them, dance in them, run for a taxi in the rain in them - they serve no purpose whatsoever. Except to look pretty. 

I realised a few years ago the stupidity of it and basically surrendered. I'm definitely not a shoe-whore.

So, I'm wondering - what's the point of these shoes? They have absolutely no practical merit. Indeed, they stretch the point of wearing heels to ridiculousness, don't they? 

Why do women even wear heeled shoes? Isn't it to do with appearing to make the legs look longer, to appear more alluring to the opposite sex? I don't really have a lot of patience for this. I don't see men busting a gut trying to keep upright in shoes that make no sense trying to impress me. I don't believe that men worry about how women think they'll look in their brogues or suits or ties, I doubt if they're anxious that we will find them less attractive or masculine, or that they haven't 'made an effort'. (This reminds me of my 'why nice underwear is a waste of money theory'... I'll share it sometime.)

The pale pink pair  were worn by Lady GaGa, whose outfits are ridiculed by the press and err on the side of buffoonery. Whether or not this is intentional is another thing. But then isn't that the whole point of fashion? Dressing up? Appearing a certain way on a certain day for a certain occasion? Finding something to wear that demonstrates who you are today? Caitlin Moran writes amazingly about this in her book How To Be A Woman, by the way. You should all read it. It's hilarious and groundbreaking.

Anyway - back to the topic at hand...These shoes must be a form of art. Modern art, perhaps? The high price tag would certainly indicate this. After all, since when is good art cheap? I suspect that this is why some people spend hundreds - or thousands - on fashion items and describe them as 'investment pieces'. 

But then again, maybe these aren't examples of good art. Maybe that's just what we've been told.The trouble is, modern art is divisive simply because taste is subjective.

Which reminds me of a quote by Oscar Wilde: ''Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months.'' 

So who gets to decide what is or is not beautiful?

The people who decide which shoes - clothes - bags - are exceptionally beautiful are of course the ones who design them.These shoes are only worth thousands because the designer knows that there are circles of people who will happily spend that amount on them, as though inflated prices were a guarantee of better quality... and when something is scarce, its value increases. The fact that most of these shoes serve absolutely no purpose is irrelevant to the buyer.

However, maybe I'm the wrong person to discuss high end fashion. I buy my clothes from Primark.


What I'm listening to:
Paramore – Grow Up

Hey There...

Hey there,

So I've been keeping a blog/journal/thing online for years... and I've decided on a change of location. 

Let me tell you some stuff about me.

1. I'm a girl! Yes, I know. Sometimes it frightens me too.

2. I'm 26. That's the statistics done.

3. By day I am a lowly administrator, by night I'm a wannabe-photographer. You can check out my portfolio here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/click-flash-repeatphotography/

4. I like to write. But I write about myself. I totally agree with Augusten Burroughs (one of my favourite authors when he says: ''(The new boyfriend) knows I write every day for hours but has no idea that all I'm writing about is me. It seems wiser to let him think I'm an aspiring novelist instead of just an alcoholic with a year of sobriety who spends about eight hours a day writing about the other sixteen.'' *except I'm not an alcoholic yet.

5. My family are insane.

6. I'm English, which means that I'm horribly repressed and have a bizarre sense of humour.

7. My favourite colour is green. 

8. I'm an unashamed strident angry feminist and proud. There will be many rants. Oh, the incentives to keep reading!

9. I'm getting married next year. Excitemont!

10. I believe that ''positive thinking'' is a crock of shit. People that are overly chirpy, happy and try to be inspirational irritate me. There will be none of that.

OK, I think that's enough for now... Stay tuned. :D


What I'm Listening to:

Paramore – [One Of Those] Crazy Girls