Are we there yet?

I've been busy. Affa busy.

I've been adulting. How fucking annoying is that word? Adulting? It's fitting though. It shouldn't be, but it is. We shouldn't feel like we're still muddling through the world, a wary child, only acting like an adult a handful of times. Ironed a pair of pants? Adulting. Putting a bag of salad in a resealable food bag so it doesn't go off? Adulting. Saving money? Adulting. Purchasing mattress protectors? Adulting.

I've been adulting. I'm moving in with Mr K. All I can think of is Monica in friends, crying in to Rachel's arms crying, "and I have to live with the boy". Can you picture it? Can you hear her crying? I'm not crying about it, I'm bloody fucking excited. I've lived with boys for the last two years, two very lovely friends whom I have not know my new town without. Many say, oh but you've lived with boys already so it's not going to be that different. I think it will be. This particular boy will be in my bed… all the time… in my bed… using my stuff… using my expensive face wash… But do you know what? That is exactly what I'm excited about. Being responsible for someone other than myself.

So yes, I've been adulting. I've packed a scary amount of brown cardboard boxes, with labels handwritten in my unreadable scrawl, "bedroom", "spare room", "bathroom". I'm used to writing my name, because my boxes generally just went into one or two rooms that were mine. Not now; now everything is shared.

We have a "flat account". How grown up is that? We have contents insurance. Very adult. We bought a fancy new cutlery organiser after spending a good twenty minutes in Debenhams deliberating what to spend our £25 gift voucher on. Rolling pin vs. cutlery organiser. The latter was needed more urgently. (How urgently can you need a cutlery organiser?)

My current flat seems so bare. All the tat is gone from the walls, the mantle piece, all my girly arty farty decorations are down. It just looks like a space, not a home. And now, and the aforementioned crap is littering my our new home. Mr K loves it. I can tell. There's a wooden love heart hanging from four out of five door handles in the hall… I'm placing bets as to when he will get annoyed at them banging every time you open a door and remove them, hoping I won't notice. There's fairly lights, everywhere. Candles, everywhere. It's a bit girly. I'm going with the 'I'll put in everything I want and see what he removes' tactic… I'll let you know how much I end up with.

I also phoned the bank and requested a new debit card without contactless. I can't keep track of my money, there's nothing new. But I felt so adult. Taking action against my frivolous spending habit, and hoping the hassle of entering my PIN number every time will prevent me from 'popping' in for something.

What adulting thing have you done this month so far?

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Are we there yet?

This is my favourite song EVER

I went to a gig last night. I go to a lot of gigs. Generally, I enjoy them. Generally, I go to small gigs, attended to by avid music fans, who enjoy and respect the music, and the musicians. 

Sometimes, I go to gigs that I don’t enjoy as much. This is never due to the musicians, or the music being played. Of course, sometimes the music is not my taste, or not something I would listen to again, but I always respect the musicianship and care these individuals have taken to practice and prepare a set. Hell, sometimes I think some singers purposefully sing out of tune, but do I behave like a stroppy teenager and moan about it throughout their performance? I do not. 

I wanted to vent really, about gig etiquette, and sometimes the lack thereof. Let me break this down to my top pet peeves. 

Talking. OK. This one will be controversial, I know this straight off. But you do not talk during gigs. You just don’t. Especially if it’s a queieter gig, a gig that does not have a loud drum kit, or screaming singer. Especially not if there are not many people at the venue and we can hear every word you say. This is what happened last night. The band in question last night, was unfortunately a drummer down, so they committed to playing a beautifully toned down set; just two guitars and a singer. It was bloody glorious. Until this chick started talking about her dinner choices to her pal. 

I always wear ear plugs at gigs, I go to far too many not to protect my ears. I could still hear them, even with the music, and my ear plugs. I could still I’ll hear their incessant chatter. Don’t do it. This goes for massive venue gigs too. If you’re going to talk, go to the very back where you won’t piss people off. The only time it’s ok, is to proclmain how much you are loving the music, or to have a quick, “oh my god this is my favourite one” fan girl moment. That’s it. And it should never take more than 20 seconds, if that. If you come to a gig with me, and talk, you will be ignored until the music has stopped. 

If you must, talk in between songs. 

Dancing. Just don’t do it in a small gathering when no other soul is dancing. I love to bob as much as the next person, but as soon as you start invading someone’s personal space, you’ve gone too far. I remember going to see Jimmy Eat World play at the Barras in Glasgow last year, a gig I had been waiting years for. I had the perfect spot, the perfect company, and the perfect beer in my hand. Then, tweedle dee and tweedle dum started dancing. She had hair down to her waist, of which nearly whipped me in the face when she head banged (also, Jimmy Eat World is not head banging music). Her brother (they looked waaay too similar to be dating) proceeded to dance in a circle, arms flailing, standing on my toes about eight times. Nobody else was dancing. I stood my ground, literally, and refused to move. Oh I’m sorry, did I bump into you? Too bloody right I did you annoying twit. 

Ordering drinks. Decide who is buying, what you’re buying, and if you have cash, before the music starts. Have a system in place. Rounds, buy your own, kitty? I don’t care. I just don’t want to hear your negotiation with each other about who bought the chips because then they shouldn’t have to buy a drink. In your own time people. 

Cameras. Who doesn’t have a camera phone? I don’t know anyone who doesn’t own a smartphone with a camera. They’re great. Capture the moment, relive a cool experience. I get it. I really do. I love a wee gig snap as much as the next person. But I limit this to one or two. I once went to a gig at which the lady in front of me took a photo approximately every thirty seconds. Maybe more. She watched the whole show through a lens. And it meant that I practically did too. I actually resorted to asking (politely telling) her to put it down, twice. This goes for flashes on cameras. Do you really think musicians want to be blinded, and put off their jam by your flash? For you to then, undoubtedly, turn around with a hand over your mouth, a smirk and say “oh I’m so sorry”. Buuuullshit. Check the flash is off. Please, for their sake and mine. 

Phones in general. It’s like using your phone at the cinema. You will feel eyes bore into the back of your head when your super bright screen (hello, do you not know how to turn this down? Also, night mode) is catching everyone’s eye and distracting from the beautiful sound. We survived without them for YEARS. You can survive two hours. I promise. 

Am I alone in this? Am I being overly sensitive? 

.

This is my favourite song EVER

A gazelle

I did a very cool thing today. Cool by my standards.

I cycled to work. And then ran home from work.

Yes, you read it right. CYCLED to work, and RAN home. I’ll say it again, just in case you missed it. I cycled to work. And then ran home from work. Go fucking me. Hell yeah. I have found my perfect routine. A 13 minute cycle to work using the ever so fashionable Next Bikes (think Borris bikes in London), casual 9 hours in the office, then a 20 min run home.

Before a few weeks ago, I hadn’t been on a bike in about six years. That first time, with my super hot boyfriend in front of me in very tight shorts, I nearly fell over, crashed into a post, and narrowly avoided knocking over a small child. It was not good. I blame the shorts.

But now? Four attempts later, I am THE QUEEEN OF THE BIKE. I just glide. You know the way you glide when you have newly shaved every part of your body within an inch of your life? Glideeeeee. I glided to work. Sun in the sky, sunglasses slipping down my nose, bright red running trainers paired ever so effortlessly with my very smart office clothes, runny eyes (thanks wind), bright red freezing knuckles and a nervous twitch at every traffic light. Glided to work I did. Like a shiny smooth leg. Glided.

I had a running bag. Like a zippy, colourful, multi-pocketed (like who uses all of them anyway?) bag. A running bag. It held approximately one bra cup, a pair of leggings and a running top. But, it made me feel like a TOTAL BOSS. I felt like if someone was chasing after me, I could outrun them AND show off my fancy new bag at the same time. They would be dazzled by my running bag. BOSS GIRL.

It chaffed a bit. When I ran home. *Side note: I would like to point out that when I say I went for a run, I really mean a jog. A 10 min mile jog.* It bounced a lot and rubbed against my neck a bit. As I was running, like a glorious fucking gazelle might I add, I found myself wishing I had some vaseline for my neck. Just a wee tin, maybe the green one with Aloe. Next time, next time.

I got home and felt like the fittest person in the whole entire world. Like, I could run a marathon. I should have been at London Marathon. I should be on the Olympic running team. Seriously, you should have seen my gazelle like movement. Beautiful strides, barely out of breath (I think I wasn’t breathing, that was it), not a drop of sweat (it was highlighter I swear). I sat down to a big bowl of pasta, because you need to refuel after a tough workout (2 miles…),  and ate seven Oreos. I still haven’t moved and it’s been 3 hours. My legs hurt. My back hurts. My feet feel like I’ve walked over hot coals for years. BUT I WAS A FUCKING QUEEN TODAY.

Exercise done for the week? You betcha.

How’s your running? Do you even run bro?

Your redhead.

A gazelle

See what I’m seeing, hear what I’m hearing

It’s glorious in Glasgow. Sunny, yes, chilly, slightly, better than usual, definitely.

This week has been a funny ol’ one. Mr K and I had agreed to try and be veggies for April; I did it purely because I didn’t think I could. Actually, that’s harsh on me; I was eating meat and didn’t know why. I didn’t think I would miss the taste, and was convinced I was only eating it because I was brought up believing you had to include meat for a meal to be filling. With a bout of excitement, and armed with a bookmarks folder full of veggie ideas, I was 100% committed. And I did it, I really, really did. Until Wednesday. I caved. I had a sandwich from my favourite sandwich shop in the whole wide world (Where the Monkey Sleeps FYI), and had a Stoofa Deluxe. Fuck those sandwiches are the best. I cowered back to my desk, tail between my legs, oozing guilty from every pore. But it was affa tasty.

Guilt, shame and sheer disappointment aside, I wanted to preach about my current digital/social media/television/music loves. Get ready for a lotta Googling/adding to playlists/subscribing/following.

WATCHING

13 Reasons Why – SPOILER ALERT – I didn’t rate it. I adored the soundtrack (see below note on music for evidence). But the series? I’m not convinced it sends the right message. Yes, it’s important to bring mental health to the forefront, and to ensure the stigma around discussion is dissolved. However, I’m not sure I agree with portraying suicide as a method of getting revenge; or as a catalyst to ensuring the people involved realise their own flaws. I also think the main character is just a bit of a dick. Throughout the programme, she is selfish, and manipulative, and WATCHES HER BEST FRIEND GET RAPED AND DOES NOTHING ABOUT IT. I’m keen to hear your views on this, leave a comment, I wanna discuss.

Big Little Lies – A M A Z I N G. That’s all. Not all actually; I could go on about this for days. The characters are fucking magical. The plot is magical. The importance of the lead female characters is magical. The soundtrack is magical (see below note on music for evidence).

@jessrenogrooming – Holy macaroni. This Instagram account is all my dreams in one. A super cool dog groomer based in NY uploads hilariously endearing and adorable videos of dogs, to amazing music. What’s not to love? Shout out to Nugget. The fact he’s ginger has nothing to do with my bias.

LISTEN 

I am a super obsessive music lover. It’s all I do. I always have headphones plugged in, and have near panic attacks when I can’t find my headphones (who copes on the subway without them?!). My current music loves are varied, vast, and too long to write down. Here are my top three:

  1. Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole‘ – Martha Wainwright – Oh holy mackerel this is wonderful. It’s wonderful. Proper girl power shit. Featured in Big Little Lies. YES. Get it added to whatever provider you listen to tunes through.
  2. The Night We Met’ – Lord Huron – Super cute, super sad, super lovely, super wonderful. Featured in 13 Reasons Why. Whoever picked the sound for that series deserves a medal.
  3. ‘The Afterlife’ – James Blunt – who here loves James Blunt? YES YES YES. He’s hilarious. His music is funny. The lyrics make me laugh. And the actual tunes are fun. No they’re not the most intelligent, or the best sounds, but they are amazingly poppy and perfect for the car/walk to walk/run. Listen to them all. Lose My Number is my personal favourite from his latest album.

Podcasts. Who listens to them? Please tell me you listen to them. I am not a radio person. I don’t like the jumping back and forth between talking, music, adverts and all the shit competitions that go on in-between. Podcasts are the prime chat portions of the radio, condensed into smaller episodes. My current favourites are;

  1. The High Low – first of all, I adore the girls. And their names. Dolly and Pandora. How fucking cool are their names? Their chat/banter/giggles are good too. Their motto is nothing is too high or too low to talk about. They believe in talking and exploring high brow topics including current affairs, politics, and world events. They also believe in talking and exploring low brow topics including Thersea May’s pants, bad adverts, and their current Netflix binges. Always about last weeks news, no longer than 1 hour, and always promising a giggle. Get it subscribed.
  2. The Guilty Feminist – my love for this podcast is deep and far reaching. I call myself a feminist, but then I also bloody love when a man looks at my bum (thank you jeans!). Does that make me a bad feminist? These gals don’t think so. This podcast tackles feminism in our current world, and allows you to be a raging feminist whilst also being a big guilty at the same time. This is laugh out loud on the train and everyone stares at you funny. Always. Go on, subscribe. Even the boys. Everyone will love this.

Drop me a message if you click on any likes and like/dislike what you see. I wanna chat.

Away to eat a medium-rare burger and hang my head in shame.

Your redhead.

See what I’m seeing, hear what I’m hearing