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

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

A certain type of human…

There is a certain type of person in this world I wish to discuss. Let me tell you about this most peculiar breed.

These people are unknowingly selfish and can’t really do anything to help it. They can subject you to endless amounts of tossing and turning at night and can really kill a good night’s sleep.

They take from you the thing you love the most in the world at a really inconvenient time and can very easily send you into fits of anger to a greater extent than the 5 smug, punchable faces of One Direction winning an award for ‘Best Pop/Rock Artist’…I mean, come on, how does that not make you rage?

The particular type of human being to which I am alluding is the Lesser-Spotted Common Garden Duvet Hog

duvet hog

The duvet hog or duvet whore if you prefer is the assassin of deep sleep, the murderer of that awesome dream (you know, the one where you’re eating a stack of pancakes as big as your head while riding a unicorn down the beach with Channing Tatum…I don’t know what you dream about, you weirdo), the destroyer of your important REM time.

Picture the scene: it’s the middle of the night. There’s someone else in your bed with you for whatever reason…cough, I’m not going to judge, it’s fine. No, no I’m sure you were just sleeping and it’s just a friend, you’re right! Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me ;)

…where am I? Oh yes:

Middle of the night, you wake up feeling a bit chilly, you must’ve pushed the duvet off earlier on. Don’t worry, just grab for it…where is it? Where’s the duvet gone? You fully wake up in a state of panic, the lovely dream long forgotten.

There it is. Your partner in slumber has it and they’ve completely enveloped themselves in it so that human and bedding have become one and subsequently leaving none for you. Great.

Now you have two choices: either be cold until they roll over and inadvertently give you a corner, or you can WAKE THEM THE HELL UP and get some quilt back. Personally, I’ve always been more of a suffer in silence kind of girl.

Safe to say, these people are some of the most annoying you could possibly share your sleeping hours with.

I myself know a duvet hog. He is one of the most territorial keepers of the duvet I have ever met, dude’s definitely guilty of this most disruptive of crimes. It doesn’t help that he’s also very strong so there’s no way I could try and yank a corner of that sweet, comforting duvet back.

In the morning, when he asks if I slept well, I smile and say ‘of course’ despite my freezing tootsies. I return the question and the answer is always a smile and a nod.

I don’t mind though, I enjoy his company.

Before we drift off, we tend to lapse into a comfortable silence of two people who don’t need to say anything in order to be close. It’s refreshing and relaxing.

I imagine people can harbour a certain degree of resentment towards their personal duvet hogs but I quite like mine. I like the late nights spent talking and laughing and then drifting off to sleep together. I like waking up in the morning and knowing that there’s another round of happy conversation waiting once we’re both awake.

And I suppose I don’t mind waking up in the night and feeling a bit cold if it means I can have all these other things.

My best friend is a duvet hog, but I wouldn’t change him for the world.

Now playing: The Blackout – We Live On