Sharing Your Home

There are a few pros and cons to co-habiting with another person. I've broken the essentials down for you, so you can make an informed decision about whether you want to share your living space or not.

Think of the companionship!

All up in your business.

Sharing is fun!

I HATE SHARING.

"We pay things on time, like grown ups!"

The other laptop is looking at Batman. That's why it can't be switched off.

"Whistle while you work!"

Just put the dishes in the damn sink already!

Growing Up

When you're a child, you imagine that becoming an adult will become a parade of joy, wonder and freedom.

How you imagine adulthood to be.

In fact, moments of joy and liberation are usually just islands in a sea of routine and paying the bills.

How adulthood ACTUALLY is.

Essentially, becoming a grown up boils down to one essential truth:

You can do ANYTHING YOU WANT!!

...But everything you say and do has consequences. You're aware of these consequences.


Adulthood is a balancing act between what you want to do and what consequences you can live with. Enjoy!

5 Stages of Financial Incompetence

It was pay day yesterday, so naturally I did some online banking* and checked my balance. I discovered that, if I don't want to go into my overdraft, I have about £100 to last me until January 15th, after bills and travel costs. I still have to buy food out of this fund, but fingers crossed I can take inspiration from snakes over Christmas and just stuff myself so full of food that I don't need to eat until again until around January 10th. Here's hoping.

Now, you may be wondering if this is my normal monthly allowance: it isn't. Well, what happened? You may be asking yourself. Here's what happened: essentially, I am some kind of infant who should not really be in charge of all areas of my life. I should be judged unfit for independence and assigned some kind of accountant and/or care-worker to help me live my life. My life works on some kind of Indepence Failure Cycle - let me explain...

Stage One:
Am In Charge of My Life Like A Boss.

During this stage of the cycle, I am organised. I am efficient. I am sensible. I check my accounts online on a regular basis, monitor my spending and know exactly how much I have left of my self-issued allowance after every purchase. I consider said purchases carefully: when grocery shopping I find the cheapest items available; I shop around for prices on toiletries or other essential purchases; I think about how much I have left to spend before buying luxury items or treats for myself. I am, in other words, THE KING OF MONEY. At this stage in the cycle I reach the end of the financial month with money left over; I put money into my savings; and I get another step closer to paying off my overdraft. I feel like a proper, sensible grown-up – except I feel a sense of smug self-satisfaction about my achievement, which I think sensible grown-ups don’t actually feel.

Stage Two:
Only-Child Syndrome.

Stage Two begins innocently enough. I’ve had a phase, sometimes several months long, during which I have been in rigid control of my spending. Stage Two then begins in one of two ways:-

One: the Shoulder Devil begins to speak up in my mind.


Two: I see something, strictly speaking over my budget, which I really, really want.
Sometimes I don’t immediately crumble. Sometimes I resist the urge to go over my budget – but ironically, this just empowers Stage Two. The more I resist spending, the more I feel I deserve to buy myself a treat as a reward for not spending.

I’m pretty sure Stage Two has its roots in the fact that not only am I an only child, but I was the only grandchild until I was about nine. I am still the only grandchild on Mum’s side of the family, which means that “spoiled” seems like kind of an understatement for my childhood. I mean, I actually had an actual pony.

As a result, although I’ve been relying on largely my own earnings since I got my first part-time job aged sixteen, I’ve never emotionally come to terms with the fact that I cannot have everything I want, as soon as I want it. Logically, I know that some pleasures have to be delayed and that I cannot afford to buy a life-size My Little Pony Dream Castle in which I can build a cinema room and I will have cushions made of silk and an all-Alessi-products kitchen and I will ride a unicorn that is also made of gold and can fly and my friends will die, actually die of jealousy. I know this. However, the petulant, whiny, over-indulged five-year-old that still lives in the back of my psyche does not know this; or rather, refuses to acknowledge that we need to accept our financial limitations. Thus the irresistible power of Stage Two.

Stage Three:
The Extravagant Purchase.

Sometimes it’s something relatively small, but it’s bought at the end of my financial month so just pushes me over budget.

Sometimes it’s something big that I really shouldn’t be spending my money on.

Either way, I make a purchase that breaks my budget. From then on, something snaps in my mind and I lose all remaining traces of my Stage One control.

Stage Four:
YAAAAY! BUYING THINGS!!

I’ve already blown my budget, right? Screw it, I may as well buy all the things!

This stage is similar to people who have trouble dieting because, should they have so much as one biscuit, they figure they’ve “ruined” their calorie intake for the day so they may as well enjoy it, go nuts and eat everything in the house. And then go out and buy cake.

Once I’ve made that one over-budget purchase the Shoulder Devil takes over completely and the rest of my mind gives a mental “oh well” shrug and just goes along with things.

During this time I do not check my balance online; I don’t look at my balance at the ATM; and I press a firm “no” at the “Do you want an advice slip?” stage. Obviously the advice is “put the money back in the bank” – but I’ve sailed past the point of no return in the SS Wilful Ignorance and there’s no listening to reason now.

Stage Five:
Shame and Guilt.

At some point, usually after the subsequent pay-day, I work up the nerve to check my bank balance. I then consider how much damage I’ve wreaked on my former careful-savings-plan.

I then swing and forth between intense guilt and shame for my over-spending, and sheer, outright panic and despair over the implications on my budget for the next few months. As the guilt/panic eases, I realise that I must live to an even stricter budget for awhile in order to compensate for the damage done to my savings/overdraft during Stage Four. This, naturally, leads back into Stage One.

Clearly, I need some kind of grown-up assistant (or possibly a helper monkey/thinking-brain dog) to supervise me. They can either act as a Voice of Reason during Stage Two, thus hopefully averting Stage Three altogether; or they can act as damage limitation once Stage Three has been reached, thus preventing Stage Four. Until the day I am assigned such help by the state, the wheels turns ever onwards….

*Not rhyming slang.

Don't Call Me "Baby"

A few recent (very grown-up) conversations and blog-readings have caused me to ponder the issue of my own biological imperative, or lack thereof. I've been wondering about the whole thorny Children Issue and have come up with a handy questionnaire to determine if I do want children and if I'm ready for them. Try it yourself!

QUESTIONS

1. When you see a baby, do you:
a) Coo over it/its picture, filled with feelings of love and warmth;
b) Admire it/its picture politely, but feel only a small measure of warmth;
c) Feel nothing;
d) Become aroused.

2. You're with a friend/relative and their baby. The baby soils its nappy - do you:
a) Immediately begin helping change the baby with little or no cringing;
b) Feel some revulsion, but offer to help;
c) Get the hell away - it stinks;
d) Become aroused.

3. What do you think a baby should be fed on?
a) Ideally breast milk, weaned onto formula/baby food or totally fed by formula if breast milk is not a possibility;
b) Umm, some kind of powdered milk;
c) Chips;
d) A different bodily fluid...

4. When you hear a baby cry, do you:
a) Want to help soothe it any way you can, whilst feeling waves of total sympathy for its suffering;
b) Want to help soothe it to shut it up;
c) Get away from that racket;
d) Become aroused.

5. Where do you think a baby should sleep?
a) In its own crib/cot in your room, so you can immediately tend to it should it wake in the night; b) In its own room, with a baby monitor;
c) In a different house;
d) In your bed.

6. When a baby starts laughing, do you:
a) Start laughing and smiling too, thrilled at sharing this experience;
b) Smile vaguely, wondering if you're the butt of some kind of baby-joke;
c) Cringe away from that hateful racket;
d) Become aroused.

7. Where do babies come from?
a) Well, when a mummy and a daddy (or mummy and mummy/daddy and daddy and doctor...) love each other very much...;
b) Sex, a fertility clinic or adoption centre;
c) ...The pound?;
d) Snatched from playgrounds.

8. You're asked to babysit a friend's/relative's infant. Do you:
a) Leap at the chance! You've already got your own changing mat, cot, baby toys, formula...;
b) Consider the idea, but it really depends on how long for, if you've already got plans, and if there will be any one else around to help you;
c) Laugh for about twenty minutes;
d) Become aroused.

9. You find a child alone in the street. Do you:
a) Comfort it, take it by the hand to try and find its parents, then head to the nearest police station if the child doesn't know where they might be;
b) Search around for anyone else who can help, whilst also trying to help the child spot its parents;
c) Just leave it. Those things spread disease;
d) Become aroused.

10. While caring for a baby, do you:
a) Rigidly follow the instructions its parents left you with, to ensure you give consistent care and don't undermine any routines they're trying to establish;
b) Follow advice left you, whilst turning to whoever else is helping you and also being willing to do anything [non-harmful] to shut the baby up should it start crying;
c) Leave it in the house whilst you head out to a movie - how much trouble can it get into in three hours, right?;
d) Become aroused.

ANSWERS

Mostly As
You are perfect parent material! In fact, you're probably a little baby-crazy and desperate for a sprog of your own. I suggest you find a mate or willing donor and start breeding fast!

Mostly Bs
Uncertain of your potential parenthood. Try spending time with the babies and/or children of friends and relatives, see if they grow on you and see how well you cope as a care-giver.

Mostly Cs
Parenting isn't your thing; why not get a fish? Or a Nintendog. Something that, if and when you kill it, Social Services won't care.

Mostly Ds
The police have been informed. Your name is being added to a register as you read this.

Lacking a Y-Chromosome Doesn't Mean Lacking Intelligence

As as been amply demonstrated there's lots of things in this world that make me choke with rage. One of them is sexism. There's still a huge, bloody awful gap between the sexes, and yet the prevailing attitude seems to be that women are apparently equal with men now, and so we should just shut up and be grateful we're allowed to vote. "Feminism" is a negative word; you call someone a feminist and you're implying they're a man-hating lesbian bull-dyke; a bra-burning Germaine Greer 60s throwback; or Jo Brand. Yep, the male agenda has even taken the term "feminism" away from women and turned it from a positive statement about the right to be treated equally, and transformed it into a huge negative.

For varied and complex reasons, that are largely social, women earn an average of almost a third less through their working lives than men do (as written about here and here, as the tip of the evidence iceberg) . Baby changing facilities are in women's toilets; statutory maternity leave is 52 weeks, 39 of those paid, whilst statutory paternity leave is 2 weeks. Pretty much everything in general British culture, from statutory leave down to those fucking "mum's gone to Iceland" ads that make me scream at the TV (Why has mum gone? Why not ever one of the rest of the family? Are they somehow incapacitated? Why is it her job? What happens in families where there isn't a female care-giver present, do they just fucking starve?!) is geared towards training girls up to be mothers and housewives. "Female" toys are dolls and push-chairs and mini-kitchens and toy irons (Toy. Irons. WTF?!!) while "male" toys are guns and cars (i.e., the really fun stuff). And this is five decades after the feminist movement.

What made me snap about this recently was seeing a book entitled Things For Boys to Make and Do. This is a kids' activity book that has things like how to draw a spooky castle and how to make monster hand gloves. All well and good - but why, I ask you, is this for boys only? There is nothing inherent within these tasks that make them essentially male; it's all just social conditioning. And it drives me crazy. I know men who aren't into sports and women who are; women who aren't into fashion and men who are; women who hate pink and men that don't like blue.... You get the picture. Publishing books and pushing these socio-sexual divisions on young, impressionable kids just makes it worse and encourages yet another generation to grow up believing that men and women may as well come from different planets.

There is a literacy gap between males and females; girls read more and girls tend to do better at school (which we are being punished for, essentially: when boys did better at school it wasn't an issue, nothing was said, there was zero effort made to bridge the learning gap between the sexes; but when the tables are turned suddenly it's a big issue, it's a "problem" and boys have to be given help and the whole fucking educational system has to be changed in order to accommodate male needs. Newsflash, fellas, you're already more likely to get a job, keep a job and earn more in that job than we lowly females are - so maybe you could just let us do well in school and leave it alone?!). However, I don't think "targeting" books for boys is the answer - things like the Dangerous Book for Boys just make the gap between the sexes wider, it doesn't encourage boys to read. Why can't books be written on a range of subjects (football, trains, ponies, fairies) and feature both male and female protaganists? How does reinforcing dated stereotypes of what girls "should" like and what boys "should" like make things any better? If a boy or girl has different interests than what is allegedly "normal" for them to have, and is struggling with their identity as a result, an increasing number of books showing them what they "should" be reading/enjoying is just going to make them feel worse.

I readily accept that there are (obvious) physical and psychological differences between men and women - but most of the differences in general personality and communication arise from social conditioning and the pressure to conform to the norm and to expectations. When I was growing up I maintained that I didn't want kids when I was an adult, and was always told (mostly in extremely patronising terms) that I would "feel different" when I grew up; i.e., that I would start to want children because I'm a girl and that's what girls want. Now I am grown up, and my feelings on the matter haven't changed - but I still regularly encounter people who, when the subject of children arises, insist that I'll change my mind and want kids. Why they hell aren't men subject to these social pressures and expectations? The drive to further the species is just the same in males as it is in females. And no, I don't think babies are adorable: they smell, they throw up on you, they cry - I don't get the appeal, I really don't. Toddlers are entertaining, and when they start speaking it's great (I like the Scrubs line), but the best part about working with kids or playing with young cousins is that when they start to cry, or they throw up, or they soil themselves - I hand them back to the parents and am not required to deal with the mess in any way.

All this pre-conditioning of children is driving me to breaking point: my friends in advertising say they use these stereotypical roles because their market research suggests that the stereotypes hold true (women cook, clean, tidy, nag and raise the kids; men play sports and get dirty and smell and snore and muck about like kids). However, people on the whole tend to follow what they feel is expected of them; and if you're routinely bombarded with these steretypes, then you'll believe them to be a true representation of what men and women are "really like", and so you'll play along with your expected role. If programmes, adverts, films and books showed men and women in wider roles, acting in different ways, then this could help reinforce the positive messages of feminism and help bring us towards a day when men and women are really equal. Is that so much to ask for?

Am Reel Grown-Up, Srsly

I work part-time as a Youth Worker (get me and the responsibility), and a boy at Club recently said that I was not a "proper" grown-up because I'm not 30 or older. Now, while I can't (and don't want to) fault the boy's logic, it did feed in to my recent musings on whether or not I am actually a grown-up. On the one hand, I have been referred to several times in the past few weeks as a woman, rather than a girl (and when I was in Barcelona the waiters were referring to me as "senora" rather than "senorita". Ouch), I don't live with parents, I can legally buy booze, and I have proper jobs. On the other hand, I'm sat here in a Count Duckula hoodie, I don't own a house or car, I'm harbouring a not-so-secret desire to see The Princess and the Frog, and in defiance of assumptions based on my gender the thought of marriage sends me into a panic.

When people ask me if I'm married and/or have kids, I get a knee-jerk panic-y urge to laugh and exclaim that I'm too young - and then I get the cold, cold realisation that the fact I could be married with kids is a reasonable thing for a stranger to expect from me based on my age. And once I realise that, I get the urge to curl up into a ball making a high-pitched "eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" sound until it all goes away. I've come around to the idea of a wedding (it's a day all about you, you gets loads of gifts, all your family and friends will be there and it's a one-off deal, they're unlikely to cancel on you they way they might on a birthday, everyone spends the day telling you how great you look, you choose all the songs that get played, your favourite food gets served, there's champagne, there's cake - what's not to like?) but the fact you'd have to be married after that day still gives me the heebie-jeebies.

Don't get me wrong, there are some fantastic things about being a grown-up (or at least on the way to being a proper grown-up), as follows:-

• I can spend as long as I bloody want when choosing a tooth-brush. I realise how flat-out crazy this makes me sound, but I like choosing a tooth-brush based largely on colour and I spend anything up to half an hour finding one I really like. When I was a kid this drove my mum nuts and she'd always rush me, grab any old tooth-brush and drag me away from the stand, so now it's just me, my money and my time on the line, and I can spend it ny damned way I want, I spend it picking a tooth-brush that I like the look of.
• Being what they call "sans parents": I can wander in and out of the house whenever I want, and unless I feel inclined to let my housemates know where I'm going I don't have to. Not having to answer to anyone but yourself is very liberating. Don't get me wrong, I'm not exactly living a party lifestyle to rival Paris Hilton, but the fact that I could is great.
• I cook for myself. Now, this is a bit of a double-edged sword because I fucking love having dinner made for me, but I am also a good cook and a very fussy eater. When cooking for myself (or doing the cooking for myself and others) I can be as fussy as I want and don't have to worry about putting people out. For example, I have to have carrots cut into lengths; in circles they cook quicker and get soft and I like my veg very al dente, so I don't like them that way. I also quite like the flavour of mushrooms and courgettes but hate their texture, so I have to cut them up really small to "hide" them in the rest of my food. And I don't like uncooked tomatoes. And I hate risotto. And I can't have whole cooked spinich leaves because I feel like I'm going to choke on them, they have to be cut up. And I could go on, but I think you get the idea by now.
• The older I get and the more grown-up I get, the less I give a shit about what other people think of me. I mean I'll go to my grave working desperately for the love and acceptance of friends, family and those I like and/or respect - but strangers on the street? I increasingly think, aww, screw 'em. Back in my teen years I couldn't even leave the house without make-up - now I can at least head out for milk from the corner shop with no make-up and wearing a t-shirt I've slept in. And although I'm still massively judgemental about strangers in the street, I don't really care if people in the street are being massively judgemental about me in turn.
• Money. I don't care about it for itself, but I sure do enjoy spending it. I usually spend it on DVDs and going to the movies and the pub and video games and over-priced make-up and, very rarely, clothes and shoes. Now I'm a grown-up living independent of my mother and answering to no one but myself, I don't have to justify my spending to anyone else. I've been earning my own money since I was 16 so I've not been reliant on 'rental fundage for over a decade now, but while still living under Mum's roof I did often end up having to defend purchases to her. Now my crazy crazy addiction to Benefit and Urban Decay doesn't need to be hidden or explained away; if I want to spend eleven bloody pounds on one bloody eyeshadow, it's my money and I can. So there.

The downside of being a grown-up is more of a cloud-to-the-silver-lining kind of deal. No one's responsible for my life but me; it's all my decisions and my choices and if I make stupid ones then I've no one to blame but myself. Also, bills and rent and living to a budget? It sucks. When I was a teen, if I spent everything I earned in one day and had literally nothing left until next pay-day, then blubs, it wasn't the end of the world, I didn't have anything that needed paying. Now if I spent my whole paycheck in HMV or something, then I'd end up homeless. Not so fun.

Still, apart from my occasional regressions (retro hoodie, going to Universal Studios for my birthday, kicking through piles of leaves, playing Lego Batman...) it's not that bad growing up. It's still scary to find myself involved in conversations about marriage and babies, though...Not getting over that fear anytime soon.

In Which Reality Folds In On Itself

I was at the cinema last Wednesday night, and read the following piece of graffiti:-

"I cryed at the last act of Be Kind Rewind".

And I cried for the future. She had the right idea, clearly -- but ultimately it's a case of close, but no cigar. I think this literary genius was surpassed by some teenage girls in work, though, who used the word "swored" in my hearing. I found myself not-quite-muttering, "It's 'swear' or 'swore'." They heard me (or could sense my seething rage at their open abuse, nay, assault, of the English language, I'm not sure which) and so questioned what I meant.

I explained that "swored" is not a word, and even if you were to attach the past-participle "ed" to the end of the word, then in this case it would be "sweared" anyway. They argued, refused to believe me, so I directed them to a dictionary. Naturally they had no idea where they were, which I can understand ... but they didn't seem to know how to use one initially, which was just ... well, words fail. Lucky for me, I can use a dictionary and a thesaurus, so I can confidently state that I found their ignorance appalling. Mostly because, seriously, who is teaching them..? But I digress. After some initial difficulty, they came to me with, ahem, "proof" that they were correct and I was wrong.

They showed me the word "sword". SWORD. SWORD. I feel like this signifies the end of reality as we know it even if Noel Edmonds dressed as God does not.

I know it's not just me that breaks down into a foaming-at-the-mouth fit of crazy-crazy rage at incidents like this, because Lynne Truss feels the same. What I don't know is if this validates my anger or just proves that I am not the only overly sensitive hate-fuelled self-proclaimed defender of the English language in existence.

Also, in the past two weeks I have ended up in three separate conversations about weddings (almost exclusively with girls who, like myself, have zero marriage prospects currently on the horizon -- I am unsure whether they, like me, just see weddings as a way to have a great big massive party in your honour) and two conversations about babies and children. Uhh, what the hell?! I've also been discussing the housing market, mortgages and buying houses, and fear these chats are all indicative of a wider malaise: I am officially growing up. *shudder*

Now, if you'll excuse me I have to go put on my Count Duckula hoodie and read a comics blog...