An open letter to boys with no tact

openletter

Dear boys,

I’m going to persist with calling you ‘boys’ because until you prove yourself to be anything other, you don’t perhaps warrant the title of ‘man’. You may think you’re a stud and a big hit with all the girls you croon ‘babe’ to, but do you want to know something? Hold onto your hats while I drop a massive truth bomb: you’re actually kind of creepy and there are several reasons why. I think that my sister and I have had several downright hilarious experiences with boys who think they’re the next Ryan Gosling, so I think I’m qualified enough to address you all; please allow me to be the spokesperson for all women who are put off by your advances and completely turned off by your ‘game’ or lack thereof. Listen up, you there in the front!

When you have as much game as Ryan Gosling. then you can use lines like this.

When you have as much game as Ryan Gosling. then you can use lines like this.

Firstly, and probably the most important thing to remember is that being too sexually explicit can have the complete opposite effect to your original intentions and can leave a girl shocked and uncomfortable. We live in a society where sex has turned into a commodity. This is glaringly obvious with the popularity of dating apps such as Tinder, where all you need to do is send an incredibly forward message and BOOM, sex for all! But if you get a message like that over Facebook from a guy friend you talk to fairly regularly? Oh god NO, make it stop! It’s both surprising and if you’re not feeling it, incredibly awkward! Please take this in, being too forward is not always sexy; you can’t talk sexy to her until she eventually gives in! Especially if the unsuspecting girl is just that…unsuspecting! This isn’t to say that you can’t compliment a girl or her features, but telling her how juicy her rack may be? Perhaps not, yeah?

That said, we can link nicely to point nombre deux: a bit of subtlety can go a long way. Make a girl laugh with what you’re saying, make her think about you and what you’re like, be at least a bit interesting and thoughtful. Be kind and be comfortable enough with a girl you’re interested in to, heaven forbid, show a bit of your own personality! Don’t just launch into all the reasons you think she’s gorgeous and perfect and how much you love her…especially if you’ve only just met her! There’s no need to go in all guns blazing all the time! Subtlety = tact and a bucket-load of ‘good game’ points. Y’know, if that’s what you want.

Finally, a key ingredient to not being THAT tactless guy – you must listen and read the signals she’s giving you. My sister has had this before with a boy who had no clue what he was on about. He was the definition of creepy and was guilty of all of the things we’ve discussed above. She tried telling him nicely, she tried telling him she needed space away from him, she tried everything but he did not get it. Don’t be that guy, please! Can you not see that listening is important? Not only in a these kinds of scenarios, but if you cannot listen and read people’s body language in the real life too, you may have trouble developing any kinds of relationships.

Now before you raise your hackles and start snapping at me, yes I know these antigentlemen (as I shall call them) are in the minority and, yes of course girls can be just as bad. Perhaps this is a lesson that everyone can learn to some extent? But hey, these are my opinions, it’s a blog! You know me well enough by now to know to take everything with a little bit of salt!

So hopefully with my handy points compiled from numerous girly chats and personal experiences, if you think you might fall into the category of hopelessly tactless with a touch of disturbingly cringey, you now know that it’s time to reassess and I wish you luck.

Love from, Lizzie

Now playing: A Day To Remember – Heartless

One Saturday Afternoon…

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Moved to Tears.”

I’m an incredibly emotional person and I’ll cry at a great deal of things, both sad and happy, some of which are quite stupid. I shed a tear when seven years ago, I met my new-born baby brother for the first time and I got ridiculous happy wet eyes when my rugby team won a competition last year.

I cry when I tell people about the scary thoughts in my head, and even harder as they hug me and tell me it’ll be ok. I cried as my heart was stomped into a thousand little pieces over and over and over and I could only helplessly watch.

I had tears streaming down my face as I watched Rhod Gilbert’s stand up comedy piece about Henry Hoovers for the first time and was absolutely hysterical when a mate of mine tripped and knocked over a girl in a night club and then proceeded to try it on with her while they were both in a heap on the floor. Now THAT was funny!

I was so upset reading the ending of ‘The Fault in Our Stars’ (so shoot me if you think it’s a terrible book, I disagree and think it’s beautifully written) and the most recent time I sobbed my heart out was last night watching the season five finale to Game of Thrones. 7/10 would not recommend watching it. My parents were moderately concerned until I sobbed out what was happening…they rolled their eyes and continued watching the news.

But when I saw the prompt yesterday asking me to describe the last time I cried at something beautiful, I was puzzled for a few minutes until I was transported to the exact moment that I was told such beautiful words that I couldn’t help but give myself over to the emotions that followed.

Allow me to take you back a few weeks; it was late afternoon one Saturday, deep in exam season and I was spending a few precious hours with a precious friend. We were talking, laughing, discussing life. We were incredibly, hilariously, sublimely happy.

The conversation took a more serious turn and we each aired our fears for the future and my uncertainty at my ability to cope with the rocky road of terrors laid before me. He took my hands in his, clasped them tightly and murmured the words: “I’m so proud of you”.

The simplicity of these words and the conviction with which they were delivered was the most beautiful thing I’d heard for a long time. It left me stunned and I took in the tide of calm that washed over me. The tears built up as I looked intently into his eyes and whispered “thank you”, words that never quite seemed adequate for the importance of the moment. Then I was vanquished by the hand of emotion and left damp spots on his tshirt as he gave me a comforting hug.

This may not seem quite as beautiful as a breathtaking landscape or carry as much emotion as your child grabbing your finger for the first time, but for me, the overly-emotional twenty year old, this was magnificent and gave me the strength required to go forth and take on the world. I was a happy Lizzie that day.

Now playing: Avenged Sevenfold – Seize the Day

HOOVERGATE

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Mad as a Hatter.”

‘Mad as a Hatter’ was the writing prompt for today and this incident immediately sprung to my mind. It’s something of a legend in our friendship group. Allow me to share it with you. But be warned, Lizzie + rage = swearing, if you’re overly sensitive to that kind of stuff maybe this post isn’t for you!

Now, if you know me even a little, you will know that I’m not an angry person – you can find me in the easy-going, ditheringly cheerful category. The sort that needs supervision in the kitchen when handling knives; on my second ever day at university I sliced my thumb on a tin of beans. Blood everywhere. No beans for Lizzie that day :(

There’s some background to why rage is particularly out of character for me, now to the event.

Last year, I was living in university halls with my brand new and awesome friends aka, my Canterbury family (LOVE YOU GUYS!). Any of you jolly splendid people reading this who have ever lived in halls know that they’re not the most soundproof of places to stay. You have to be pretty tolerant when your neighbours make noise as chances are, a skype session with your family of what seems like a decent volume to you, could be torturously loud for the poor soul living next door. As a student, you are wary of your volume, so you turn down your music slightly, but not too much because your mate next door likes to play guitar at half 11 at night and you CAN HEAR ALL OF IT.

On the night of the incident in question, I was already tired, I had a couple of assignments due soon and so had been working on them all evening, so when it was a reasonable time to call it a night (so after the thought process of ‘is 9:30 too early to go to bed? …maybe. I’lll leave it a bit longer’) sleep came on stealthy wings and transported me to dreamland where I was perfectly happy and comfortable.

And then it happened.

3am rolled around. My flatmates got back from an evening ‘working’ in the library…they keep strange hours, I know. They made noise and a helluva lot of it. They ruthlessly dragged me back to reality with their jeering and it disrupted my snuggles. I was not a happy bunny. Not at all. Bitches don’t interrupt my sleep!

But this was fine, I’d certainly made my fair share of noise late at night after a couple of drinks and they hadn’t flown into a frenzy then.

A couple minutes passed and I thought the drama had subsided and was drifting back to the land of unicorns and Channing Tatums but oh no, this was premature.

A certain house mate of mine by the name of ‘Louis’ had been locked out of his room by our dear friends ‘Joe’ (from a couple of posts back, remember?) and ‘Carl’ and decided that the only thing he could do to remove them from his room was to TURN THE HOOVER ON.

fuck-meme_00370790

I know!! I don’t understand! Did he think he could use the suction of the machine to suck them out?! I have no idea! Clearly it was the stupidest idea that anyone has ever had, so needless to say I flew into a rage and exploded from my room like an arrow loosed from a bow and poor Louis was about to feel my wrath.

“What the FUCK are you doing?!?!” I screeched mercilessly in his poor unsuspecting face. “It’s 3 in the morning and you’ve TURNED THE HOOVER ON TO GET THEM OUT OF YOUR ROOM?? WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?!?!”

Needless to say, Louis shat himself and Joe and Carl emerged from his room looking pretty sheepish. They all mumbled apologies and left me to stalk back into my room in a fit of rage with a cartoon storm cloud above my head.

In the morning, Joe and Carl thought the whole fracas was hilarious and Louis appeared terrified of me for about a week afterwards. But it all turned out for the better and the four of us are thick as thieves now and they do the washing up whenever I ask them to, for fear of a repeat of Hoovergate.

So concludes my tale of anger and hoovers and lack of sleep. It may seem like an irrational thing to rage about, but anyone gets in the way of me and a good night’s sleep without good reason runs the risk of my own personal Hulk coming out and scaring you witless. You have been warned.

Now playing: Shinedown – Devour

An open letter to my best friend

I’ve seen a few of these kinds of posts on several other blogs recently and now I feel that the time is right for me to do one of my own. I know I’ve taken inspiration from the people around me a lot lately, but this has been a particularly difficult patch which has both worsened and been more manageable due to those around me. I hope you get a sense of what it’s like to be a 20 year old from this post and some of the ones that have come before it :)


Yo beastie,

I still remember the day when we decided we were best friends. It was last year and I wanted to change your name in my phone to mark the momentous occasion. I misspelt ‘bestie’ and it turned out as ‘beastie’ and that stuck like cotton wool on Velcro. You ripped into me for that, I remember, but adopted it all the same and over the last year, that’s what you’ve been to me. My beastie. A term that has altered meanings several times and become as complicated as the situation we’ve found ourselves in now.

It’s strange to think that I’ve only known you for a year and a few months, because I feel like I’ve known you for a lot longer. You know things about me that people I’ve known since primary school don’t, heck, even my parents don’t know most of it. You understand me on a different level. You’ve let me be vulnerable around you and have been my closest source of support during some difficult transitional stages in the roller coaster that has been the last year of my life.

Perhaps we shouldn’t have tried to change that.

Maybe it would’ve been better if we’d stayed in the primary manifestation of beasties? Rather than taking things a step further and ending up fucking each other over.

Because that’s what’s happened now, isn’t it? You’ve hurt me pretty badly, I’ve never shed as many tears over someone as I have over the past few months over you.

I’ve hurt you too though. I wasn’t perfect. I tried my hardest because heaven only knows that I’d do anything for you. I think you know that too, don’t you?

We made errors in the beastie mark 2 phase and fucked each other over.

I’m writing this because I can’t sleep. I have so many thoughts swirling around my head and the majority are about you. I want to say these things to you in person but you know me, I start mumbling and can’t manage to choke anything out. I miss you terribly and that’s what I want you to know more than anything. I miss you and I love you.

One of our friends said to me that you can’t invite someone else into your life until you’ve sorted it out for yourself and you’re happy with it. My mum said that same thing to me in the summer, I told you about it, remember? That’s what I need to do right now. This situation has messed me up enough and made me so poorly. Now I want to work me out and call the shots for a change. You’ve got such a beautifully strong personality that you can drown me out when we have chats like this but now it’s my turn and I’m the one being strong. I need you in my life, but as beastie version 1. For now at least. Maybe we can re-evaluate another time, perhaps we could see what happens after I come back from my year in France next year? When we’re both more stable. I’d like that :)

I still need you as my best friend though. Let’s take the Christmas holidays to lick our respective wounds and do stupid shit that people our age do and then in January maybe we could make chilli? Our chilli is the best. Or some more eggs and bacon? I promise I’ll chop the bacon faster this time!

I still think (and always will) that you’re the best guy who’s ever loudly and abrasively stumbled into my life and I hope you’re not too cross I’ve used you for inspiration again. Please don’t call me a penis again!

See you tomorrow hopefully, library at 11ish?

Lusms beastie

Lizzie :)

My friend ‘Joe’

I have a friend…I know right, astounding!

For argument’s sake, let’s call this friend Joe. Hi Joe!

Joe is the most loyal, kind-hearted friend you could ever want or need in life. When I’m feeling down, he’ll comfort me using what has now become a running joke: he looks at me and says; “Lizzie…dick.” To which I reply; “…Big dick.” It can go on like this for a while and we change up the words sometimes. Silly, I know, but it always puts a smile back on my face.

If I’m struggling with university work, he will either a) get me to talk it through with him until a navigable path through those complicated essays becomes visible, or b) he will go to the shop and buy the pair of us some pick-me-ups which can vary from Haribo Tangfastics (the best variety, I’m sure you’ll agree) to a punnet of blueberries and a Yop.

Every morning at about 7:20, he acts as my alarm clock and wakes me up so we can trek the 20 minutes or so of the winding road to campus in order to be in the library at 9am where we work in companionable and dedicated silence for around 40% for the time we’re there. The other 60% is filled with banter, sex jokes and DMCs (that’s Deep Meaningful Chat, for those of you who haven’t heard the wonderful phrase that I’m claiming was first coined by our friendship group.)

My friend Joe cracks bad jokes on a regular basis and takes bad pictures of everyone which he very much enjoys sharing. He makes us all smile with his dopey grin and the fact that he thought Thailand was pronounced ‘thigh-land’. This caused endless amounts of hilarity at the time and still does now.

My friend Joe is one of my best friends.

But yesterday I had to tell him about something I did, a bad decision I made as the result of being exceptionally vulnerable and slightly too intoxicated. It was a long time ago but that doesn’t make it much better.

I watched his face fall and a flicker of disappointment flashed in his eyes momentarily.

I hated myself at that moment for letting him down.

But still, he hugged me and said that it’d be fine and that he wouldn’t go anywhere and let me cry on him for a little bit.

My friend Joe is the kindest and most loyal person I’ve ever met and will most definitely stay in my life for years to come.

This has been my most honest post to date I think, if you’d maybe like to follow suit and describe one of your dear friends or perhaps a bad decision, go for it :)

Now playing: Lower Than Atlantis – Words Don’t Come So Easily