The metaphorical new leaf of doom

Turning over a new leaf. It's a cliche adopted by many.

A promise from a son to father that he won't fail his next exam because he was hungover. 

A promise from boyfriend to nearly-ex-girlfriend after he betrays her trust again. 

A promise to yourself to start a fresh and leave the past behind you. 

Sometimes it's not that easy. When reading a book, you don't turn the page and totally forget what was on the previous page. You'd never finish the story and if you did, you wouldn't understand the plot or concept and you certainly wouldn't have learned anything from whatever moral might be hiding between the lines. 

How does anyone ever move on completely, cut all ties and pretend like everything that happened before that moment was just memories and learned lessons? 

Before diving into any new relationship, I always scroll through my Facebook friends thinking "who needs to go to make this relationship work?" The answer's usually pretty simple; estranged exes, previous booty calls, any friends I've accidentally slept with that one time. You name it, they gotta go.

Of course, that's quite a plunge to take. Turning round and looking at this guy and deciding he's worth burning your black book for, knowing you'll have to buy a new one and start all over again if it turns out to be a mistake. 

Do men do the same thing? Do they rid their past of threatening evidence before diving in to a new relationship or do they just hope for the best, knowing they have back up just in case it goes to shit? 

Men are a mystery. 

So this metaphorical new leaf is never as easy as you might hope, no one wants to throw out their previous exploits, take the plunge and, God forbid, actually trust another human being to do the same. 

In my experience, the new chapter in your life go two ways. It can turn into a book or barely last two pages before you decide it sounds like shit, select all and delete in a heartbeat and start the chapter again. Kind of like this blog post actually.

In light of this discover, I've coined a new phrase: the metaphorical new leaf of doom. Because no matter how many times you turn over a new leaf, take the plunge, burn the black book and, here it comes again, trust another human being (!!!) it could always be doomed.

So I leave you with no conclusion but a mere 'to be continued...'

How do you know when it's right to take the plunge and when it's doomed to the 'lessons learned' chapter of the book? 

And can you ever really burn the black book of doom? I mean it's all online now baby.

Peace Out ❤️

Qualms and Resolution

When I decided to take a gap year, I think it's fair to say I didn't consider all of the obvious hiccups I may face before I reach Australia.

It's October. 68 days before I fly out to Aus for six months (and live on my own and attempt to not fail and hopefully get a sun tan) and the summer has officially come to an end in the UK. The tourist season is over and my plans for 30 hours of work a week have jumped on the First Great Western out of Cornwall at a speed far quicker than any Cornish train.

On top of my dwindling budget, I didn't consider that not going back to university resulted in me having to stay at home. Watching all my friends run around on Facebook, making in rain with bare student finance and #lovinglife.

Meanwhile, in Cornwall, I'm getting wasted at work drinks while desperately searching for another job and seriously considering selling an organ to pay for the rest of my trip. Moaning into cheesy pasta and watching Bridesmaids and finding way too many parallels between me and the main character. 

The mid youth crisis continues but not all hope is lost.

I've been filling my time with eating out. Cornwall may have its short comings, but great eateries is definitely not on of them. 

With this in mind I've started a new blog: What's Up Dog

It's a food blog where I rate all the places I go and eat PLUS me attempting to improve my own cooking skills! 

Link and more info to follow 

Peace Out ❤️

My Outrageous Decision

To: Hope Smyth
From: University of Brighton Admin
Re: Gap Year Enquiries 

Hi Hope, I think it would be a good idea for you to have a chat with Jo MacDonnell regarding this decision, and if you have not already done so I would also get in touch with Lorraine Roberts for further support and guidance, (I have copied both into this email). If you decide to go ahead with the gap year, we can intermit you – this means that your record will go on hold until you decide to resume your studies. Please let me know if this is what you would like to do once you have sought further advice from Jo and Lorraine. All the best, Amanda.

_________________________________

So here it is: When life gives you lemons, sell those fuckers to pay for a well needed break from reality.

I've been trying to figure out the best way to write this post, justifying to everyone I know why I've made this outrageous decision. But the truth is, why do I need to? 

I've worked so hard for my education and have never needed more... until now.

Last week I woke up and realised that I was so utterly lost, I didn't know up from down. Life had lost it's muchness and I was left wondering what was the point of it all? 

Cliche's aside, I was miserable and I have been for longer than I can remember and I've worked myself into a rut as a result, locking myself away and pushing people away, scared of something happening that would ruin the very little mental stability I had left....

Basically, it was pretty shit and I think it's about time I burst out of that rut and get my fun side back in gear. 

So here it is: I'm taking a gap year.

Yup, you read that correct. I'm packing a backpack and going to Australia for six months starting in December. I'm going to work, travel, eat, pray, love and all that other cheesy shit our generation feels the need to do. 

Most importantly, I'm going to find me. Because once apon a time, I was really good fun and crazy and I loved every drop of life and you know what? There is no point going through all this crap if I'm not going to enjoy the ride. 

This is my fucking ride and I'm sick of not knowing whether life is passing me by or trying to run me over.

My soulmate sent me a poem from her hostel wall in China:

Hope is the thing with feathers,

That perches on the soul,

And sings the tune without the words,

And never speaks at all, 

- Emily Dickinson 

So I'm flying away and my blog will document my outrageous ride on this journey.

One more thing, whatever you're thinking right now about why I'm doing this, you're wrong.

Peace Out ❤

Game. Set. Match.

Okay boys, listen up, because this one is for you...

Figuring out the opposite sex has always been the million dollar question that's plagued the dating scene since the year dot and quite frankly, it's getting old.

"Does he like me?"
"Why wont he ask me out?"
"He said he'd call, why hasn't he called?"

The exclamative's get more and more frantic the longer the whole process goes on until we're nothing but a psycho mess. Single or not single in the end, the dating stage of every relationship leaves men and women whirling in a gnarly enigma. And do we ever actually find out the answers to any of those psycho-fueled questions?

In light of this, I've reached a conclusion: we all need to drop the bullshit.

Who said dating has to be a tennis match? Constantly fretting over who has the ball in their court; in a constant rally of witty remarks, casual flirtations and hints of interest. But not too much because then your opponent might think you're too keen and "OUT!" 15 love to him.

Personally, I prefer to go to Wimbledon for the sunshine, scones, and fabulous dresses; I'm not so interested in the game.

30 love.

[Top tip boys, write it down]

So let's get down to the nitty gritty. My own do's and don'ts when trying to impress that particular problem: The basic 'high five' rules to the game of life... well, dating.

1. No one likes a drama queen.

• That girl walking down the street is not a bitch who once spread shit about you for no reason and now gives you evils every day. And if she is, we don't care. Keep it to yourself.
• That girl also isn't your crazy, psycho ex-girlfriend out to get all of your new bae's. Chances are you drove her just as crazy with your love tennis as you're driving your current bae and everyone really just needs to chill the fuck out.

2. You wanna meet? Then arrange it!

• When a guys says "I really want to see you!" and then two weeks later you're still wondering what his face actually looks like when it's not edited for Facebook, are girls really suppose to believe he's so totally into us? 
• True, the us girls could arrange the date but WARNING: If we're doing the organising, it's probably because we're fed up of waiting for you and it's a fucking good job you're pretty. Deuce.

3. HELLO!!

• This one's for the guys and the girls. Are you sat at home, bored, wandering why there's nothing on TV at 3 o'clock in the afternoon? This is what is called THE PERFECT TIME TO TEXT! "Hello" will do just fine, it's how villagers used to greet each other before technology became a necessary barrier between humans and the real world. Advantage, male.
• Also, if you're the one receiving a "hello", don't ignore it for hours just because you don't want to appear to be on your phone all the time. It's just stupid. 90% of people our age are glued to your phone so your possible future girlfriend/boyfriend is going to know why you aren't replying. Before long, replies will be days apart and that's just not conducive to a healthy conversation. 

4. Bruno Mars isn't far off the mark.

• There was a time you boys could get away with murder, because us girls loved a bad boy. Some girls still do, but those stunts aren't working on the majority of us anymore, "Dark and mysterious" has just become "confusing and exhausting". 
• I'm not saying you have to buy us flowers, you don't even have to hold our hand. But give us your time, take us dancing and we're yours for the summer (after all, even Wimbledon doesn't last all year).

5. Compliments are brownie points.

• No, that does not mean you have a better chance of getting laid if you call us fit. Come on, boys, think! What do you really like about us? [say 'pussy' and I will climb through your computer screen and slap you].
• A guy once told me that I had a cute pout that was "subtle and hot" and I thought "Wow, this guy must have actually looked at my face long enough to notice that." The fact that he was useless at 1, 2, 3 and 4 is irrelevant, the lad gave a good compliment. 

So there it is. It really is that simple and it all boils down to one golden rule: Don't mess around!

Let's leave the tennis to the professionals this summer and just enjoy the sun, scones and maybe even some snogging. It's all about the summer lovin'.

Because when you've had the best, you have to be cynical about the rest of the men out there.

Peace Out ❤

That Inevitable Election Blog Post

With the big day fast approaching, it's hard to ignore that this time round, there's something very,very wrong with first time voters. They're not voting.

After the burn of the Liberal Democrats in 2010 (need I say more) we, who are stereotyped as inactive and uninterested in politics, have been left scorned and somewhat unable to trust a political party again.

For the more political bunch out there, the problem isn't whether or not to vote, it's who to vote for. Who is worthy of our vote? Which party will actually benefit our needs now and in the future?

Before this election, it's fair to say I had a lot of opinions, but very little knowledge on politics. Now I know what I'm asking for for the next five years.

I want to be able to leave university and still be able to afford to live so a higher minimum wage (or to actually be paid minimum wage) would be much appreciated.

I want to get onto the property ladder as soon as possible without being turned down for a mortgage because I decided to get a higher education.

I want the country to realise how much it could potentially continue to destroy the beauty that we live in. Stop fracking, stop covering up for the damage we do to the environment and step up to a cleaner way of living.

I don't want my country to be so in debt that my taxes take away my hard earned wages.

Finally, I want the area I live in to be protected from heavy development in all the wrong places and for localisation to actually work and for us locals to get what we need from our council.

It's not about tuition fees anymore, I think we, as a collective, have accepted that no matter who promises reductions and scrapping them all together is in some kind of fairy land. Even if they were scrapped, it would probably be implemented in a few years from now by which point I would have finished university and still be in debt.

My demands maybe selfish, but no more so than the person asking for more benefits to feed their two dozen children and no more irrelevant than the lawyer asking to scrap to the mansion tax.

I am still one vote.

We are over six million votes.

We may live in an ageing population but who in their right mind could ignore the needs of six million people who are begging for just one party to make our decision that little bit easier?

Who are we going to vote for?

Who are you going to use your human right on?

By voting, we have the power to sway the entire election in a different way. Our way. Just look at the Liberal Democrats this time round.

We've heard every government claim that we're the future of this country. The future leaders, the future company owners, the future builders of this country and without appealing to us, then who is left to vote for?

Shall I vote so my grandparents get a higher pension? So the shop I work in pays less tax? So one day if I ever become rich, at least I can own more than one mansion?

By voting, we are also voting for democracy. We are voting for the continuation of our right to have our say.

Our vote can be tactical, or it can be honest but it's never been more important to prove that we do deserve to be paid attention to.

So if you've registered, then congratulations, your university has probably given you a free night out.

If you still don't know who to vote for on Thursday this check out this link: ISideWith

It's a free quiz to help you understand which party aligns with the things you want for the next five years.

Peace Out.

Magic Numbers

What's your Magic Number?

Definition: The number of people one has engaged in sexual intercourse with. Usually a secret number and nearly always lied about to seem cooler/less of a slut.

This blog post starts where so many others have been started before; a coffee shop. I'm here for a last minute catch up with badgalryry before I head back to uni and there's an important topic on the agenda.

"What is an okay magic number for a girl our age?" 

The answer should really be open ended. Women died so we could vote and celebrities became sluts to make it okay for the rest of us, but we all still hesitate before answering. 

Girls, if your number is genuinely 5 or below, congratulations, this post is not at all directed at you. 

Girls, if you've never had a one night stand then believe me, this post is not at all directed at you.

Childhood sweethearts? Dated since 16? Married by 20 and kids by 25? Together forever? I'm not even sure how to address you.

This post is for my girls out there who love did well to avoid. My girls who were the centre of every party and have the magic numbers to show it.

We have no regrets, no shameful nights we wish had never happened... until that fateful day we do meet someone to love, and they ask THE question: "So how many people have you slept with?"

Shit.

It's true that we should never be ashamed of our past. It all happened before we'd ever met said person standing in front of us with a quizzical look on their face as we hesitate and stumble over words trying to find an appropriate number. If we'd known that said quizzical person was going to be an angel sent from God who had only slept with 10 people or less... then believe me we would have adjusted ourselves accordingly.

No one wants to appear slutty. Even though we believe that women are just as modern and forward thinking as men; just because we believe we have the right to decide how many people we sleep with without being labelled as a slut or a whore, does not mean that said angel from God will think the same way.

"They should just love us for us!"
"But it's hard not to be intimidated by a head strong girl who's seen more free drinks than a skint student at an exhibition opening..."

The conversation continues and as it does, our minds wander to a particular question we've avoided asking ourselves since that historical summer: How many names have our theoretical black books actually accumulated?!

Badgalryry stares at me, I can see she's trying to calculate an estimation in her head. The notebooks are out. We're down to business.

An hour later, we've laughed and cried while walking down the nostalgic road to those hilarious nights. Memories of the morning after, sat gossiping about the night before. There is no one better to discuss this with, than the one person who remembers every single one with you.

We're still left shocked by the result. It's easily said that there are people out there who've racked up double the notches on their bed post compared to us (and no, these people are not porn stars or hookers) but it's fair to say that neither of us are sure about confessing.

The Mr possibly-judgemental-quizzical-angel-from-god that will inevitably fly into all of our lives at some point or another, may need an adjusted version.

So who to kill off the list?
Who do we scribble out of our memories forever and condemn to the junk folder at the back of our minds?

Do any of those fabulously, hilarious nights that have just given us an hour of hilarities and crimson cringes really deserve to be bumped off our lists?

That guy we dated who turned out to be a jackass? But then taught us so much and made us less naive...

The one night stand with a friend that really shouldn't of happened? But now it's become an anecdote used against each other as an 'in-joke'...

The tall, dark stranger that swept you off your feet for about 24hours of passion and then never saw him again? But the memory is one too good to be forgotten...

The one you could have loved if the timing was better? Surely not...

The simple fact of the matter is, none of our "conquests" have ever brought shame. No one was ever "just another notch on the bed post" and we'll never be sorry for one or the other. Not the bar-tender who smiled the moment you walked into the pub or the fancy dressed Mexican with too much tequila.

And definitely not Mr possibly-judgemental-quizzical-angel-from-god that is staring at you while his chin hits the table as you confess your very magical number of fantastic memories. Because that's all they really are: fantastic memories that will dwindle in comparison to the memories (sexy and otherwise) that the love of your life will give you, and he can just praise his lucky stars that you've gotten the experience to truly make him happy in the boudoir.

After all, practise makes perfect.

Peace Out.

When in love... Do as lovers do #1

The sun is shining through the linen curtains when I awake in our little bit of paradise.

He's left me sleep in again, which I hate him doing because my time here is so precious and I don't want to spent it sleeping.

He's on the balcony drinking coffee. I can just about see his shaddow reflected on the drapes. They'll be a cup there for me too, there always is.

"Morning" he murmers as I shuffle out onto the balcony in one of his vests I found discarded on the floor between here and the bed; "last day today..." This was his way of saying that he'll miss me.

"Mmm..." I groan back, squinting as I try to adjust to the blinding tropical sun. 

I stretch myself into awakeness, reaching out and scratching the top of his head in the process. 

He states up at me, smiling out of the side of his mouth and using his head to beckon me over.

I take my usually morning position on his lap, pulling my knees up to my chest and resting my feet on the gap of chair between his legs. 

Sinking in to his loving embrace, I close my eyes and rest my head on his shoulder; attempting to stop a single tear from crawling down my face.

I couldn't tell you if it would be a tear of pure happiness and bliss, or a tear of devastating sadness that it will all be over soon.

He gently kisses my shoulder and neck before resuming his coffee slurping and I do the same.

We sit for a while, quietly muttering about the events of the day ahead, both shrugging at suggestions for dinner plans.

"Right, I need a shower" I proclaim as I ease myself off him and start moving towards the door. 

"Not looking like that you're not." He's referring to what I'm wearing, grabbing the inside of my leg and pulling me back towards him, only to stand up and kiss me. Passionately, as always, because I don't think there is any other way for us to kiss.

With one hand running through my hair and the other clutching my bare bottom, he guides me back through the French doors and picks me up like a rag doll. I wrap my legs round his waist and throw my head back in giggles, he always liked me in nothing but one of his vests. 

After, we lie on the floor of our tiled apartment, my body flat on top of his as I stroke his hair up from his face as his runs his hands up and down my back. 

"Hey..." I say, only half looking at him, "I love you."

Whispering this, my eyes dart to his to see if he is as equally shocked by what I've just said.

Nothing. His face remains still; his blue/grey eyes staring back at me.

"I love you too."

.... And then we smile.