Forbidden Fruit

There's something awfully attractive about a someone that you can't or shouldn't have.

Pursuing that person can be wicked and cruel, not to mention a cause for tortured souls, but ultimately that is what is so delightful about it. Much of what is so deliciously exciting is the purely illicit nature. Maybe a smidgen of schadenfreude, but more than that is the sense of superiority and control over another person, even if it's not strictly in anyone's best interest. The knowledge that one has the ability to draw the favourable specimen away from its chosen prey and lure the object of desire to a focus elsewhere offers a sort of rush that is hard to rationalise. That you must be worth the potential risk, in some respect, for something to happen in the first place. Everyone loves to be in on a good bit of gossip, and to be at the core of a secret is the most exhilarating part of it. Teetering on the edge of being discovered, that tantalising mystery that surrounds every encounter creates a bittersweet taste that is hard to resist.

It's difficult to admit the challenge of the pursuit is what you like most.

Spring Forward

Today, I have had a cheese toastie.

It's been a weird week. Full of dates, mates, dangling bait and staying up late.#

First of all, the best football match I've ever been to. That is, the only football match I've ever been to. As I have lamented and rejoiced in before, many of my friends are now boys. Lads who do laddish things like drink beer and watch football. So I went to watch the football with my merry men. It was quite an experience. After the match, we walked home. Most of it was along the canal, and it was lovely and picturesque and romantic and if only one of the boys was A Boy that I wanted to be with, rather than just Friends who I go to the football with. Hey ho. 

Next up, a cinema date that was not a date. That is, two colleagues going to see a film together because it's Orange Wednesday and they are the only ones that wish to see that particular movie. The only snag being the mismatch of sentiment between the two. However, the jury came to the conclusion that it was indeed a Just As Friends meet, and not a More Than Friends date. This involved tears, because rejection -  even when  implict rather than outright - is brutal, but better than the torture of never knowing. Ah well.

So to follow, there was a course social. Involving boys. And when there are boys, there is confusion, there is rarely a way to avoid that. So there were kisses that did not mean what they were supposed to, and inappropriate looks that made for uncomfortable conversations. In the mix was some harmless texting that would perhaps become hurtful, and so by the very act of remaining secret became a malicious act, despite the fact that it was completely innocent. Oh dear.

The rest of the week proceeded in much a similar manner, regarding boys and girls, unrequited feelings, dashed hopes and missed opportunities. An inbalance of attraction: that's what it boils down to in the end. I'm undecided on the whole cross-gender close friendship idea. I think it can work well as part of a mixed group but on a one-to-one basis, only in specific cases. Or perhaps it can work, I just don't think I've ever experienced it myself. Hmm.

In other news: I still have no cake. 

On the jukebox: Eels ~ Hey Man (Now You're Really Living)

Femme Fatale

Today, I have been fazed by complications.

It is Sunday evening and I have once again lost my weekend in a haze of crazy nocturnal activity inbetween lazing around in bed. In fact, my whole week has been unproductive in its entirety.

Here's some tips:

If the boy you're kind of seeing (but not really seeing because you've only actually seen him once so how can you call that exclusive but that's besides the point) calls you up at half two in the morning when you're with your friends who are down for the weekend except that they're not really your friends and you kind of might have had a little thing with one of them at some point, then a) don't answer the phone and b) do not let the boy who you kind of had a thing with but not really and who is quite attractive with an amazingly sexy voice and also a proper Real Doctor take the phone from you and speak to the boy because the boy who you're kind of seeing but not really seeing might think that you're the kind of girl that does that kind of thing every Saturday night, when really, you're not that kind of girl at all.

Oh dear.

I am so so tired. I am so confused. I have been like this for over a week. I have a report due and a viva voce next week and I can't think and I'm not sure and I just want someone to talk to who is a) a girl and b) understands. Someone who doesn't resent me, because it's not as if I do go around suggesting that all of the boys are after me but I can't help it if somehow it's true. I'm not trying to be a homewrecker or a cocktease or arrogant bitch or whatever you want to think, I just want to get along with people. I just want to be friendly and have fun and yes, maybe flirt a little, too. But so can you, you know.

This is why I don't want to drink. I do not like myself when I am drunk. Alcohol is not an excuse.

Oh dear.

On the jukebox: Elton John ~ Are You Ready For Love?

Zoning Out

Today, I have been surrounded by testosterone.

Distracted.

Boys. Everywhere. All the time. Filling my mind and my work and my home and my days and my nights.

I am not a girly-girl. But I am not one of the lads. However, in my type of work, I am in the minority gender which probably shouldn't make a difference, boys are people too, after all. But I miss having girl friends.

I know it shouldn't really be this way, and maybe it's somewhat in my head, but I kind of feel like I'm on display anytime I walk any place. I kind of feel like I have to be extra girly to counteract all the boyish banter that flies around. I kind of feel like I'm being teased or talked about, constantly. I kind of feel like the ladies loo is the only place I can really escape. I kind of feel like sometimes I just need a female there to understand.

Everyone is so far away these days. IT'S RUBBISH.

Frustrated.

On the jukebox: Britney Spears ~ Boys

Dancing Queen

Today, I have had a good, good night.

I've had enough of clubbing. Once in a while, it's fun to dance a bit, for a couple of hours, but I find it hard to hack the whole night in such a stinky, sweaty place stuffed full of students. Three years is enough, and I didn't even experience or enjoy it particulary during those years. Despite that, if I let go and decide that okay, I don't do alcohol and okay, I don't have to do this every week and okay, almost everyone is younger and thinner and more drunk than me then somehow, it becomes a lot easier to have a good night.

Last night was fun, in several respects.

I like music. It's too loud, but I know a lot of the songs and so I can sing along. I like dancing. I really like dancing. And I can go crazy spinning and jumping and skipping and no-one thinks any less of me, because they don't need to know that I'm not drunk. The clarity of mind that comes with being sober is amazing because you have potential to act however you like whilst being fully aware of what you're doing, but the fact that everyone else is suitably inebriated to do the things you'd quite happily do without inhibition anyway, means that you don't look like too much of a fool or a weirdo.

I like watching and meeting people. It's easy to almost invisibly observe the amusing behaviour or casually participate in interesting exchanges with people you wouldn't so much as smile at if you saw them anywhere else. But you don't have to be best friends, or even flirtation potential, you can still have a common link in conversation. A sort of suspended reality in which any interaction is possible. It kind of makes me a bit sad that we have to have alcohol to be able to talk to people we don't know. How else do you just strike up a conversation with someone without thinking that there's an ulterior motive? What kind of world do we live in?

Anyway, when I get tired and hot from dancing a lot, I sit or stand and I watch for a bit and sooner or later someone will come up to me. And they will give a glance or a gesture, or they will try to sing in my face, or grab me around the neck or the waist and get me to join in. And there are some you can immediately shrug off and they'll stumble away without a second thought. But some might actually try and chat, which is hard in a place where you can't even hear yourself think and the sound is so loud it moves in your body. But they try and they make an effort to actually find out what you're like, rather deciding that what you look like or the fact that you're female is good enough for what they want.

So, you figure that the place is full of people younger and thinner and more drunk than you. But a few aren't. And maybe you have an air of maturity, or the focused eyes and unswaying stance of sobriety but somehow it's the person who also doesn't drink who catches your eye, or the post-grad who is here on a one-off social that happens to be drawn to you. And so you talk, or you get a drink, or you dance, and it's fine and comfortable and no expectations are held and somehow, in this dire dismal heaving hovel, you've found some sort of enjoyment that you couldn't have previously conceived.

The fact remains: I don't really like clubbing. But if you make the effort to make it a good night, accept that it's going to be loud, and lads are going to push their luck and girls are going to act inconsiderately and it's going to be rammed and there's going to be people having sex in the corner of the club because some people have no shame, then you accept that it's not going to be the most fun you've ever had, and you go in knowing all that, you might just find that it can be more fun that you expect.

I'm so tired and it feels like I haven't slept at all, which isn't far from the truth. I ache all over and I can't wait for bedtime. I had a good, good night, though.

Oh, to be a student.

On the jukebox: Black Eyed Peas ~ I Gotta Feeling

Chasing Cars

Today, I have chased.

I'm racing around to try to catch a wisp of a ghost. It's utterly ridiculous and I'm disgusted with myself, but I just can't help it. You know, when you're think you're so over it, so past it, so beyond the need to think about it everyday. You know, you think you've got it made.

But then that shadow of the past collides back into your life and it's so much harder to let go again. Because you know you can do it, you know you've gone x months or whatever without it, but then it happens again and it taunts you with flippant gestures that hold more weight than is intended. And you know it's all a bit of banter; disguising the real meaning and disregarding the history, but at the same time, you hope it's more than just that.

Hope dangles on a string
Like slow spinning redemption
Winding in, winding out
The shine of it has caught my eye

So your friends start gossiping, and that's when the real issues start, because it's easier to talk yourself out of it when you believe it's all in your head, a one-sided mess, but when other people start to notice and comment on it, too, well, maybe there's something in it?

No.

Yet still, I'm leaning on a lamp-post at the corner of the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of a grin, a twinkle in the eye. I don't know why, and I wait all day and maybe if I don't look, it might show? Maybe. But maybe that's not so.

Should I give up, or should I just keep chasing rainbows?
Even if they lead nowhere.

I like to be in control. I do. I like to be right and I like to win. And if I can't win, I tend to not play at all. But apparantly, the regular rules don't apply for this game. I'm fighting a battle I know, for certain, I can only lose. I'm racing around and around, chasing dreams I know I'll never reach.

But you know, sometimes, it's fun to go for a run.

On the jukebox: The Cardigans ~ My Favourite Game - dear, I fear we're facing a problem

First Time

Today, I have done it again.

It's never just once. Smokers say that the first cigarette isn't nice; it's not. But once you've done it once, you might as well do it again. You've broken the barrier, it's not such a big deal anymore. Like sex. Once you've lost your virginity, you can't get it back. From then on, every subsequent conquest is a notch on the bedpost and since it's not the first time any more, it's not so notable, it doesn't matter, whatever.

The first time you get disgustingly drunk. Once and never again, you say. How embarassing, how terribly hungover. Remember how awful you felt? Remember, how you wanted to die? Yes, for a week, a month, a year. But then you jump right back off the wagon, you've coped before, you can do it again. When a boy treats you badly, so you break up. When you know it won't work out, so you break up. When you know he's just not right for you, so you break up, again. But then the time comes around again for you to come around to the idea that maybe we can work around this situation. Maybe. But maybe it'll be exactly the same as before and nothing more? Maybe.

Maybe it won't be so bad this time. I can give it up any time I like. And I will. Just watch me. I will. I'll watch; I'll wait.

Okay, just once more.

I told you so.

On the jukebox: The Bird & The Bee ~ Again & Again

Pretty Princess

Today, I have felt beautiful.

"Life is easier for prettier people"

Pretty people can afford to be bitches and bastards because their looks carry them. A pretty face is leverage and enables people to delve deeper once drawn in. If you don't like what you find after that, fair enough, but you've got the first step to get you started.

"Beauty comes from within, but the outside gets you noticed"

Of course, looks matter. But do you ever stop to think about the flip side of the coin? That sometimes pretty people get a hard time, too? No, no, don't be ridiculous! All you need is a pretty face and you'll get a drink and a kiss from anyone, so why choose me? Yes, but have you ever thought that a pretty princess might want more than that?

"Why would a girl like you want to talk to a guy like me?"

The assumption that a gorgeous girl will only be there to take advantage of you, that because she's young and pretty she'll only be interested in looks and if she talks to you she must be into you, because why would she waste her time otherwise? Just because she's pretty doesn't mean she's a shallow whore, out for all she can get, simply because she can. You don't like it when people brush you off, but you're allowed to take a sneering swipe at them straight away just because they're beautiful?

Sometimes it feels like if you have the looks, that's all you need, life is a breeze because every prince in the land will be after you... yeah, right.

On the jukebox: Kelly Clarkson ~ Beautiful Disaster

Attractive Aspects

Today, I have been attracted to accents.

For those who know my obsession with accents, this will not be news. I hold the belief that a sexy accent can make a person at least 54.8% more attractive in comparison to someone who has a less than desirable way of speaking. It definitely makes a lot of difference in my view. Does it change your perception of people, in terms of attractiveness levels?

It's not the most insightful conversation to speak of 'type' with regards to fancying someone. Normally will come the response "I don't have a type", or it'll be vague generic aspects that will tend to be similar for many people. I find it interesting when people do go for a certain type, or rule people out immediately if they're lacking a particular quality.

Tall or Short? Skinny or Broad? Blonde or Brunette? Fair-skinned or Dark-skinned? Long or Short Hair? Bearded or Clean Shaven?

Sometimes, I'll make strong statements like: I wouldn't want to go out with someone shorter than me, I wouldn't want to go out with someone younger than me. This are generally accepted as undesirable options in a woman seeking a man. Does it really matter that much?

Would you say there are certain physical points that draw you more to a person? Or are you not so vain or shallow? ;o)

On the jukebox: Blondie ~ Denis

Gay Radar

Today, I have been attracted to men.

Until I came to university, I never really thought much about homosexuality vs. heterosexuality. Sure, I knew there were gay people, and naturally, some people I wouldn't be surprised to discover they were attracted to the same sex, there was speculation and experimentation but never widely known or accepted. Now, the boundaries seemed to blur a little bit more, with facebook and starting afresh and growing up into yourself, it's interesting to discover who's what and where now. It is gossip-worthy, always, to find that someone from school has turned out to be that way inclined. Some it's so obvious, some not so much.

To be honest, it doesn't seem to make a lot of difference. Some students will have sex with literally anything. Games like "gay chicken" and simply getting so drunk you don't care what parts they've got down there, just so long as there's something to do? It's often seen as a bit risqué to push the acceptable lines of behaviour, but I'm of the opinion that sexuality isn't so clear cut as people like to believe, and it's come to my observation that challenging the conceptions of pre-defined ideas of acceptablity isn't really all that daring. Gay or straight, ugly or gorgeous, these concepts have little effect, because half the time they're all so sexed-up, confused and yearning for attention and affection that it's all the same. And you can always wake up in the morning and blame it on the drink.

It seems that attraction needn't be so gender-defined. If you fancy someone, the first hint of attraction is not usually because they are one gender or another, but because of the way they look, or how they act. An infectious personality can be attractive no matter what kind of person you're into, and while you may be repulsed by the idea of sleeping with someone of a certain sex, I think it is still possible to cross the line of merely 'fancying' them, in a sense, even if it's only in an admiring and enviable way. What I don't really get though, is how it's alright to cheat if it's with someone you're not officially attracted to, as long as they are the opposite sex of your partner. Well, kissing has come to be seen as not such a serious cheating offence anyway. Hey, if you're drunk and your boyfriend's not around, it's okay to want to satisfy your sexual needs to a limited extent, right? If there's obviously no feelings there, it's just a bit of fun?

The thrill involved with doing something unexpected - kisses needn't be a consequence of attraction, or expression of desire? You hug your friends, you hold hands with your friends, why not kiss your friends, too? And if you're a gayboy, of course, what a perfect excuse for you to lull girls into a false sense of security... Well, if it turns into something more, you can always plead bisexuality and ultimate confusion. And then, if it doesn't, that's because you're gay, innit. In fact, it makes perfect sense for guys to pretend to be gay - get all the girls without the guilt.

I'm not really sure how it got to this point.

On the jukebox: Nightmare Of You ~ In The Bathroom Is Where I Want You

Love You

Today, I have ended a conversation with love.

How often do you (verbally) express your love to someone else? The internet has a funny way of enforcing intimacy in a way that wouldn't necessarily be the same in a regular exchange, this form of technology is similar to alcohol in that respect. A kiss on the lips is the informal handshake of young people. Love loses its meaning in being plastered all over walls everywhere, the number of x at the end of the message is obviously so significant in friendship heirarchy and determining levels of attraction, something that should be analysed to the max and used to assess the validity of suspicions.

One of my friends works with computers, sits all day in front of them, taking calls and such. What I find most intriguing, is the stories that I hear from the workplace, a suggestive snippet of conversation making it seem like that is all the workmates did all day - flirt, gossip, flirt and marvelled at the confidence my friend must have to make this kind of conversation, and gain that sort of attention with people who weren't much more than aquaintances in any real sense. Then I found out it was all conducted online, via messenger. It seems an odd thing to make note of now, but it made a big difference in how I saw the interactions between them.

To start up a conversation with a person online isn't hard to do, really. It's much easier to let your guard down when you're not actually faced with the person, or to present yourself using the more attractive parts of your personality. How can you pretend you've got any kind of real repore without actually ever speaking to them? Flirting online is just not the same at all, people say stuff online that they would never dare even hint at face-to-face. Love and kisses are thrown about all over the place "zomg, I actually LOVE you!!11!!xXxXxXx" without a second thought. It makes the whole boy/girl interaction thing a whole lot easier, in some respects. Indeed, I'm not denying there's something to be gleaned from that form of communication, of course you can learn a lot about a lot and perhaps a lot more than you might usually. But honestly, I can't have much faith in your womanising or - is there an equivalent for men? - manising? skills if online instant messaging is your main piece of evidence for them.

On the jukebox: Goo Goo Dolls ~ Name

Boy Toys

Today, I have found a strange boy sleeping on the sofa.

Saturday morning, I open the door to greet an unknown boyface.

"Hi, is Tom there?
"Um, Tom doesn't live here..."
"I think he's staying with Jane or someone?"
*Jane comes out of her room*
"He won't be a minute..."

Of course, how was I not to know that Tom's mate was going to be picking him up in the morning? Perhaps because I didn't even know that Tom was in the house? Perhaps because I still don't know who Tom is?

Sunday morning, I wake up at 5.38am to the sound of people coming back, banging on the front door. Promptly falling back to sleep, I stir a couple of hours later to the sound of housemates' voices. Getting out of bed, I am greeted with the news that an anonymous manthing is lying on the sofa downstairs asleep. My housemate and I venture down to investigate and confirm. He didn't even flinch when we turned the light on. Neither of us knew who it was.

Currently, I am sitting in my bedroom upstairs alone, having just caught a glimpse of one of two males who has stayed overnight in my house, for reasons unknown to me. Such is the student life, eh?!

On the jukebox: One Night Only ~ Just For Tonight

Toy Boys

Today, I have felt old.

"What's your age then?"
"Guess!"
"Twenty-three...?"

Okaay. To be honest, at this stage of age, it doesn't tend to bother me if people think I'm older than I am. It's cool to have an air of maturity, right? Rather than be living with the mentality of a teenager fresh out of high school, despite the fact that you're a twenty-six year old man. The problems arise the older you get, though. Oh, I'm not going to talk about feeling on the shelf before I've even turned twenty-one, but when I come across someone who's just turned nineteen, it makes me feel old, even though there's less than a year between us, and all of his friends were older than me. If I hadn't had known, I wouldn't have suspected otherwise, it's just that once I did, it made me think: but but but you're younger than me? It's a tough life for girls, eh? Boys, they get older and they can continue to reach for younger models, but I look at someone who's nineteen [the same age as me] thinking, hey, this is a bit weird. Objectively, I can see that it's stupid to rule out someone on principle of age, after all, I have friends who are younger than me, and that's perfectly normal. But in terms of relationship potential, I can't pretend like it doesn't make a difference.

These are transistion years, and I think there's a lot more of a difference from year to year of say the 17ish to 23ish age span than there is after that. Age gaps make more difference the younger you are, along with the older you appear. Recently, I found out my 35 year old lecturer is in a relationship with a 25 year old post-doc student. Now, that doesn't seem such a big gap, yet 19 & 28, it's like - what are you doing!? Another problem lies in the fact that girls are generally way beyond guys in the maturity stakes, so in terms of probability, it makes sense for a girl to go out with an older guy, they're more likely to be on the same level. All too often I've been told I'm old beyond my years, which while is in some part flattering, it doesn't always make things easy. With a few exceptions, I've generally found myself attracted to and involved with older guys, that is after all, the expected choice. But perhaps that's because it's never really deemed acceptable to give the younger guy the chance? Oh, woe to the rules of social interactions.

On the jukebox: Paolo Nutini ~ Jenny Don't Be Hasty

Kissing Frogs

Today, I have been offered a option.

You have to kiss a lot of frogs to finally find your prince.

Indeed, it is simple to see where this arises from, and the logic behind it. If you never try out the frogs, how do you know if they could turn out to be a prince? There's truth in the claim of judging a person within 30 seconds of meeting them, and sometimes it becomes all too easy to take that rule of thumb a bit too much to heart. Initial attraction is an essential aspect of interaction of a certain kind, and the whole idea of kissing frogs for the sake of it, as a proof, as a conquest has never really appealed to me. There's satisfication in discovering you're attractive, but at the end of it, that's enough for me at the moment. Once there's the option, the prospect isn't half as appealing. In the end, I find myself scared, underprepared and going nowhere. How long must you wait for it?

Maybe you should kiss someone nice,
Or lick a rock,
Or both.

On the jukebox: Sugababes ~ Push The Button

Break Up

Today, I have seen the end of a relationship.

Break-ups are always hard - fact of life, rite of passage. Is it lucky to have never have to go through a break-up? To stumble across the love of your life early on and never have want for anyone else? Well, that's a nice little fairytale and wouldn't it be great if things did work out like that. Maybe, for some they do, and I'm happy for them. If you're content with only ever having kissed one person your entire life and never knowing anything else, sure, you do that. Personally, I couldn't be coping with that. For me, there'd always be the what ifs, and I'd need to get that out of my system before embarking on a life-long companionship. Perhaps it's because I haven't met the right person yet, perhaps it's just human nature. In part, doubting is natural, if you've never doubted, then there's never been a opportunity to prove to yourself the right decision. If you've never questioned, then how can you know it's the right answer?

Anyway, that doesn't take away the fact that even if the questioning leads to the inevitable end, it still hurts to do the 'right' thing. Change is difficult, often, staying the same is easy, is comfortable. Whether it be a three week spring fling or a three year complete dedication, drawing it to a close brings up a whole host of complicated emotions that linger way above and beyond the outward act of breaking-up.

The thing is, single is fun. For a while. But it's never seen as a life plan, is it? The assumption is always that you're on the lookout, however young or old, however much experience you've had good or bad, recently or previously with relationships, everyone's always out on the prowl, yearning for the next number to be the one to make it past the first few hurdles.

To be thrown back to the starting line, into the singles arena, when you thought you had your life figured out in that respect is an awful hard hit to take. To discover that however sure you are, nothing is for certain, ever and you've either got to work with it, or let it go. Sometimes letting go is the more sensible option, even if it means losing face, even if it means being alone, even if it means giving up, even if there's still some love there. Nothing lasts forever, so be honest, it hurts but it may be the only way.

Sometimes, the hardest thing and the right thing are the same.

On the jukebox: Regina Spektor ~ Samson

Stupid Girl

Today, I have been paranoid.

Paranoid. Obsessive. Neurotic. Pathetic.

So, I saw them all today. Tall Guy; Blonde Guy; Arrogant Guy; Bearded Guy; Geeky Guy. They have names, but I never knew their names at first. It's a bit of a weird situation. They're only there to help out, it's not like we need to be on first name terms. They knew my name. Everybody knows my name.

So, I saw him today. Passing on the stairs. Not daring to look, not daring to make eye contact. I feel like I'm constantly on edge; wary of any possible encounter. Paranoid about what people know. These buildings have ears, and people talk. I'm pretty sure most of the people have an inkling, I'm pretty sure particular people have caught the wrong side of not-so-whispered statements. But I'm also pretty sure a lot of this pretty sureity is all in my head. Paranoid.

It's screwed up my mind, completely. I did not anticipate this kind of head-fuck when I started out, it was just a bit of fun; a compliment and an ego boost. It still is fun, which makes the messed-up brain part ever more confusing. I know when the technician tells me in her jokey fashion to stop talking to the boys, you're not allowed to have fun, you know! that it's just part of our ongoing witty repartee, but I can't help but wonder if she knows something more. Obsessive.

It's a big problem. I can't stop over-analysing everything and in some strange way hoping I am the focus of the attention, but more so, of the affection. Every sideward glance, every exchange, I wonder, do you know? Have you talked? What do you say? Did you see her today? Neurotic.

It's annoying. I kind of would like to not get my hopes up unnecessarily; I kind of would like not to be completely obsessive and paranoid. I kind of would like people to keep their voices down and not tell everyone about extra-curricular activities. But at the same time, I kind of would like to be seen as more exciting than I actually am. Pathetic.

It's probably best not to mix work and pleasure. Sure, it makes the day go a little faster. But is it really worth the worry, the constant consideration of possibility, the complications? Wouldn't it just be easier to be able to write it all off, not even allow for the option? The mixture of relief and disappointment at the thought of the prospect is more weighted to one direction than I'd like to admit.

I think I'm paranoid.
And complicated.
I think I'm paranoid.
Manipulate it.

On the jukebox: Garbage ~ Temptation Waits

Laboratory Lessons

Today, I have vinegar fingers.

Turns out that acetic acid is the same as ethanoic acid which is pretty much almost the same as vinegar. Glacial acetic acid has nothing to do with icebergs and although it smells like the stuff you shove on yer chips, it's probably not a good idea to use it out of a fumehood because it's substantially more stinky and ill-inducing and it might make your eyes water and burn your nose hairs. Check whether you should filter hot or cold, because it could make a lot of difference to the whole attaining product process. Use a toothpick when heating acid because then it won't bubble uncontrollably when it boils and spit and splurge out of the vessel. Also, it's probably a good idea to wear latex gloves in the laboratory, especially if you cut your hand in a way you can't remember on Monday night, because if you get concentrated acid in an open wound it will hurt like a bitch. Even more than acetone in the face, which isn't that fun either, so be careful when washing up. Horseplay in the laboratory is frowned upon and if you flirt or anything more with the demonstrators to improve your marks and make labs and life bearable, remember that it's a small place and word gets round and chinese whispers mean that raunchy rumours spread loudly and widely so that guy that you kind of like a bit might sort of think that you're a bit of a floozy. And that wouldn't be good, would it?

That's what I learnt today.

On the jukebox: Belle & Sebastian ~ Expectations

Pretty People

Today, I have been judged by looks alone.

Every day, always. It just makes me wonder, when one day I don't have youth and effortless beauty on my side, will it still be easy to draw people in? Sure, scintillating conversational skills and witty throwbacks work once you reach the interaction stage, but beyond or before that, people look to looks to judge. Often, resorting to appearance as a main means of peer ranking.

"Ok, so maybe he cheated on you, but, but, but...you're prettier than she is"

Personally, I wouldn't find this much of a comfort. Perhaps if you're insecure about your appearance and need a self-esteem boost, but otherwise, knowing that she's not as pretty doesn't make a huge amount of difference. It annoys me when people keep mentioning it as if it's the most influential factor. I think, perhaps, I'd be more insulted if the person he cheated with wasn't as pretty, 'cause then you're forced to wonder what else he is straying for, what other quality she has that makes the betrayal worthwhile, ie. what you don't have.

"Anyway, he's not that hot, you could do better."

It's nice to be with pretty people. I like beautiful boys. There needs to be some form of physical attraction for any relationship to work. But, as is so oft quoted: looks aren't everything.

On the jukebox: Sean Kingston ~ Beautiful Girls

Promiscuous Girl

Today, I have been immersed in immorality.

I'm pretty sure, that somewhere, there are people who can have monagomous long term relationships. There have been instances I've come across where long distance doesn't mean "treat as if single". I know, despite clear evidence to the contrary, that for some girls, loyalty and respect is important in their close friendships with other girls. I'm pretty sure that somewhere, these people do exist.

However, if there does exist such concepts, it sure as hell don't seem the case from where I'm sitting. There is a huge chasm between what I experience in surrounding situations and what I believe to be acceptable behavior.

slut n. A person, especially a woman, considered sexually promiscuous.

That seems to be quite true description of character for some people I know. However, the same people would take offence at being labelled as such.

Perhaps it isn't fair to be so blunt. Perhaps, it is hurtful. But the truth hurts, I know so. Perhaps, if one had been on the receiving end of infidelity, one would not be so blasé about continually cheating on one's partner. Perhaps, if one had ever had real friends, one would not be so blasé about screwing them over for a quick screw.

Oh, I despair at the state of society.

On the jukebox: Joe Dolce ~ Shaddap You Face

Poker Pal

Today, I have been poked.

Properly poked, that is, not electronically poked. I have also been grabbed, pinched, held and touched.

Don't touch me please,
I cannot stand the way you tease.

There's a level of familiarity that people allow among each other, social normality dictates many of these rules - if, for example, you don't know a person very well, you probably wouldn't touch their backside intentionally (alcohol-induced interactions aside.) Within close friends, obviously the idea of acceptability is altered to fit in with the unwritten yet universally understood code of conduct that governs relationships between people. We know we don't do that, but this is permitted, because we've evolved our relationship to such a point that we're both comfortable with it.

It makes me feel awkward, and I find it awfully annoying when certain people have little concept of personal space, or are unable to judge acceptable boundaries.

It's not always easy to know where the mark is, but generally most people recognise when they overstep it. Subtle signals in body language; an immediate recoil at unexpectedly intimate contact is usually enough to make most people see where to stop. The inability to interpret these almost imperceptible responses is a small sign of slight social retardation and when it comes down to it, it's probably part of the reason one might find it hard to form meaningful relationships with people.

On the jukebox: Garbage ~ I Think I'm Paranoid