The art of being a somewhat lady.

There comes a time in every young female’s life when she must put away her flamethrowers and Barbie dolls and become the badass, totally mannered woman of pure etiquette she is meant to be.

Or at least try not to burn down the kitchen. That works too. Ladies are not born, they are made. That being said what exactly does it mean to be a lady?

Does it mean you speak in old English, thou, art, thee? Does it mean you walk with your nose in the air and your tush tucked in firmly as if you’re holding a credit card between your butt cheeks? Does it mean you hide behind a fan and giggle properly while scalding your enemies with your laser eyes? Perhaps it’s drinking your tea with your pinkie in the air…

No my darlings, it is much more than that.


How to be a lady.


A lady is groomed.

Presentation is a key part to becoming a respectable woman. Your future depends on you being a sophisticated creature that always has her shit together. Even when you want to crawl into a hole and cry while stuffing chocolate bunnies into your face and making tissue shrines. Make-up is your arsenal. Use it. But not too much. You don’t want it to look like you took a trowel to your face.

Wash your face regularly and apply a good moisturizing cream. Avoid caking your face with powders and creams though. It could lead to acne and everyone knows that those with acne are probably ogres or even worse… Communists.

Care for your hair. Don’t go out if your hair looks like a family of bats made a nest in it and then you tried vacuuming them out. Put some extra effort in to making sure your hair always looks nice or at least presentable. There is nothing a man loves more than running his fingers through a woman’s silky, soft hair while kissing her senseless. Just saying.

When the demons are plaguing you and your evil twin sister is out (#period), be extremely careful for anyone not to see certain items that you require to survive the ordeal. Men don’t need to know you’re human, you are a lady damnit.


A lady dresses appropriately at all times.

This does not necessarily mean you wear a blouse that button up to your throat, knickers that make your granny proud or a dress that hide your ankles…. Because you know… nothing riles a man up more than sexy ankles. The shame.  It means you wear the colours that compliment you. Your skirts can be short, but they don’t loving climb up into your butt cheeks. Your blouses don’t show every lump and bump that graces your drop dead gorgeous body. Don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with having a little extra. Blatantly flaunting that “extra” by wearing skint tight clothing that could cause a seizure from tightness however, might just send the men running in the other direction. Wear clothes that compliments your figure and that doesn’t scream “cringe when you see it.”

This applies to all woman. You don’t want your double D’s flopping around possibly hitting innocent passer-by’s in the face. Although I’m sure some men would be more than willing to take the fall for their brothers in arms. Wear a good bra, wear clothes that cover everything appropriately but there is just enough sass to make the men pant behind their cool facades. Underwear is not a misnomer. Exposed things are not glamorous. Men eventually grow up and realise that a lady is a lot more worth than a quick booty call and if your clothing is not on par they will lose interest. Even if they do take a peek. They’re still men.


A lady behaves

Ladies do not have one night stands. Ladies do not do booty calls. Ladies behave themselves and is the picture perfect representation of what you probably want in a wife one day if you’re a man. (I can already see the boys cringe in horror. Marriage? Bogwash! Who thinks of such things at this day and age?).

If you as a man wishes to go sow your seeds then do so. Just don’t expect your lady to participate in such unladylike acts. Explore if you must. You will come to your senses eventually. In a decade or so. But don’t expect her to sit and wait for you. She is her own person and a man that actually has come to his senses will appreciate her for her worth.

Being a lady means that you do not sow your wild oats. At all. How can you claim to be respectable woman if you jump in bed with every man that sings pretty poems to you? Now you might argue with me that how dare I be so prudish? Woman should also be allowed these liberties that men seem to have but unfortunately for you we still live in a day and age where it is frowned upon if a woman is “loose.” It is unfortunately our lot in life. If you wish to be a lady you must accept it. If not, that is your choice.

Jumping in bed with a man after only a few dates is wholly untasteful. It’s doubtful he will have much respect for you if you do. He might placate you with pretty words and such but do not be fooled by them. Men might not want to admit it, but they do have a lot more respect for a woman that stands firm by her morals even if it leads to said poor man having an itch that cannot be scratched. Oh the sacrifices the poor souls must make!

It will be worth it in the end. A lady is loyal to a fault and will stand by your side through thick in thin while still looking fabulous.


A lady has manners.

Not much needs to be said here. Please and thank you is your bread and butter. Do not talk with your mouth full. Spitting peas all over your date might not be the best way to get the conversation going. You do not curse like a sailor even if that motherfucking bitch sitting a few feet away from your table dared look at your man. Smile politely at his jokes even if you want to roll your eyes so far into your head you might just pass out.


A lady knows how to please her man.

Yeah I know. We were all sniggering behind our hands. Get your head out of the gutter. Let me rephrase that. A lady knows how to make her man feel like buffalo wrestling, axe-wielding, female swooning male life form. Better?

Men do so love a damsel in distress that they can sweep off their pretty little feet. Don’t lie to us, you so do. It’s okay, because a lady knows how and when to ask for assistance even if she’s wholly capable of doing it herself. Men love feeling like protectors in the relationship and if you allow him to save you from the invisible woman eating raisin dwarves every now and then he’ll love you more for it. Sure the modern woman needs no man, yada yada yada but this is an inborn instinct and you can only use it to your advantage. But don’t go soft either. You should let him assist you in your endeavors yes, but subtly let him know that you could do it yourself as well.


Enjoy the fact that you are a woman and men will enjoy it too. Being a lady is last and foremost carrying yourself with confidence. It is sexier than any low cut dress…

Dating an introvert: the fun, the chicken and the downright scary.


Introvert: A social vegan that avoids meet. If you’re dating a creature of this type then kudos to you. Introverts are like cats. We are loyal lovers, tending to be more selective with whom we show our love and affection and we don’t just wag our tails for anyone. We are independent creatures that don’t need a lot of attention and hype to feel good and we have simple needs:

Food + affection + quiet comforts = happy introverts.

That all sounds wonderful to another introvert but what happens when an extrovert dates an introvert? How do you deal with this aloof creature that one seconds wants your undivided attention and then in the next dismisses you with a flourish?


Survival tips for courting an introvert:

Getting them to express themselves is like pulling teeth. Painful.

Introverts don’t want to discuss their “feelings” or have a formal conversation about their emotions. They prefer dealing with their bullshit on their own. Unlike most people, introverts don’t need other people to help them cope with their problems. They prefer to slay their demons on their own… with pointy things and lots of crying in the dark. When you just want to make things right or figure out what the heck they want for delivery, you have to coax them into talking or just leave them alone for a few days to just “deal” and then everything will be okay. Trust me, I have a marshmallow.


Just as nature detests a vacuum, we detest vacuous small talk.

Translation? Meaningless conversations are a no-no. Our energy is limited, partly because a lot of it is expended by frolicking in our minds and we don’t like wasting it on meaningless activities. Like small talk. Small talk is the bane of our existence. We hate it. We want to throw it into a volcano and watch it burn. If you have a death wish and want to die a slow and painful death then engage in small talk with an introvert. If their stare doesn’t kill you, the vacuum that is formed probably will.


Silence is only awkward if you make it awkward.

So you’ve hit a little snag and the conversation has stopped dead. It’s silent. You can hear your own breathing. It’s horrifying. Your toes are starting to twitch. Your palms become sweaty. You don’t have anything to say and the panic starts to claw at you like a rabid bunny with a bow on its head.


Chillax brother. While you’re silently freaking out like an introvert that just send a friend request to their crush… Said introvert is perfectly comfortable. Yes cupcake, you read that right. While you slowly slipped into your panic induced state, the introvert of your affections has been arguing with the voices in her head. You only think it’s awkward because silence is not a natural state for you. It’s perfectly natural to us though. In fact, sometimes it’s preferred.

Introverts love cuddling. Instead of you know… freaking out, why don’t you pull your introvert into your arms and enjoy the silence together.

I know right? Madness.


We hate the phone. Oh, dear BURRITOS, do we hate the phone.

That “rule” about dating, where you’re supposed to call after three days? Or how people will say that, in dating, calling is preferable to texting because it’s more personal or thoughtful or whatever? Bullshit. Crap. Twak. Nada. Please don’t call us. A phone call is intrusive, it disturbs us and catches us off-guard, and it is often filled with superfluous small talk. Yes – small talk. Ingrain that into your brain if you must.

Also texting. If your instincts are to just send text messages all day all week with no tea breaks, it’s not any better than calling. We can ignore them for a while. Heck we can ignore them for daaaays but that’s not the problem. It’s seeing those notifications pop up just knowing that you’re waiting for a response and that causes uncalled for amounts of anxiety. Nail biting agony. Look don’t get me wrong, we are not completely against conversations on the phone. If it doesn’t happen too often and the conversations are fun, it’s chilled. It’s those conversations that have no value. You know… SMALL TALK. Dum dum duuuuuuuuum. I wouldn’t touch that with a ten foot pole. Small talk in person is bad enough. Small talk over texting is like throwing gasoline over yourself and striking a match while yodelling Justin Bieber.


Don’t expect us to be available at a moment’s notice.

“What are you doing tonight?” are the five worst words we can receive in a text message. It’s not that we don’t like going out — we love it! We just have to mentally prepare ourselves for it. If your introverted other has been assuming that he or she will be spending the evening stuffing Oreos in their mouth and playing video games then that is what they are doing. Disrupting that is traumatizing. For them, not for you and you will probably have a very sour, grumpy hoodie glaring at you the entire night if you drag them away from it.

By the by… this is what we mean when we respond with: “Sorry, I already have plans.” We are not making up excuses or going behind your back to do unholy things. We have plans. They don’t involve other people. Respect that. If the need to see your lover is very great and you’re willing just to hold them while they engage in whatever they had planned for the night… then you’d probably score on the brownie points big time. It would mean that you are understanding and totally get that they need their me time… Wink wink, nudge, nudge.


Just because we need quiet time doesn’t mean we expect you to do the same.

We understand our need to retreat into a corner and vegate AWAY from other people can be a bummer. There are weekends that we don’t want to leave the house. We want to leave parties early and there are social situations we just blatantly avoid but we’re not unreasonable human beings. If you want to go out and do shit, then go out and do shit. Don’t let us stop you, just don’t try to force us to go with you and don’t make us feel like horrible people that should not walk this earth because of it. We already spend enough time feeling like we’re kicking everyone’s puppies around us.


We just want to feel safe and cherished.

We need to know that we can be our natural reclusive selves without worrying about pommeling your feelings into the ground or being judged for who we are. NOTHING will shut us down faster than hearing something like, “C’mon, what’s your deal?” or “Why are you being difficult?” or any other similar nonsense. This is the way we are. This is the way we have always been. This makes us feel deficient and we end up apologizing for ourselves a lot for not being “normal” or “typical.” There’s a reason we can seem guarded with our hearts: because we sure as hell are.


We’re loyal, supportive, and uplifting partners who will listen to you and want you to be happy.

If you need constant validation for every minor day-to-day achievement, we might not make good partners. We might just roll our eyes. We are often very independent creatures that don’t require constant love and affection and reassurance and quite often we might seem aloof and uncaring. However, if you’re looking for someone that will always listen (we are very good listeners), that is more than happy to let you shine and take the spotlight, that put things in perspective when the feels get too pressing and can look past your bullshit… Then head on.

Otherwise run in the other direction.

The alpha female and the nice guy

A loooooooooong time ago I did a post about bad boys and why women like them and now to focus on the other side of the rainbow infested spectrum.

Why do women always reject the nice guy?

Now this is purely from my perspective because I too am one of the culprits of rejecting various young men and most of them are the adorable, marriageable nice kind…

I never went through my bad boy phase. Like ever. Nigel (a.k.a my brain) just decided that our hormones don’t have anything on her and completely obliterated them. Well not completely, she couldn’t fight them off when random bouts of wailing was in order for the day but bad boys she could fend off. Mostly. I still drooled over pictures. I am not perfect and neither is Nigel.

Now a bad boy can be defined as a male life form that don’t play by the rules. That don’t follow trends but have trends follow him… Like puppies. Wait…. Puppies are not manly enough. Fine. A half dead buffalo with a missing horn. Yeaaaaaah now that’s badass. That smokes in a non-smoking area (but not rob a bank. That would be a criminal offence. There is a fine line here people.). That is dangerous and make your legs go all wet noodly and of course there is a sense of danger about him. Like he’s not going pay for his parking ticket because screw that man. So sexy, where did I put my palm leaf?

Anyway, now usually when I was approached by above mentioned male life form my thoughts would generally follow this line:

“Oooh he’s cute.” (Start picturing all kinds of corny scenarios. Us frolicking in a field of flowers, us walking in the rain all romantic and stuff. Us kissing under the moonlight while crickets sing the song of their people…)

“Oh crap, he’s coming this way. What do I do? Oh I am going to die right here, right now.” (Start looking for a way to escape his penetrating gaze. Nigel fervently tries to wake up noodle legs. Fails.)

At this point he’s standing in front of me and I freeze on the inside. The fear of talking to another human being taking over me.

And then he opens his mouth and Nigel has a seizure.

Bitch mode initiated. Now starting itching to slap him protocol.

Yes people. I never dated bad boys because Nigel labelled them all juvenile idiots. We’re quite fond of prejudice aren’t we Nigel? We’re bad people. Well I am bad person. Nigel is my brain. I should probably stop talking about her as a separate entity… Like now.

But you don’t care about any of this do you? DO YOU? You just want to know why women don’t want to date your adorable, slappable (no Nigel…) ass.


Things that I have noticed about nice guys:


Nice Guys Don’t Have Self-Respect

No one respects a doormat. Nice guys don’t set boundaries or make any real demands. My entire dating history followed the same pattern. I was always the alpha male. I made all the decisions and frankly it pissed Nigel off. We have better things to do like frolick in our nothing box than decide on things. A bad boy doesn’t let a woman walk all over him or control him. Women can’t respect a man they can control. Take it from someone who knows. No respect equals no attraction.


Nice guys don’t have a lot of self-confidence

Everywhere you look you see magazines of skinny ass women wearing gorgeous clothing that you as an average woman can never have either because you’re broke or your body is just not anorexic enough for it. We are continuously bombarded by the media to always look our best, to barely eat anything or go on this special diet consisting of seaweed and air just so that you can squeeze into a pair of pants that nature never intended for you to squeeze your buttocks into. Women are insecure. Women need to be told that they’re pretty and bad boys are charming and confident enough to achieve this. They make girl feels pretty and that’s why said girls are so attracted to bad boys. Nice guys tend to fumble through their words and don’t always know when to say the right things. Feminism be damned, women don’t want to make the first move. They want YOU to make the first move and don’t let any feminazi tell you otherwise.


Nice Guys are So Predictable

Most people lead boring, predictable lives, (Not me of course. I have a nothing box. What is a predictable life when you have a brain called Nigel?) So naturally they’re attracted to people who are exciting and a bit volatile. Bad boys are like trying to resist that last piece of chocolate lying in your secret stash. Nice guys are never a challenge because they’re so afraid they’re going to say the wrong things or do the wrong things and then you will like hate them forever. By being predictable you’re doing the wrong thing in any case… You simply can’t win. I’m sorry. Predictable + no excitement + no challenge = I prefer bad boy.


Women Like To Feel Needed.

Nice guys usually do not need to be fixed. Their mothers did not drop them as babies. Well not enough to rattle all the brain bits into badass mode. Bad boys usually do, so they become a project. Like making a volcano with uhm… I’ve never made a volcano before okay. Things. Some women think if they can fashion the perfect man, he will never ever leave them and they will live happily ever after in a cottage with singing birds and mice that do all the housework. (Yeah no.) If a woman is so busy fixing her brooding boyfriend, she doesn’t have to look at what needs to be fixed in her own life.


Bad Boys Are Drop Dead Gorgeous and Strapping

Have you ever seen a bad boy who didn’t make your heart go all fluttery and stupid? I’m sure there are a few, but they wouldn’t be able to get away with half the stuff they did if they didn’t look so damn fine. Looking at our history, men have always protected women, physical and otherwise.

It’s still ingrained in our womanly genes to want the male that can feed you and like kill a buffalo with his bare hands. With nice guys women are more likely to think that the buffalo can and will impale him with its horns. Bad boys generally are the muscular kind that spend hours in the gym while nice guys tend to pursue intellectual quests.

As women get older they tend to realize that their bad ass boyfriends cannot provide for them and their bad qualities outweigh their good ones. It’s then that they realize that a good guy is the good choice but usually by then it’s too late and all the good ones have been taken but you know. One for the good guys… Yay? Frankly if a women always tends to go for the bad boy then the chances are she will likely never date you or she will and then she will dump your sorry ass for the next asshole that comes walking by. It’s  the ones that stray once or twice you should consider, they’re only going through a hormone invested phase after all…

But most of this is just speculation on my part. I’ve never dated a bad boy and can only draw my conclusion from hearing other women’s stories. But what I do know is that I am quite tired of being the alpha male. Before you go off and tell me all kinds of things I really wouldn’t care to hear. If you can point out a nice guy with a backbone of steel then I will worship the ground you walk on and you can reprimand me all you like. But that’s not how it works, is it? There is no such thing as a strapping young man with confidence and the personality of a saint. You either get one or the other.

All is not lost however. I think the trick is not to be nice but to be kind. A nice person conforms his behaviour to what he believes society sees as “nice”. A “kind” person doesn’t give a damn about what society thinks but acts out of a deep-rooted love for his fellow human beings. Perhaps the solution is not to become a bad boy to get the girl but to rather be a man that shows compassion and mercy and who knows when to take his stand. Someone who is trustworthy but also strong of will. I’d like one order of strong, kind, compassionate and trustworthy. But not nice. Never nice. We’ve seen this doesn’t seem to work very well. Leave that out please.

I know I am putting in a tall order here but consider it.

Some poetic bullshit for you ponder.

How to totally be a ninja and crawl into a hole to avoid awkward moments…

It can get a teeny tiny bit awkward when you do something a little bit maladroit and then people give you those stares… You know… those kinds of looks that make the blood in your body either freeze and cause popsicles to form in your nose or make your blood boil while a lovely shade of autumn fire hydrant graces your lovely round, paunchy cheeks.

Here are but a few examples and how you can sweep such situations under the rug while still looking like the axe murderer that you are…

Waving at someone you think just waved at you but they were actually waving at the person behind you.

That disapproving frown. That embarrassment that creeps up your neck and gives you creepy little love bites all over your face. That mortification when you realize that you look like a retarded fishcake and probably a red tomato topped with cherry sauce too. Ewwww. The actual recipient of the greeting that caused the destruction of your very life that moment in time, awkwardly brushes by you and greets the enemy. IT. IT CAUSED THIS. How dare they just “wave” like that. How dare they put your life in danger like that. Your grave will read “death by person that waved at you but wasn’t really waving at you and thus you died of embarrassment because the earth couldn’t swallow you whole quickly enough…” It’s that horrible. You should sue them for almost causing your death but you’re not going to. Instead you will quickly spin around and walk away like a centipede with 98 missing legs. You sad picked onion.

Pulling a door that says “push” and vice-versa.

It. Will. Not. Open. Push damnit. PUSH!!! While you are mercilessly grinding with your shoulder against this door, trying to get it open, someone just casually walks by, taps you on the shoulder and then pulls the door open. I do believe your brain just forgot how to brain. Much intelligence. Well done. Situations like these call for a certain kind of finesse. There is a bush nearby. Gracefully extend your slender leg behind you like a dog at a fire hydrant and… Awkwardly fall into the said bush while flailing wildly like an octopus trying to break dance. You have ineffectively avoided an awkward situation.

When your server says, “Enjoy your meal!” and you reply, “Thanks, you too!”

It’s one of those moments where you slowly want to pick up your spoon and stick it in your ear because you have no idea what else to do. It’s not like you can take it back because you have just inexplicably ruined this person’s life. They’re going to go sit in a corner and rock to and thro because your carelessness have brought back childhood memories from the time when they were 3 months and 16 days old. You may slowly sink from your chair now and become a puddle on the bacteria infested floors.

Telling a joke but then forgetting the punch line halfway through.

“So this Oreo walks into the dentist’s office and it asks the barkeeper for a drink and the zookeeper replies…” Wait what?


“The cannibal says…”

Look there is an easy way out of this one. Look everyone dead in the eye or try to… (Make your eyes go in opposite directions dammit, you can do this! You’re a ninja.) Look them in the eye soldier, slowly extend your tongue and… lick your eyebrow. Tiss as simple as that.

Facebook stalking someone and accidentally liking their profile picture from six years ago.

Remember that time I gave advice on how to talk to introverted girls? Well my dear, this one is dedicated to you. You’ve been stalking this girl for a while now, you know the ins and outs, which books she likes, which carpets she don’t like and of course how many bugs she has in her dead bug collection. And then it happens. Just another day of idly going through her Facebook photos and you accidently push that like button. You think, “Oops, well that’s okay she’ll probably won’t think much about it…” Until you see the date. Your heart stops, your stomach takes a plunge down candy mountain and your eye starts to do that special little twitch of its. You frantically Google for hours on end a way to “take it back” but alas you realise your fate is set and thus you say goodbye to your luxurious life and pack your bags to go live with the hobos under the bridge.

Asking someone at a store for a different size and realizing they don’t work there.

You’re trying on these gorgeous pair of red shoes with pretty jewelled bows and heels high enough to make a giraffe envious of your awkward stumbling. You realize that they’re not precisely your number so you turn to the lady standing a few feet away and ask her politely yet firmly with a flick of your gorgeous mane of magnificent hair to please be a dear and “go fetch my number.” The arrogant bitch gives you incredulous look and shakes her head. With dawning horror you realize that this woman does not work here. You swallow nervously and your eyes dart left and right, looking for any indication that there are hidden cameras somewhere…

Yeah, my suggestion?

Yell “I’m a potato!” and take a nose dive behind one of the displays. Belly crawl your way to the lingerie section and high tail it out of there. Change your name to Petunia and book a ticket to Botswana to start your new life as a tomato farmer.

When someone says they’re going to a funeral or a hospital visit and telling them reflexively to “have fun!”

You might as well have dug the grave yourself with a jewel encrusted spoon while listening to Nicky Mi-something. (Word can’t spell her name… Shame on you Microsoft Word. Terms and conditions may apply. Also apricot jam.) You horrible creature. We all know funerals and hospitals don’t have bouncy castles, how could you even suggest such a thing? People can’t have fun without bouncy castles. It’s atrocious. The horror. You must immediately exile yourself to the artic to go live as an eskimo and hunt snow balls to further fund the research for bouncy castles made of ice. It’s a thing.

Good day sir.

You sir, are a banana. Or should I say is a banana? Will that satisfy you?

“Why are you so quiet, it’s like you’re not even here.” Look at that, I know the difference between you’re and your. Yes, my English is just fine thank you very much even if I have blubbers from time to time. Did I mention that they only taught us the very basics in school while you can barely speak my native tongue? Just putting out there. Just for funsies. So to say I am infuriated would be putting it mildly. Not only have we just met, but also do you take it upon yourself to comment on my language, my person and the fact that “I’m quiet.” It’s called being an introvert you retarded banana. Not to be confused with retarded fishcakes. They’re cool. Bananas are considered the highest insult in my house. You should be ashamed of yourself.

Let’s start at the beginning shall we? We went out. As in I left my PC alone for a day and partook in socializing with other people. Well mostly my friends which is required of me but much to my utmost dismay a stranger approached us. Oh I do recognize you somewhat. You’re that guy thing I have played some games with before. Fun times… What did you say Nigel? (I have decided to name my brain Nigel. I will introduce you guys eventually.) Oh you’re right, that chair is funny colour of red. We were a large group of people but most were known to me so I was allowed to frolic in lala land. We split into two groups, they went one way to do things and I and two close friends went another way to do things.

It was nice, while the others did more physical things, I and one of my best friends had deep meaningful conversations and eventually it happened. My socializing meter reached its max capacity and I was satisfied and Nigel retreated into the nothing box/cave to chase unicorns. The others eventually joined us and conversations started. I of course just sat there, enjoying the sounds of close friends talking around me while Nigel frolicked.

And then “it” opened its mouth. I try to be polite to people I don’t know but it takes a certain kind of person. Look, I don’t general get this mean but first impressions are kind of a big deal to Nigel and you sir, you well and truly pissed Nigel off.

It went something along the lines of:

Why are you so quiet?” or “Why are you not saying anything?” It’s called being an introvert. Google it. I guess I should be asking you “Why are you talking?” since you insist on asking me brain-dead questions.

Why are you not partaking in the conversations?” Because unlike you retarded banana, these people know me and are used to it and do you see them constantly annoying the living crap out of me to say something? As stated before in an earlier post. I DON’T DO SMALLTALK. Go annoy someone else if you want to talk about utter and complete nonsense.

Since you’re not talking, you’re not really there.” Or “You don’t really count.” What? Did I get up and leave and forgot to take my body? Am I invisible? Why Nigel, swiggly swooty, we’re invisible. Let’s light this bugger’s pants on fire, shall we?

After a while the prodding and poking turned into blatant mockery of my person. I did not appreciate it one bit. I don’t mind it at all when my friends poke fun at me, they do it often enough, and I know that they do love me and my quirkiness. However, when retarded bananas that I do not know think it appropriate to attack me like that, Nigel starts to come up with creative ways to murder them. How does nailing spoons into their skull while blasting Justin Bieber to chorus of wailing white girls sound? Pretty gruesome eh? Nigel has much worse in mind. You barely know me and although I am acting like my usual self it still doesn’t mean you have the right to belittle me like that. My ego is large enough to suffocate a person but even I have my limits and some things do hurt. Hashtag just saying.

Since you possess only a single brain cell, I guess I shouldn’t blame you for shoving an inanimate object in my face because you’re so bored with yourself that you cannot sit still at the table like a reasonable adult.

Oh, now you seem to think I’m utterly and completely deaf too!! It’s called ignoring someone like a stop sign because their opinion is so insignificant you simply cannot be bothered by them.

This right here is a prime example of what introverts like me have to deal with when meeting new people. Seriously people I’ve talked about this before. Why do you insist on making our lives so miserable when we dare it out in society? Why can’t we just play nice and accept that people are different. This is why introverts prefer solitude. At least when you’re alone you won’t be constantly asked in some way or another if there is something fundamentally wrong with you.

Get with the program bananas.

How to pick up chicks… Not the edible kind… Well… How not to be creepy. (The introvert version, Part 1)

So we know by now that I am useless. Wait, you don’t know? Shame on you. Let’s narrow down the search and rather focus on the particular attribute of mine that makes me useless. I. Am. Bad. At. Guys. That sounds terrible. I need a waffle. No wait, make that two waffles and an upside-down peanut butter jar. I hate peanuts. Not the point.

Now as stated above, I am terrible at talking to guys I find attractive. I blubber like a retarded fish cake (damn you Mother for bringing this up!!), hide behind my books and of course I can totally do the whole camouflage thing in the tomato garden but recent events have gotten me thinking. There are tips EVERYWHERE on the internet for men on how to pick up women, blah, blah, blah but these generally are aimed at women. Not fish cakes like me.

Let’s call him Fish Paste. Now if you’re a fish cake, you’re useless, if you are a Fish Paste, you are the object of my affection (for the time being. I have the attention span of a brain-dead goldfish.) Or to make things more general, you are the male life form said introvert fancies over her book. Be happy.

Now… On to business. Boys, if you fancy yourself some luscious bookworm, this is the guide for you.

How to approach a female introvert.

(Warning, disclaimer, screw you and so on, this is purely from my point of view. Be warned.)

Know when to approach the matter.

The first hint would probably be the giggling. Even introverts giggle, bloody hell, introverts probably giggle more than most because they don’t know what else to do with themselves. Not to be confused with that annoying OMG you’re so cute giggle normal girls do, nooo, ours is the awkward, shit fuck I’m in trouble giggle. (Excuse my French.) You probably think this is a bad thing and all because awkwardness is never a good thing but trust me on this one, she ain’t never gonna approach you so man up, lick your socks and sweep that lady off her feet. Or try to.

If she looks like she’s about to peg over and die (metaphorically of course, introverts do not like people.) as in, she looks mightily uncomfortable, now might be the time to swoop in and save her. Be the knight in shining armour. Or makes things more uncomfortable. You know what… scratch that.

Generally other signs include cough, I totally don’t do this, cough:

  • Peeking at you from underneath her lashes while you’re kind of not looking.
  • Peeking at you from behind her textbook and/or novel she keeps hidden between said textbook’s pages.
  • Biting her lip a lot, playing with her hair or finding something arbitrary to do when in your company because she does not know what else to do with herself.

Try to steer clear if female in question is having an intense moment with her fellow girlfriend, like gushing over a video game, bitching about friends or just cursing life. She needs the therapy, stay well away unless you want to be mauled by stray female emotion.

Approach her with confidence.

Look if you’re going to be a nervous ball of bunny fluff when approaching her then you’re only asking for a train-wreck filled with slimy peaches, blegh. You need to show this girl that you are confident, that things won’t be awkward once you reach her. Ok, she’ll probably be avoiding eye contact at this stage but this is for your own good damnit. Also make sure when nearing her general vicinity that you’ll be able to steer the conversation because honey, I can guarantee she won’t know what to say so be prepared. Relax… take it easy and sing the “Pink, Fluffy, Unicorns dancing on rainbows” song in your head.

Introduce yourself, no wait, don’t introduce yourself. Or maybe you should. Hmmm if she were me and did like you, I, she would probably already have stalked you on Facebook.


Introduce yourself, it’s safer. Not everyone is a stalker. Tsk, tsk.

Do not, and I repeat, do not use pickup lines. The probability that this girl is a smart-ass in her head and possesses more than one brain cell is quite high. If you’re going to use pick-up lines she’ll probably think:

  1. Dafuq?
  2. What is that smell? (Pickup lines smell bad, didn’t you know that dude?)
  3. Groan inwardly and wish for the earth to swallow her whole.
  4. Mmmm I wonder if I can calculate this guy’s brain cell count.
  5. Shit, fuck X 10834796196
  6. If I run now, will he be able to outrun me?

And finally…

Did the chicken come first or the speckled egg?

Make sure you are a dressed well, women and not just introverts, do appreciate a well-dressed man anytime and make sure you at least look like you showered. We do not live in the Stone Age anymore despite you what you want us to believe at times.

Keep eye contact and give her all your attention. Introverts are very good listeners so if you want to drone on while doing the whole “I like you dance” then please do talk as much as you like, but try to pay attention. Men are multi-threaded beings, they flit through the different tasks so quickly that it actually looks like they’re multi-tasking. Implement this strategy. She’s making post-in notes and decorating her cave walls while you are talking and your actions will speak for you or rather, her mental post-it notes will. Same thing.

Be direct. BE DIRECT. DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES BEAT AROUND THE BUSH. I REPEAT, BE DIRECT. ONCE MORE, BE DIRECT. Introverts are not equipped to pick up on subtle “Me man, me like” hints. We are social retards and require you to be completely and utterly blunt over the fact that your caveman instincts like what they see.

And lastly smile. Just smile. Don’t ask any questions, smile troglodyte.

(To be continued)

Introverted Reality

So in light of my most recent post, I am going to extend the theme of being introverted and the hard times that befalls me and my fellow awkward pack mates. Katherine agreed that Steve is going crazy and that we should book him into the insane asylum for deranged Jelly Beans which happens to be my cat’s left nostril or was it the hole in my lampshade? My brain is struggling to brain. Damn you Nigel, why you no worky? Oooh pretty shiny-thing-lying-on-the-ground-which-happens-to-be-like-really-really-shiny-and-shit…


Problems that only introverts have to deal with.

Practicing conversations with people you will never talk to.

You know that bitch that bumped into you the other day and apologized and like turned around and left? Yeah well let me tell you something missy, I… We all do it. You have these epic conversations with celebrities, showdowns with your nemesis and of course the cockroach living underneath your two weeks old sock just told you about this place… It’s called La La land and… Instead of, you know, talking to people, you instead have conversations with people in your head all the time. They have no clue that you’re proclaiming your love, declaring war or reciting a candy wrapper to them because you know… Sound fails to leave your lips and that would just like end the world. Like seriously.

That dreadful feeling that sambas in your stomach when the phone rings and you are not mentally prepared to chat with whoever is calling.

I in particular have this problem. It’s always more convenient to either let the phone ring. And ring. And ring.

And ring.

And ring.




Until someone eventually picks it up or it just… stops. Oopsies I didn’t hear. Or you pick it but instead of answering you run to the nearest relative, make up some halfwit excuse like sorry I’m on the toilet even though I’m not but I am and then make a break for it. Of course it does happen from year to year, sometime more, that you are forced to pick up the phone, either by said relative or your brain was just like screw da emotions, pick it up slave. And then you stand there, gaping like a retarded fish cake while the creature on the other side blabbers on until they realize no sound is coming from your end because hello? It’s impossible to combine retarded fish cake with multitasking even if you’re a woman.

The need to recharge after social situations.

My best friend once told me something interesting about myself. When I go clubbing for a night (if I go clubbing and don’t find some excuse like my non-existant gold fish died or Katherine licked my bras.) I usually need to recover for at least two weeks, if not more, before they can even attempt to ask me again. I don’t know if it’s the same for other people but hell, one night of that and my social meter is like in overload mode.

When you hear the question “Wanna hang out?”, and your palms start to sweat with anxiety.

Oh this is quite horrible, not the sweaty part (which is also very horrible but misses the latter with like a 0.01%) but the coming up with viable excuse part. Like, uhm, I have stuff… Important stuff mind you. What stuff you ask? Uhm… Stuff? Buy yourself a dead fish at the super market and keep it in your fridge until further notice. The moment someone asks you to go out just make up some sob story about how your best friend which happens to be a fish (remind them to ignore that part) has died all of a sudden and you have to like have to create a shrine in its honour and crap like that. Oh and don’t forget to show them the photo you took of you kissing the dead fish. It will help. I think.

Or it will land you in fluffy white room where you can hit your head against the walls without getting hurt.

Neat eh?

Having visitors stay with you is a nightmare, because it means you have to be on at ALL TIMES.

Now as I have explained before, I have a cave. This cave is my escape from life for some periods of time and I visit quite often. The thing is, when you have guests over, you have to pay attention to them and they get quite upset when your eyes glass over when they’re talking which means escaping to one’s cave/box/merry-go-round/hole/fridge/milk carton is a big no no. Which also means that you start to get twitchy because people find it normal to stay at your place for an unholy amount of hours because socializing and shit man. I loathe these people. I loathe a lot of things. I loathe raisins.

When people mistake your thoughtful look for being moody, or worse, scary as hell.

The big daddy of all annoyances. I kid you not. When I am in my cave and deep in thought I get this really angry, pissed off look on my face but really I’m just fantasizing about eating candy floss off a unicorn’s butt and that’s like happy thoughts right? Yet my face fails to register that I am happy and as a result every man, woman and child that does not know me personally fears me and usually refuses to even look at me because hello? I eat waffles for dinner and that is wrong. Apparently.

It gets really annoying sometimes because I really do occasionally, as in every 6 months or so maybe a bit more, would like to make a new friend but that’s not going to happen because I am the waffle menace. Fear me.

Begone now.

The Life and Times of an Insane Introvert

I have a cave. Not a real one of course, I only wish, but an imaginary one that is located in the deep recesses of my twisted, little mind (I call her Nigel). This delightful place is filled with wonders like unicorns and short waiting lines and flying waffles. Things that would amaze my teddy bears and probably make you run screaming in the other direction. I have this imaginary jelly bean named Steve and he’d probably chase you so I suggest you slowly back away while scratching your left ear.

Point taken.

There are two types of humans. People and us. Extroverts and introverts. Raisins and parsley.

Now cave aside, as all introverts know dealing with other apes that have the ability to produce sound and form reasonably understandable dialogue through their vocal cords a.k.a. other human beings a.k.a. people, can be quite challenging. People… just people. That’s all you really need to utter to your fellow awkward pack mates to invoke mutual understanding.  These creatures make it increasingly difficult to navigate the thing we call life with their socializing and telling you to go out and “do things”.

“Are you ok? What’s wrong? Why are you so sad?”

“Why are you so quiet?”

“You need to get out more.”

. . .

I have several words for you people. Shut.The.Hell.Up.

If we wanted a social life we would have gone out, gotten one and probably poked a 40 something year old “tante” (lady) on the nose and then ran away shrieking like a banshee while inwardly rejoicing in our new “social life”.

Hopefully by now you would have realized that I am introvert. I don’t like people. Making friends is a challenge and staring at people, recording their every alien move while hiding behind a fern is a preferably activity.

Don’t get me wrong I have friends. Wonderful friends. Superb friends. Friends that sometimes make me forget I have the internet. Enchanting friends whom have learned by now that when I am in my cave it is best to leave me alone while I frolic in my absurdity. But alas they only make up like 0.00000000000000000000000000000000000000000…[insert number here]% of the people population.

That is sad. Which is why it’s frustrating when you try to deal with other people that is not friend and newish friends that don’t know you that well yet because they have trouble understanding that your brain is part troglodyte [oooooooh shiny.]. You like being alone. You like hiding in dark corners while other people “socialize”. You don’t need their sympathy and pity because there is nothing bloody wrong with you but they seem to think so because you’re shy or you have trouble making small talk.

Ugh. That brings me to my other bane. The dreaded small talk. I can do deep meaningful conversations or gushing about some fandom or just discussing something in detail but small talk. It makes me quiver in my boots and cringe inwardly. Even my innards start crying in agony. Talking about arbitrary things, like discussing the weather or what this person did the other day… it’s simply maddening.

Mostly because Nigel (my mind) has this annoying thing where she utterly betrays me by going blank while the entrance to our cave slowly lights up like a neon light inviting us in and I’m just like: “Really? Now? Come on, gimme something, anything.”

But alas the traitor simply refuses and you stand there, gaping like an idiot at the person while they grow more and more uncomfortable because you are not making any kind of conversation and you look like a retarded fish cake.

Fun times.

Another thing people have trouble dealing with when communicating with me is my talk quota. You heard me right, I have a talk quota or communication breaking point or uhm socializing meter. (If anyone has this I applaud you bro. Dis thing is a pain in the arse.) There is only so much socializing I can do in a day or a week and if that quota is reached at some point, I get really mean and nasty and growl at people and shit. In other words, steer clear of the bitch.

People have a really hard time dealing with this part of me but it is simply who I am and I cannot change it. I am an introvert. Deal with it.

That is all.

Life is tough and crap falls on your head…

If there is one thing I’ve learned it is not to take life too seriously. It can kill you… Like grab a fork and tickle you, kill you. Like seriously. There is nothing more dangerous than a fork and peanut butter falling on your head when you open the cupboard in the kitchen. I should totally write a post on how to wash peanut butter out of one’s hair. Because it happens. Shit happens my dear readers and it’s often peanut butter in your hair. How bloody poetic.

Peanut butter infested hair aside, let’s get down to business.

Cue University, the main reason why this blasted blog of mine is so quiet. But I repent; I do honestly try to make an effort… I promise no wait I don’t. Screw you all.

As pleasant as the thought of chasing a three legged cat down the street in my underwear sounds, I do believe I’ll pass. What? You had not suggested something so absurd? Well excuse me for assuming you’re interesting.

Another little life lesson that have been adequately forced down my throat would be not to hit morons over the head with my water bottle. You see I’m in that awkward position of choosing to study a degree equivalent to an engineering degree. Some might argue that I’m talking a cluster of crap; nothing in the world is more challenging than an engineering degree… I beg to differ. You try spending everyday getting up at half past 5, working for hours upon hours having barely enough time to pee and then going home, eating, bathing – that is to say if I even remember…(if you remember, there is reason I have dead windowsill fly collection. They seem to love me by the time I reach Wednesday and end up dead by Friday. Could be me… Could be the bug spray or perhaps Katherine carrying an aerosol can filled with au de stinky toes.)

Okay I’m lying; I’d eat my own ear before I got to bed smelly. I have no idea how I’m going to accomplish that but I will, hear me out, I will non-believer. (Here is a dirty little secret… I shower naked.) Anyway… where was I? Oh right, I was at the part of repeating the entire damn process over and over again until you eventually reach that point where you’re willing to lick a wall just because you can. Well that’s just me; I don’t know what the rest of you people do when under a lot of pressure. Me?

I lick walls and hunt carpets in the middle of the night.

Now the reason as to why the urge to use my water bottle as a weapon of mass destruction had risen in the first place is because I was in the unfortunate position of being stuck behind some two girls chattering like banshees and walking really… really… really slowly. I was irritated, irrational, female and hungry. I couldn’t help overhearing one complain to the other over the absolute atrocity of her having to sit through three hours of class before having a blessed break. Cue eye twitch. I’m lucky if I even have a bloody break. You my dear, are probably studying something like BA arts, I have nothing against any BA degrees what I do though have a problem with is people complaining about absolutely nothing. Shame you have class until half past 3? Well that’s cute; I have class till half past 6 sometimes but never mind me. Oh no, you have to get up at 7 to make class… Oh dear, what absolute train wreck, your life is ending because you can’t go out with your friends tonight because you have this foreign thing called homework. I’m lucky to even have social contact with people for 5 min a day. What the hell am I talking about anyway? I don’t know what her life is about.

Perhaps I’m too hard on this individual whose name I do not know, but when you reach the point of finding late night activities like hunting carpets entertaining… You know you are losing your mind or perhaps a pillow and finding any kind of sympathy is asking a bit too much.

That is all.

Ye be primitive.

What is more horrifying than your cell phone inexplicably dying on you?

It’s not the boogeyman picking his nose or the daunting task of finding something to watch on television… Oh no, it’s something much worse.

A power failure.

Dum dum duuuuuuuuuuuuum.

There is nothing more horrifying than the knowledge that for a unknown finite amount of time you will be sitting at home with no electricity meaning no way to charge your dead cell phone, no video games, no hot water, no television and food that might as well be still alive since the means to cook it is… is so primitive (forgive me I had a horrible flashback. It involved burned grilled cheese, the horror! I know for a fact that my wonderful oven wouldn’t have inflicted such monstrosities on that poor sandwich.)

Not to mention no lights, eternal darkness, an increased threat of boogeyman dancing, spiders (I’m not kidding, they seem to thrive on the no electricity front. Something about crawling out from underneath the rug while you try to pee strait and not fall off the toilet in the middle night with a flashlight barely making a dent in the black abyss of your bathroom. You sit there (or stand…) minding your own damn business and then bam! OH SHIT! Need I elaborate? We’ve all been there.) and of course it’s the middle of dead winter. So no electric blankets, no heaters, did I mention the no hot water?

But what gets me the most of this big mess is nothing else than the soul sucking boredom of it all. What the hell am I suppose to do with myself the entire day? What do people do when they have no technology to entertain them? In my defense I realize that there are people out there that deal with this on a daily basis and to them I say: “Well done. I applaud thee.” But that is simply not the point. I am a spoiled child with access to technology on a daily basis and my question is: “How does one entertain oneself when technology has inexplicably bit you in the butt?”

The answer?

Things to do without technology:

  1. Write a story… with your bare hands. That’s right, look for a pen, it’s a tangible, long, thing object that is usually about 20 cm long more or less that when you scratch on a piece of paper (a thin white sheet, you need this as well.) it  makes a mark. Magic! Now go, be the next Stephanie Meyer.
  2. Write a song. It’s like writing a story only the difference is that this can be used to inflict mass horror on people by singing it. So if you ever feel like being hunted by pitchforks and the power happens to be out, this is your means to a very painful end… and possibly finding out what the definition of “Run Like Hell” is.
  3. Wash a car. Time to get down and dirty… like with mud and shit. Get your head of the gutter honestly what do you take me for? A llama-llama? I think not. Washing a car is an entire process on its own and will be elaborated on a later date. For now take it as an excuse to stalk that super hot neighbour of yours and ask him/her for help on washing your car or someone else’s car or the cat’s car. Whatever floats your boat?
  4. Stand on your head and try to lick your toes. It’s harder than it sounds, trusts me. This should waste a few hours, for added effect you could invite over your cute neighbour and try to light your farts on fire but this should only be done in the clutches of pure, undiluted stupidity.
  5. If you have a sibling (like me) that is even more useless than you are during a horrifying crisis like this, play a board game. Something likes chess. If not really your thing or your brain-cells struggle to understand the concepts of intellectual pwning, you can always tie your sibling to a tree and throw them with the board pieces…
  6. Take a nap. Also commonly referred to as a horizontal life pause. Even the most simple minded of beings understand this concept and should I not have to elaborate on the art of napping.
  7. Get a hammer, some wood and some nails… and make something. What the hell did you think I was going to say? Go after your arch-nemesis and have a tea party of death involving a hammer and a lot of screaming? Noooo, bad murdered in the making. We do not kill people. We help them into the afterlife.
  8. Light a candle and fry marshmallows. Ignore the strange colour your marshmallow takes on. I’m still alive so I can say with certainty that it will not kill you. I think. I might be dead already but I’m not sure.
  9. Watch a movie. Ha ha… ha ha ha… ha ha ha ha. I’m sorry I had to.
  10. Read a book. My brother absolutely hates reading but when desperate times call for desperate measures you’d be surprised as to what you discover you can and cannot do. Like reading a book. After spending some time ignoring him flat while he wandered around the house listlessly I held out a book to him and urged him to read it. He actually liked it. So shut up you “I hate reading morons”, the revolution will get you!!

Last but not least…

If all else fails, eat a peanut.

An Ode to Anything

slightly confused ramblings of an extremely confused student

The Green Tea

A dose of a twen-TEA life.

Random Ramblings

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Discovering Different

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Hi I'm M. This is my mind in words.

1 Story A Week

Short stories to make you laugh or think. The world needs more of both.


My life as an Honor Student.

Creative Liar

Because the truth makes me cry.

A life in S.A

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