Girls & Boys

This is a subject that's always been near and dear to my heart, but following recent reads, recent blogs of mine and recent discussions, it's very much at the forefront of my mind.

I do not believe there is any real, significant, fundamental difference between girls and boys based on their gender.

Let me elaborate: I've been an owner of animals since I got my first cat aged four; I've had pets of both sexes and been around animals of different sexes pretty much all my life, and I can state with confidence that I have never noticed any significant difference in personality (and believe me, animals have their own personality, but that's a blog for another day) based on their gender. Sure, male dogs with hump things, male peacocks will flash their colourful tails, male cats spray their territory while females physically cannot...I don't deny their are clear differences physically between the genders, and I am sure that these physical differences can have an impact on behaviour - the influence of hormones is not something I am inclined to argue against.

However, when it comes to personality traits like having a temper, liking this or that, being kind, having a gentle nature, wanting things clean, preferring things messy - I'm pretty sure it's bollocks to say this is in any way related to gender (beyond social influences, which I'll get to) and to state that "men and women are different" is reductive and insulting. To both sexes.

I love violent video games and paintballing and the toy I wanted most as a kid was Scalextric (and one day I will damned well own one); I like playing Grand Theft Auto and taking the stolen pixilated cars on a rampage through the make-believe city; I mostly wear trousers and trainers and I'm partial to a pint in the pub while watching football or rugby on the big screen.

I also enjoy horse-riding, like wearing make-up, enjoy baking and cooking, melt into a puddle of gooey emotion around cats, especially kittens, cry like a baby when someone dies in a film (yep, I even cry at Titanic, god help me) and dream of owning an Alessi-stocked kitchen.

I don't like any of these things because I'm a girl. I like them because I'm me, the product of my DNA, my family background, and the people I choose to be friends with. A combination of nature and nurture, in which I'm sure having double-X chromosomes does play a part - but that double-X doesn't tell the whole story, and frankly presuming it does is an insult to me.

If I said, "Bill likes x because he's gay", that would be homophobic. If I said, "Kate likes x because she's black", that would be racist.

So why isn't it sexist, and therefore just as offensive, to say "Julie likes x because she's a girl"? Why isn't sexism socially perceived to be just as bad as racism or homophobia?

Yes, society plays a huge part in how we turn out, and currently, most of Western society seems to think that people will behave in certain set ways based on their gender: boys like blue and football and astronauts; girls like pink and ponies and fairies (with pink fairy ponies obviously being the zenith of female desire). Yet by presuming that girls and boys are fundamentally different, we're perpetuating this misconception and taking an active part in continuing to support this fantasy gender-division.

If everyone around you expects you to like pink and hate football because you're a girl, then there is enormous peer pressure on you to conform, to live up to expectations; it's a rare person who is strong enough to defy expectations, especially when you're a teenager. If your family, friends, role-models, TV and film characters, people in magazines and characters in books are all sending the same message ("You're a girl so you like x and hate y; you're a boy so you like y and hate x") then it begins to be seen as "normal"; and if you're not "normal", you're different; and different is bad.

What this attitude fails to take into account is everyone's own, individual, idiosyncratic personality. Kate likes x because she's Kate, not because she's gay/straight, female/male, Caucasian/Asian etc. Sure, ethnicity, race, religion, gender and sexuality all play a part in making you, you, but each individual aspect doesn't tell the whole story, and to say otherwise is, frankly, both old-fashioned and reductive, not to mention pretty offensive.

I often feel like I'm taking crazy pills when this issue comes up: most people think that there's true gender equality in British society at the moment (there isn't) so what am I getting so riled up about; or they'll take offence that I am "insulting" them by presuming they are furthering the gender gap through their own actions and/or opinions; or they'll turn the issue into a joke, which is offensive to me in and of itself, as their facetious attitude implies my opinions are invalid and the issues at hand comical; or they'll just think I'm wrong, that there is a real difference between boys and girls, and to say otherwise makes me stupid (the patronising bastards).

I'm not the only one to feel this way; but sometimes it sure as hell can feel like it. The worst thing is when this issue arises with someone I'm close to, and I suddenly realise that not only am I talking to a sexist; but I'm talking to a sexist who thinks I am in the wrong for challenging their beliefs on the gender divide.

What I also find very personally upsetting and distressing is the results of this socially-created gender divide: there's still a huge pay gap; it's presumed women will do the majority of the work raising children; women are seen to be the ones who should do the cooking and cleaning; women have to battle against preconceived, often contrary, notions of how they should behave in the workplace; women can have difficulty getting, or keeping, the same jobs as men; and most distressingly of all, women are much more likely to be perceived as sex-objects and therefore are more likely to be subject to sexual attack, either verbally, physically, or both.

Violence against women is a huge issue, and not one I'm going to get into here; pertinent information can be found at sites like End Violence Against Women and Womankind Worldwide.

What I will say is that, from my own personal experience, I have experienced sexual abuse because I'm female. I've been returning from the bar in a pub, hands full of drinks for me and my friends, and had a man grope my breasts and laugh at the shock on my face; I've been returning home on the train after a day's work and had my backside and breasts groped by strangers because they're drunk, returning from the football/rugby and felt entitled to do that to me; I've had offensive terms yelled at me in the street, and believe me I'm hardly dressed as or looking like "Page Three" material at the time, and I've worked in places where men have made sexist jokes, followed me around the warehouse floor so they can stare at me while I work, and speculated about my sex-life.

I find it hard to separate these issues in my mind: if you think men and women are fundamentally different, then you probably think one sex is better than the other; if you think one sex is better than the other, then you think one sex has the right to discriminate against the other; and if you think one sex has the right to discriminate against the other, you probably think one sex has the right to verbally and/or physically abuse the other - "look at the way she was dressed, she was asking for it"; "she came home with me, she was asking for it"; "she passed out drunk in public, she was asking for it". And no, I don't think sexual abuse is committed by men against women, but statistically that is what mostly happens.

Maybe I am prejudiced for making these associations, for thinking that because someone acknowledges and either plays along with, or panders to, these largely false gender divisions, they might end up discriminating against me, or another woman. But that's my problem - and to be honest, I'm yet to be convinced that I am wrong to make that association.

I don't think that just because someone I'm close to displays an old-fashioned or sexist attitude, they will end up committing sexual violence against me; but I do think their attitude contributes to perpetuating sexual discrimination which could lead other men to commit sexual violence. Perhaps that's reductive of me; but it's still what I fear is the consequence of their attitude.

So, is it just me, or is any one else railing against the prejudice around them and determined to try and change things for the future...?

Inception

First and foremost, this is a lengthy discussion of Inception that focuses on its plot and themes and involves huge, huge spoilers. So, if you haven’t seen the film and don’t want me to ruin it for you, look away now.

Everybody sitting comfortably? Good. Then I’ll begin.

Right, seeing as I’ve only seen the film once I won’t be breaking it down in order of events in the movie, nor by actual or perceived timelines within the film. I’ll just be going through things as they occur to me and as they naturally lead on to each other. Also, I’m presuming that you’ve seen the film so I won’t be giving a plot summary or detailed character descriptions – if you want to re-familiarise yourself before reading this, then check this site.

First things first: that masterfully suspenseful ending, where Cobb is reunited with his children and sets his/Mal’s totem spinning to test whether he’s still dreaming or not – and we never get to see if it falls. I totally think he’s still dreaming, that we’ve been inside Cobb’s subconscious for the whole of the film; dreams within dreams within dreams within dreams. Everything that happens in the film and everyone we encounter is a dream, all in Cobb’s mind. Let me explain why I think so.

To start at the end: Cobb’s children haven’t aged. He has been living in exile long enough to find a regular crew of people he works with, long enough to establish a reputation as a master-extractor, long enough for his father-in-law to be warning him that a few toys and gifts won’t help Cobb’s kids remember him. Yet not only are they not apparently a day older than when Cobb left, but they’re wearing the exact same outfits as they are in Cobb’s last memory of them. Hell, they’re even in the same place and taking part in the same activity, playing in the garden in the sunshine.

Then there’s the father-in-law; when we first meet him, he’s working in Paris – which is where Cobb sets up his base of operations and where they practice the stages of the Inception. However, Miles is there, ready to meet Cobb at LAX when he lands after the successful Inception. How did he get from Paris to LA faster than them? How did Miles know the job would be successful and that he should therefore be waiting at LAX?

Also consider how Saito manages to eradicate the charges and allegations against Cobb with just a single phone-call: no matter how rich and powerful you are, getting in touch with the right people in the right places takes time. They’ve already used up most of the flight-time from Sydney to LAX with the Inception itself; there wouldn’t be much time left to get charges of murder dropped.

Speaking of which charges, although Cobb mentions while in Paris that the extradition laws between America and France are complex and mean that it’s unlikely he’ll run into trouble because of being in France, nothing is said about extradition while he’s in Australia. Yet Australia have clear and definite extradition agreements with the US (see this site for full legal details). How did Cobb get into the country to be on the Sydney-LAX flight? How did he even get through customs and the restrictions at Sydney airport?

While talking to Ariadne, Cobb asks her, “How did you get here?” and reveals to her that you can tell whether you’re in a dream or not by the fact that, in a dream, you don’t remember how you got to your starting location. The first apparently-real-world location in the film is on the train in Japanwho ; how did Cobb and his team get there? What are they doing there? What they’re supposed to steal from Saito is never explained, never discussed.

On to Ariadne: a name from Greek myth, in legend it was Ariadne who gave Theseus a “clew”/ball of thread to help him find his way out of the labyrinth (check this page for a full analysis of Ariadne in myth and legend). She’s also been referred to as the “Mistress of the Labyrinth”. Not only is the Ariadne of Inception the Architect, the literal creator of the “closed systems” (read: labyrinths) that the characters use; it’s Ariadne who helps Cobb to realise that his memory of Mal is not real. Ariadne helps lead Cobb out of his own subconscious labyrinth. Also, the bridge she creates in the first dream-world Cobb takes her in to, is a bridge that is familiar to Cobb from his own memory. All the places they visit, the worlds they create, are places Cobb has been to before – every location in the film is Cobb’s memory. Ariadne helps Cobb to escape from his own limbo by aiding him in realising that Mal/his guilt has power over him, and how to get past this – she gives Cobb the tools to escape his labyrinth. He listens to Ariadne and trusts her, despite just having met her, because she (like every other character in the film) is a projection, a side of Cobb’s own subconscious. Cobb says early in the film that one of the ways extraction can work is through talking to projections, as they can tell you truths about the mind they inhabit – Ariadne’s role is Cobb’s own subconscious trying to help him escape from the dream-state. She can only lead him so far out, however, because she is, after all, trapped within the dream-world herself.

There are also broader clues: Mal herself (another projection of Cobb’s subconscious) points out how he doubts his reality, being pursued around the globe by nameless assailants (to paraphrase the film). Also, scenes where Cobb is being chased through the “real world” by his nameless employers are very reminiscent of the scenes where the mind-defences of subjects like Fischer chase down those invading the host-mind. Saito’s motives are also a wee bit idealistic: wanting to get Fischer to break up his father’s business empire so the company don’t have global dominance over energy resources. It just seems a bit too sugary-sweet, too unrealistic. It would be much more real to have a corporate rival want Fischer to break up the empire so Saito’s company can get ahead and make more profit.

Well, that’d my reasoning! If any of you interpret things differently, please post your thoughts!

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?

Room 101

I'd say you wouldn't like me when I'm angry, but to be perfectly honest I am angry a significant portion of the day and as such clearly you either do like me when I'm angry, or we're not actually friends. Realising that recent happy-happy-joy-joy posts may give you, the reader, an unbalanced perspective on my nature, I'm bowing to popular pressure (okay, one person's pressure) and my own desires and listing the things that I would banish to Room 101, or would strike from the very face of the earth if I had the power to do so. And, god willing, one day I will. Ideally, one day I will be the God, but I try to keep my aims reasonable. Queen of the World will suffice.

Anyhoo, this is just the list of things I (currently) have no power to change. I do get angry at proper serious issues, too: I read Bad Science by Ben Goldacre and became pretty incandescent with rage; and I'm currently reading In Stitches by Dr Nick Edwards and it makes me want to march all the way to the Houses of Parliament and stand outside screaming, "You idiots, you fucking idiots, why can't you listen to NHS staff for a change?!". But these are things we all have (some) ability to change; we can write to our MPs, sign or create petitions, join protests, set up angry sciency blogs - we can make a difference, although it might be a small one and take ages to impliment any real change. But still. The things listed below, however, are things that, lacking the power to affect, enrage me all the more.

• People getting in my way. This follows on from people who stop in doorways, and for the same essential reason. I have somewhere to be, places to see, people to do, and I want to be able to get there. I do not want some idiot cluttering up the pavement and slowing me down. I hate it when people stop in doorways, or at the top of escalators/stairs, or when they are trundling along the street at about one mile per year and also managing to take up the whole damned pavement so I can't even get past them. Hate it hate it hate it. Even when I was hobbling along on crutches with a broken ankle I was faster than the average Cardiff resident (and smarter than the av-er-age bear) and I feel the Facebook group I Secretly Want to Punch Slow-Walking People In the Back of the Head is my spiritual home. This hatred also applies to people who're serving very slowly at tills - I don't want to be in the queue for the rest of my natural life, thanks, so picking up the pace would really help me out.
  
• People that inexplicably go to empty counters/tills. I saw this all the time back when I worked in a department store, and I see it now when shopping. There's a till with a person stood behind it in plain sight, not that far away, and yet some people will still meander blindly over to a counter where there are no people serving. This drives me crazy - why do they do it?! It's like when I'm stood waiting for an elevator and people come up, stand beside me, then push the button to call the elevator, like I'm some kind of moron who hadn't figured this out already. I may one day snap and thank them profusely for saving me from a potentially eternal wait for an elevator I didn't know how to summon.


• Not getting my own way. I know this is infantile, I know it's (usually) very unreasonable, I know it's unfair - and I just don't care. If that God/Queen of World thing ever comes to pass, so help the rest of you because I will have the world revolving around me. And I'll probably become dissatisfied with that and end it all in a fiery apocalypse.
  
• People who don't have their purse/wallet/bus pass ready when they get to the check-out/onto the bus. What, are you surprised they want money to finalise this transaction? Were you not expecting the driver to ask for your pass or payment? My rage is exacerbated a thousandfold if the person in question spends ten minutes digging through their bag/pockets to find their money, then starts counting out change...
  
• Strangers getting in my personal space. Now, I recognise that at a concert or the like, they're hundreds if not thousands of people around and I will get bumped into and I accept this. But when strangers sit next to me on the bus or train, I don't want any part of them to touch any part of me. It makes me massively uncomfortable, as well as pissing me off. I've usually gone to extreme lengths to press myself as far away from them as possible - and there are some people in this world who then shift even closer to me to take up the space I just made. I want to push them away and start screaming, right in their faces. This also applies when people get too close to me in a queue - I edge forward so I don't have a stranger standing a really uncomfortably familiar distance from me, and they step forward. One day soon I will loose it, turn around and yell at them to just back the fuck away from me. I also get uncomfortable if strangers deliberately touch me: for example, if they pat my hand or arm. This usually happens with older, mostly female, borrowers at the library. I know they're just being friendly and nice, but I really don't like it and you'd think my pulling away from them would clue them in about this - but it doesn't. If I don't socialise with you, that means I don't want you in my personal space. Back off, buddy.
  
• Losing. Sort of goes hand-in-hand with the getting my own way thing. I really, really hate to lose, to the extent that if I know I'm beaten before I begin, then I won't even play. And if I play and lose I want to tantrum. Like full-on, throw myself to the ground screaming and kicking my feet tantrum. I try and rein this in a little and usually end up just stropping off or sulking instead...
  
• Repetitive noise. Ticking clocks, people who say or sing the same line over and over, dripping taps, car/house alarms - you get the picture. Within a very short period, the beating of the hideous heart becomes all I can hear, all I can focus on, until I want to just smash to pieces whatever is making the noise. Worst case offenders: back when I lived at my Mum's, her neighbour would leave his house at around 6am. He would start his motorbike ... then go back inside the house and put on his leathers. Leaving the engine running on the drive. All I dreamt of was kicking his bike over then smashing it up with a baseball bat. It drove me crazy. Then there was the woman who got on the bus and starting playing a massively irritating garage song on her mobile. When the song finished, she played it again. And then a third time. And then she started it up for a fourth time and I was actually getting up out of my seat to tell her to stop when, luckily for both of us, she got off the bus.
  
• Valentine's Day.
  
• Superman.

There's more that could go on this list - lots more. But these are the things I think it acceptable to tell the world about...

These Are A Few Of My Favourite Things

I’m in an uncharacteristically positive mood of late, so I thought, while I can bring them to mind, I’d do a list of all the little things that make life worth living. Now, there is another, more, ahh, private list of things I enjoy – but if you don’t know what’s on that list, it’s because I don’t want you to. And because I don’t want to turn into some kind of creepy Belle Du Jour-type blogger, mentioning seeing condoms in the street and suspecting my neighbours might be running a brothel is as far as I’m prepared to go. In writing, anyway.

In no particular order:-

• Family. They’re mostly crazy, to varying degrees: my dad’s side possess that ruthless competitive streak which manifests so clearly in me and my mum’s side carry grudges to (and beyond) the grave – but may the gods have mercy on any outsiders who try and attack us. I love them and love spending time with them – and love the inevitable slew of anecdotes I end up with after family visitations.
  
• My friends. I seriously heart my friends, and difficult as I find it to admit real actual feelings, out loud, where people can find out about them and use them against me < / issues > I am happy to say I am my friends’ number one cheerleader and I love them all. I could cheerfully spend the rest of time sat in the pub with my friends: we’d play Jenga (or “Tension Tower”) and Trivial Pursuit and eat pub food, then we’d go dancing, then go back to someone’s house for tea and toast and more chat, and we’d wake up and watch bad TV and geeky box sets and films and then go back to the pub and the whole time we’d be laughing so hard our faces hurt and talking and quoting and I would for realz spend eternity in that contended little cycle if I could.
  
• While I’m on the subject – the pub. I love the pub (one in particular, but I don’t want to encourage stalking so I shan’t mention it by name). It serves alcohol and there’s music and games behind the bar and it’s warm and dry and cosy and you can sit around and have a laugh with your friends, and it’s just … nice. Ohhh, and beer gardens on warm, sunny days! A rare treat in a country as notoriously cold and damp as this, but maybe that makes me appreciate beer-garden-afternoons all the more.
  
• A nice cup of tea. As one of my Uni friends has illustrated via the medium of Facebook, A Cup of Tea Solves Everything. Can’t beat it.
  
• Gingerbread lattes from Starbucks. I know, I know, I’m a corporate whore who’s contributing to the decline of independent traders. I don’t care. Gingerbread lattes, with whipped cream on top and some cinnamon sprinkled over, are the perfect combination of caffeine and sugar and god I love them. I have a crazed addiction to them – it’s probably for the best that they’re only available over the Christmas season (and better for my self-interest that “Christmas season”, to Starbucks, starts in November).
  
• Popping the foil lid on coffee jars. It’s borderline weird, but I love doing this. The feel of the spoon going through the foil, the smell of the fresh coffee…Oddly satisfying.
  
• Crunching through fallen leaves in autumn. C’mon, who doesn’t love this? Kicking them up is awesome – and I have to admit to kicking over my neighbour’s carefully swept-up pile of leaves this year. This may be why they hate me.
  
• Walking over snow. It makes this great crunchy noise, plus, yay! Snow!! It’s the simple things.
  
• When it’s cold and raining and miserable outside – and you can just stay indoors, cuddled up on the sofa under a nice warm blanket.


• That moment when you wake up on a day off, and realise there’s nowhere you need to be and you can just cuddle up and go right back to sleep. I am also lazy to near-feline standards and can quite happily stay in bed until gone one o’clock in the afternoon if I don’t need to be anywhere.


• Stretching. You wake up, or get up off the sofa, and stretch and it feels amazing.
  
• Getting my own way. Really, this should be higher up the list. Okay, at the top of the list, but I’ve written this stream-of-consciousness stylee so that's what I'm sticking with. I am a massively spoiled only child (I was the only grandchild on my mum’s side of the family, and only grandchild on my dad’s side for the first nine years of my life – you don’t know from spoiled) and I do enjoy the satisfaction of getting my own way. My things, my toys, my games, my way, my choices, me, me, me, mine, mine, mine. Any time things do go my way, it feels both right and natural.
  
• The cinema. I'm pretty sure my plethora of film references and quotations has made it clear by now, but I fucking love movies. Love them. And going to the cinema is one of my favourite things to do. I love the popcorn, and the huge screens, and the surround-sound played at such volume that you can feel your chair vibrate during loud scenes – I thoroughly enjoy every aspect of the experience.
  
  …Except when my misanthropic nature kicks in and I find myself filled with burning hatred towards the people around me. I feel vindicated in my loathing if it’s directed towards sweary, noisy teens that are talking over the movie, but I’ve also been known to start fantasising about beating to death the person sitting next to me if they’re a “breather”. That is, someone who’s breathing is audible to me, even over the film. Or if they’re rustling food packets. Or they’ve brought smelly food in. Or it’s a couple being all kissy-kissy in my eye-line: if I wanted to watch a make-out session, I’d be at a very different kind of cinema. But apart from that, yay! Cinema!
  
• It's indicative of my change in priorities recently that I didn't think to add this sooner: food. Om nom nom - food. I love food: cooking it is really rewarding, when you make a brilliant meal for yourself and some friends and everyone enjoys it and it's delicious and you know it was all your own hard work. Eating it is the best part, obviously, and I'm pretty sure Reese's Peanut-butter Cups were designed for me, personally, because they are so crazy-tasty to me. At least a third of my thinking-time is spent planning meals and wondering what and when I can eat next. And if ever I decide bollocks to it all and decide to just completely let myself go and eat my way into an early grave, my grotesque and tragic ending will be sponsored by Ben and Jerry's, Reese's, Domino's pizzas and Oreo cookies.
  
• Looking at things that have been carefully tidying and organised. I admit, this is just flat-out crazy and I can picture the "oh god just back away from her slowly" look I would get from you if I told this to you in person, but I am borderline-compulsive and seeing things in careful order pleases me. My DVDs are arranged by colour and my books by genre, then sub-alphabetised; my clothes are also ordered by colour in my wardrobe; and my anxiety dreams frequently involve someone coming into my house and re-arranging my things. I just like order, okay?! Don't you judge me...

Well, that about wraps it up. I may add more if the mood strikes - and I'm already making a mental list of things that make me angry, as a counterbalance to all this positivity.

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...