7 Reasons I’m a commitment-phobe

So it took all of 5 posts for me to stop writing on here, not all that far off my prediction. Maybe I should sack it all in and pursue a career as a psychic? Seems legit.

For real though, and the only reason I’m writing this is because I have no data on my commute home. It’s no surprise to me that I find something so simple, so difficult, because I am a total commitment-phobe. Please see examples attached:

One: I am completely incapable of making a solid plan. Ask any of my friends, I don’t agree to any plans without at least saying ‘I’ll just check my diary’. Bitch, you know you ain’t got no plans.

Two: ‘I don’t even want a boyfriend, it seems like so much hassle’ she says. For the most part true, but a small part of that is my icy selfish heart.

Three: I was reading up on commitment-phobes and apparently a common trait is being charming, so that makes sense.

Four: Also, they are apparently really unorganised in their personal life. Anyone that knows me knows I live my day to day life like a bull in a china shop. Disastrous.

Five: Just to go back to what I opened with, I can’t even keep up a twitter account. Let alone a whole BLOG. Or anything else.

Six: I have had my job for almost an entire year and the thought of it makes my hands clammy. Am I still going to be in the office when I’m 60? AM I ALREADY 60!?

Seven: Cheeky make out in a bar? Thanksss, yeah take my number, sureeee. (But please don’t ever text me, I would rather eat worms than cope with the awkwardness of ever conversing with you again)

Soooo, for anyone that has ever asked why I am single.. this may be a pretty good tell. I’m the best three C’s. Cold, Charming & Clammy. I think there is probably a fourth that sums it all up a little better.. I just cunt quite put my finger on it.

How I know my soulmate is, in fact food.

The rough idea for this post came about a few weeks ago, I was horrendously hungover & that meant a warpath of fatty consumption.

Now, I’m not always diving head first into BBQ sauce but I have decided that food is definitely the closest thing I have to a soulmate.

Let me break it down for ya.

At the age of 10, going on holiday to Spain, a good 60% of my diary entries were detailed accounts of what I had eaten instead of what cute Spanish boy we spotted at the pool.

I think this damning review (circa 2004) of an airlines lunch options isn’t too far from what I would write about after a shitty tinder date now:  for lunch there was a choice between a cheese and pickle or a ham and egg mayonnaise, I chose the ham and egg mayonnaise one. It was horrible. I didn’t eat it.

I involuntarily ooh, ahh & mmm when confronted with food on TV. Pointed out most recently by my mum whilst watch Eat, Pray, Love. (Curse Julia Roberts and her tiny jeans) Sounds of pure, indulgent pleasure my friends.

I quite literally earn a living buying sweets. ’nuff said.

If I’m not going to town on food, I’m usually making it. Just me, a mixing bowl & Bob Marley for weekends of baking and quite often a bit of interpretive dance too. Unadulterated bliss!

Clearly I eat, sleep & breathe food so have just given up on finding a man, this is more than enough of a relationship for me ❤

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7 Alter-Egos

Sure, we all have different moods, and can be more inclined to eat a tub of ice cream one day and sign up for a half marathon the next, it’s all good. But it can be horrendously confusing all the same when one minute you are willingly diving head first into career commitments and in a blink you’re wondering how the hell you’re going to become a certified yoga master before ‘the grind’ actually kills you.

We all have these different personalities that we embody whole heartedly and I think on some low level this is a form of split personality disorder, but lets just embrace it shall we? Here are my seven alter-egos, sound familiar?

One: The Independent Woman – (That don’t need no man) Controlled, focused, no nonsense girl that doesn’t think twice about rocking a two piece and a firm handshake. All about the profession & progression.

Two: The Hot Mess – You will either love or hate her. Forever up for a good time, cocktail, dance, the Hot Mess does not know when to call it a night and war will be declared on anyone that tries to make her.

Three: The Earth Child –  Free spirited, oracle following, maxi wearing wannabe hippy child that refuses to take paracetamol because it ‘isn’t natural’ (even if it is to cure a night on the purest of consumables, Jagermeister)

Four: Fitness Freak – Goes to 5 gym classes and skips pasta for a week and thinks she’s the new Joe Wicks, destined for Millions, all despite being consistently 2 stone over weight.

Five: The Housewife – Happily spends hours in the kitchen whipping up batches of cupcakes, cookies, or family sized meals. In her head she is a seductive Nigella Lawson character, reality dawns, its more of a Mary Berry situation. No complaints though. Mary is a boss bitch. (This is why Fitness Freak self is never successful!)

Six: The Don’t Give a Fuck – Lacking even a meager scrape of mascara, wears leggings and a sweater to work? She is always late, and stopped making excuses for it years ago. But, it’s all good as far as this girl is concerned. She’s getting shit done regardless.

Seven: The Loner – After a long week of juggling the perfect combination of personalities, she’s pretty happy to miss out on social engagements and watch Les Miserables on repeat in bed, all. weekend. long.. Asking the all important question…

Growing up with a Resting Bitch Face

So apparently I have been giving the look up and down since I could open my eyes. Old lady squeezing my baby self’s chubby cheeks? Eye roll. Reaching for a high shelf as a toddler, stranger tries to help, “Mind your business lady” (real quote).

If anything I think these show a long standing sense of independence & for the record, I still don’t people squeezing my chub.

As many people have written about before, Resting Bitch Face is not a path that you choose, it is something you are born with. But no one seems to write about what it is like to grow up with it. So here’s my take:

One: As previously mentioned, loosing cute factor with the elderly. You go from a bundle of joy to boulder of contempt in the blink of an eye.

Two: It took 12 years of life to learn to smile with teeth. Now I’m not entirely sure of if this has anything to do with my teeth being shaped like a smile within a smile pre-braces. But a toothless smile only made me look even more like a sassy little bitch.

Three: Never being able to get a day off school, because your happy face wasn’t all that different from your sad/sick face.

Four: Passport Control double checking your passport on the way out of the country, because your actually smiling for once and don’t look like the ring leader of a juvenile gang. Waved straight back through after your flight home though.

Five: The ability to terrify grown adults. I think it was the silent, calm stare that would be the reply to a cheery question or request. “If looks could kill”, is a phrase that I have had follow me for as long as I can remember. With any luck, it’ll stick around, it holds so much power.

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