In 2011 I spent more time away from home than usual. I holidayed abroad in Lanzarote and Italy, and spent nights at a time away in the UK - Nottingham, Newcastle, Cornwall, Aberystwyth, Llandudlo, Dumfries, Glasgow, London, Leicester and Reading festival (if it counts.)
So far in 2012 I've been incredibly static. We may only be 3 weeks in to it but I'm going insane. Since the end of November I have been stuck in Oxfordshire, which does my nut in. I hate students, I hate cyclists, I hate posh wankers. In some ways I also love Oxford because it beats my hometown by miles, but the point is: it's shit round here. There's nothing to do and there's only so much drinking to cope for even me to handle.
There's a college lead trip to Barcelona coming up in 2-3 weeks, which don't get me wrong will beat being here (I hope) but it's hardly relaxation when you're there with everyone from home. Especially the tutors. They are lovely, but I can't be myself when I've basically got a guardian with me.
It's been too long since I've up and left. There was a lot of "Fuck this" then upping and leaving in 2011. To be honest, I think it keeps me insane. And right now I am getting so sane that I am going insane, in the bad way, do you follow me?
So we've established that I need to go somewhere. For a change I have some savings and I reckon it's actually possible...
I just don't know where. Or when.
There are a few factors getting in my way.
Factor 1: College. I go to college Monday to Wednesday, and admittedly, I may in the past have taken a few days off to go away. However it's portfolio time and I really need to be using my workshops and tutor contact time properly.
Factor 2: Work. I work on Fridays and Saturdays/Sundays. That leaves Thursdays, so let's face it, that leaves nothing. I wouldn't take time off work at the moment because I need the money.
Factor 3: Me. I don't drive. I'm crap with directions. I have a tendency to get lonely. Going away on my own isn't a big option, even if in a romantic and idealistic way it's what I'd like to do.
Basically guys, I'm just not feeling like myself lately - at all. I feel like some weird paranoid bitch has crawled inside my body and taken control of it like a hand puppet. Any out of character behaviour will most likely be thanks to said bitch.
I either need a cup of tea and a cuddle or someone to pick me up and shake me. Haven't figured out which yet.
So uh... yeah... sorry for a completely un funny, un inspiring, un interesting blog post. Maybe when I get back on the wagon you can use this post as a measuring stick for good blogs, or something. See? I don't even make any sense when I get like this.
Sorry for wasting your time.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Saturday, January 14, 2012
An experience of "The Iron Lady"
Okay then folks: I'm not a political girl. I studied the 'Thatcher era' in very brief detail during GCSE Drama, but I took a lot more in about Yuppies than anything else. When it came to A-Levels I witnessed a lot of my peers studying Government & Politics and suddenly assuming they were future politicians with decades of 'well informed' political knowledge stored into their heads, learnt, of course, within 2 years. I've never claimed any political knowledge further than anything I have learnt from hearsay, infrequent news absorption and 'Mock The Week' reruns from the last 6 years - and as Frankie Boyle would later say, the show reports very little to do with politics, or even the news. In short, I am not a politician, a politics student, or a politics enthusiast.
All I can claim is that tonight I went to see 'The Iron Lady' in the cinema.
It was only about ten days ago that I saw 'Girl With The Dragon Tattoo' and saw the advertisement for The Iron Lady and said to my friends "Oh what, have they made a film about Iron Man's wife?" (I'm really hilarious, you see?)
And so I held no knowledge of the making of this film, or of Margaret Thatcher - the life of whom the film is primarily about.
I have been to see the film, walked out of the cinema, put my iPod in, been driven home, got into my house, checked my e-mails (nothing exciting), and sat down to write this. I have a Wikipedia tab open on Margaret Thatcher - which I will justify in just a moment - and a Google search on "peers" to check that I'd used the word correctly at the beginning of this entry. (Forgive me, I am tired.)
So about the film.
It runs almost like two threads - if you can imagine - running both beside each other and yet miles apart from each other. The film begins about the later (present day) life of Thatcher, and begins to include scenes of her upbringing and political rise, weaving and referring back to a portrayal of present day Thatcher, played beautifully by Meryl Streep.
Like I said before, I have nothing to do with politics and so that aspect of the film was informative and yet relatively unimportant to me. On the walk between the cinema and the car I overheard a girl say "I would have enjoyed that film more if I wasn't a historian." Well, I'm not a historian. If you're looking for an opinion of the film from a historian or a politician then you're reading the wrong thing (my apologies to inform you so late on, you've read a far way down now, you might as well continue mightn't you?)
I am, however, for whatever I lack in other areas, a human and a woman. (Tah-daaaah!)
The reason I have a tab open about Margaret Thatcher is in a bid to understand not her political career, but her present life. I have learned that:
There are also three accounts of Thatcher declining invitations to prestigious events due to 'frail' or 'ill' health. As a woman in her nineties, this is only to be expected.
The biopic portrays the present-day Thatcher as a woman suffering from ill mental health (or perhaps dementia) who is experiencing hallucinations of her husband, who would be at least six years dead by this point. The audience see the pity and sorrow her daughter and staff display toward her in this mental state.
It is in this thread of the film that there are no history lessons. In this thread it does not matter whether the film is about Margaret Thatcher or the history of the British political system. This part of the film could be about any woman, or any person, who is getting a bit old and doesn't necessarily know it; or any person who is experiencing grief; or any person with mental health problems; or any person who drinks a little more than the NHS would recommend.
Towards the end of the film an emotional climax within this thread is reached, and I am not afraid to admit that I cried - I didn't just well up, I had tears streaming down my face and I had to cover my mouth with my jumper in case I disturbed anyone else in the packed cinema. That woman could be my mother in a few years, and then she could be me.
Whilst I know nothing about the British political system I do know that, should no unnatural circumstances take place, I will get old, and the people I love will die, and I will then die.
I could get really preachy about how this film is going to "make me live life to the full" but that would go in the face of what I believe about 'resolutions' and promising to be a person I'd never quite become.
All that I know is that whilst watching that film I thought that everything in my life is okay. It is okay if I keep on getting my heart broken and abusing my health, because if I can shorten that horrendous ageing process just a little bit, I'd be lucky. Of course you don't all agree with that, and to a giant extent I don't either. But what I mean is that ageing looks cruel, and not necessarily on the ageing person, but on the people who love that person...
Whatever. Go and watch the film. I promise you that regardless of whether you love Thatcher, whether you hate Thatcher, or whether, like me, you know very little about Thatcher, that film will probably have some impact on you. Let me know if it does, and let me know if you want your money back - although here's a heads up: you'd not get a single penny out of me.
All I can claim is that tonight I went to see 'The Iron Lady' in the cinema.
It was only about ten days ago that I saw 'Girl With The Dragon Tattoo' and saw the advertisement for The Iron Lady and said to my friends "Oh what, have they made a film about Iron Man's wife?" (I'm really hilarious, you see?)
And so I held no knowledge of the making of this film, or of Margaret Thatcher - the life of whom the film is primarily about.
I have been to see the film, walked out of the cinema, put my iPod in, been driven home, got into my house, checked my e-mails (nothing exciting), and sat down to write this. I have a Wikipedia tab open on Margaret Thatcher - which I will justify in just a moment - and a Google search on "peers" to check that I'd used the word correctly at the beginning of this entry. (Forgive me, I am tired.)
So about the film.
It runs almost like two threads - if you can imagine - running both beside each other and yet miles apart from each other. The film begins about the later (present day) life of Thatcher, and begins to include scenes of her upbringing and political rise, weaving and referring back to a portrayal of present day Thatcher, played beautifully by Meryl Streep.
Like I said before, I have nothing to do with politics and so that aspect of the film was informative and yet relatively unimportant to me. On the walk between the cinema and the car I overheard a girl say "I would have enjoyed that film more if I wasn't a historian." Well, I'm not a historian. If you're looking for an opinion of the film from a historian or a politician then you're reading the wrong thing (my apologies to inform you so late on, you've read a far way down now, you might as well continue mightn't you?)
I am, however, for whatever I lack in other areas, a human and a woman. (Tah-daaaah!)
The reason I have a tab open about Margaret Thatcher is in a bid to understand not her political career, but her present life. I have learned that:
"Thatcher suffered several small strokes in 2002 and was advised by her doctors not to engage in any more public speaking. After collapsing at a House of Lords dinner, she was admitted to St Thomas' Hospital in central London on 7 March 2008 for tests. Her daughter Carol has recounted ongoing memory loss."
There are also three accounts of Thatcher declining invitations to prestigious events due to 'frail' or 'ill' health. As a woman in her nineties, this is only to be expected.
The biopic portrays the present-day Thatcher as a woman suffering from ill mental health (or perhaps dementia) who is experiencing hallucinations of her husband, who would be at least six years dead by this point. The audience see the pity and sorrow her daughter and staff display toward her in this mental state.
It is in this thread of the film that there are no history lessons. In this thread it does not matter whether the film is about Margaret Thatcher or the history of the British political system. This part of the film could be about any woman, or any person, who is getting a bit old and doesn't necessarily know it; or any person who is experiencing grief; or any person with mental health problems; or any person who drinks a little more than the NHS would recommend.
Towards the end of the film an emotional climax within this thread is reached, and I am not afraid to admit that I cried - I didn't just well up, I had tears streaming down my face and I had to cover my mouth with my jumper in case I disturbed anyone else in the packed cinema. That woman could be my mother in a few years, and then she could be me.
Whilst I know nothing about the British political system I do know that, should no unnatural circumstances take place, I will get old, and the people I love will die, and I will then die.
I could get really preachy about how this film is going to "make me live life to the full" but that would go in the face of what I believe about 'resolutions' and promising to be a person I'd never quite become.
All that I know is that whilst watching that film I thought that everything in my life is okay. It is okay if I keep on getting my heart broken and abusing my health, because if I can shorten that horrendous ageing process just a little bit, I'd be lucky. Of course you don't all agree with that, and to a giant extent I don't either. But what I mean is that ageing looks cruel, and not necessarily on the ageing person, but on the people who love that person...
Whatever. Go and watch the film. I promise you that regardless of whether you love Thatcher, whether you hate Thatcher, or whether, like me, you know very little about Thatcher, that film will probably have some impact on you. Let me know if it does, and let me know if you want your money back - although here's a heads up: you'd not get a single penny out of me.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
The S-Word
What with the three-in-a-row blog posts of the new year I really thought I was on to something, but I'm sorry to have deprived you all of an entry for the last 8 days.
I'm back, I have a bee in my bonnet... and you might not like it.
I'd like to have a bit of a rant about the double standards of sex. What I mean is, what men can do, and women still cannot get away with. But having not written anything for a while, it's going to be a bit bitty. It's unplanned and it's unclear. Bear with me, if you like.
So a few days ago I read an online article by Tanya Gold, published by the Guardian entitled 'Why women have sex'. (You can read the article here http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/sep/28/sex-women-relationships-tanya-gold)
The writer discusses a book of the same title, written by Cindy Meston, who argues that women have 237 reasons for having sex, and few of them are connected to love.
First off: well done Cindy Meston. In books, TV shows and film women are portrayed as sweet, easily attached fools, and the men are 'bros' who can have as many sexual partners as they would like. Not the women, though. The women might have casual sex and feel really bad about themselves, or fall in love with a douchebag and cry over a tub of Haagen Daazs. Several 'filler' episodes would be dedicated to the woman finally being happy enough to drunkenly slur about how "she deserves better." How empowering.
But the thing is - I don't know these women. I know women who happily talk about sex with the same low degree of respect that men do. And I am so grateful for it.
A film about sex addiction called 'Shame' is being released into cinemas this month. I'm yet to watch it, but it seems to follow the 'struggle' of a male sex addict. Another film was released this month, an English remake of 'Girl With The Dragon Tattoo'. The Swedish title of the original book was translated 'Men Who Hate Women'. It follows stories of women who have been raped and abused, in quite a gruesome way.
And this is when I have to step back and go - what the fuck?
Where are the films about female sex addicts and men who deal with the aftermath of abuse? Are we still this narrow-minded, or is that just not entertaining?
What I'm trying to say isn't new, but that doesn't mean I'm any less pissed off about it.
I know everyone hates the media for various reasons. I know women hate being called sluts. I know men love not being called sluts.
What I don't think men get yet, though, is that soon enough sex is going to mean as little to women as it can to them. I don't mean women who can have casual sex, I mean women who just do not care. Maybe it's happened already. And as much as they've whined about clinginess, and emotional attachment, I don't think they're going to be happy about it at all. Because at the end of the day, it's nice to feel wanted, and if you're only going to be wanted for about an hour, that's 23 really boring ones. (I'd know. I'm a woman.)
Not that I want it to change, though. I'm excited to watch Haagen Daazs go out of business.
I'm back, I have a bee in my bonnet... and you might not like it.
I'd like to have a bit of a rant about the double standards of sex. What I mean is, what men can do, and women still cannot get away with. But having not written anything for a while, it's going to be a bit bitty. It's unplanned and it's unclear. Bear with me, if you like.
So a few days ago I read an online article by Tanya Gold, published by the Guardian entitled 'Why women have sex'. (You can read the article here http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/sep/28/sex-women-relationships-tanya-gold)
The writer discusses a book of the same title, written by Cindy Meston, who argues that women have 237 reasons for having sex, and few of them are connected to love.
First off: well done Cindy Meston. In books, TV shows and film women are portrayed as sweet, easily attached fools, and the men are 'bros' who can have as many sexual partners as they would like. Not the women, though. The women might have casual sex and feel really bad about themselves, or fall in love with a douchebag and cry over a tub of Haagen Daazs. Several 'filler' episodes would be dedicated to the woman finally being happy enough to drunkenly slur about how "she deserves better." How empowering.
But the thing is - I don't know these women. I know women who happily talk about sex with the same low degree of respect that men do. And I am so grateful for it.
A film about sex addiction called 'Shame' is being released into cinemas this month. I'm yet to watch it, but it seems to follow the 'struggle' of a male sex addict. Another film was released this month, an English remake of 'Girl With The Dragon Tattoo'. The Swedish title of the original book was translated 'Men Who Hate Women'. It follows stories of women who have been raped and abused, in quite a gruesome way.
And this is when I have to step back and go - what the fuck?
Where are the films about female sex addicts and men who deal with the aftermath of abuse? Are we still this narrow-minded, or is that just not entertaining?
What I'm trying to say isn't new, but that doesn't mean I'm any less pissed off about it.
I know everyone hates the media for various reasons. I know women hate being called sluts. I know men love not being called sluts.
What I don't think men get yet, though, is that soon enough sex is going to mean as little to women as it can to them. I don't mean women who can have casual sex, I mean women who just do not care. Maybe it's happened already. And as much as they've whined about clinginess, and emotional attachment, I don't think they're going to be happy about it at all. Because at the end of the day, it's nice to feel wanted, and if you're only going to be wanted for about an hour, that's 23 really boring ones. (I'd know. I'm a woman.)
Not that I want it to change, though. I'm excited to watch Haagen Daazs go out of business.
Tuesday, January 03, 2012
Common Misconceptions Regarding Art
As an art student, I have dealt with some very irritating misconceptions regarding this subject choice.
The photo above represents how I have spent my day of preparing portfolio sheets.
It has been a tough day and I'd like to shatter some of these massive flaws in a poor understanding of being an art student.
1 - Art is not always fun. I have spent about 4 hours so far today measuring things with different rulers and cutting tape to the right size to mount prints.
2 - Art doesn't always "just happen" - I still have to finish this sheet and mount another one. That's an hour, maybe two, with all the measuring.
3 - Art isn't always cheap. Prints cost me the best part of £40 last month, and that's only the ones I did professionally. I print a lot from home, for a reduced price and quality.
4 - Art is not always rewarding. I measured something wrong today and so all my measuring has gone to waste for that one wonky line.
I'm being slightly tongue in cheek (what a shocker, eh?) because there are harder things I could have been doing today - like saving lives, saving the global economy, saving damsels in distress, etc.
Yes, I have been able to watch entertaining TV re-runs in this time, such as Charlie Brooker's 2011 Wipe which I completely recommend.
Art is not a "doss subject". I'm in no place, as an art student, to start shooting other subjects down as "doss subjects" (even if I'd love to.) But please, before you start making petty and rude generalisations, ask yourself how much time you'd like to have spent on your knees measuring and sticking shit down, motherfucker. Then go back to your "useful" and "rewarding" job, or raising your equally ignorant children, I'm sure it's sooooooo much fun.
The photo above represents how I have spent my day of preparing portfolio sheets.
It has been a tough day and I'd like to shatter some of these massive flaws in a poor understanding of being an art student.
1 - Art is not always fun. I have spent about 4 hours so far today measuring things with different rulers and cutting tape to the right size to mount prints.
2 - Art doesn't always "just happen" - I still have to finish this sheet and mount another one. That's an hour, maybe two, with all the measuring.
3 - Art isn't always cheap. Prints cost me the best part of £40 last month, and that's only the ones I did professionally. I print a lot from home, for a reduced price and quality.
4 - Art is not always rewarding. I measured something wrong today and so all my measuring has gone to waste for that one wonky line.
I'm being slightly tongue in cheek (what a shocker, eh?) because there are harder things I could have been doing today - like saving lives, saving the global economy, saving damsels in distress, etc.
Yes, I have been able to watch entertaining TV re-runs in this time, such as Charlie Brooker's 2011 Wipe which I completely recommend.
Art is not a "doss subject". I'm in no place, as an art student, to start shooting other subjects down as "doss subjects" (even if I'd love to.) But please, before you start making petty and rude generalisations, ask yourself how much time you'd like to have spent on your knees measuring and sticking shit down, motherfucker. Then go back to your "useful" and "rewarding" job, or raising your equally ignorant children, I'm sure it's sooooooo much fun.
Monday, January 02, 2012
10 Lessons From Bad Quality Phone Snaps
In September my mobile phone was stolen from me whilst I was asleep on the bus. I was an avid snapper and have very few photos to show nowadays because I now carry an un-steal-able Nokia. It is so old school that it's most advanced feature is an LED torch. I've heard all the "Kat, the Ashmolean Museum rang, they want your phone back as an exhibit" jokes. They keep getting funnier.
Here are some lessons I can learn from the photos I had taken and backed up - important lessons... Lessons I am obliged to share with you. Lessons you too need to learn.
1 - Buy vegetables, cook healthy shit at home.
2 - Drink everything. Everything. It doesn't matter what colour it is, that's drink-racism. Dracism. Don't be a dracist.
3 - Have a nephew. If you can't have a nephew for biological or personal reasons, get kids involved in your life somehow. In a non-creepy way. They're fucking cool.
4 - Light candles. The more candles the better. Especially when you're drunk - the risk and decreased oxygen makes it even better.
5 - It's easy to tidy and un-tidy your bedroom. Do both religiously.
6 - Collect shoes. Collect a lot of shoes. Buy two pairs of shoes at a time, and shoes you'll never wear. It's good for the soul. Trust me, I'm fine.
7 - Plan tattoos, but don't necessarily get them...
8 - I know I said cook at home. But eat meals out whenever possible.
9 - Collect all the free condoms you can.
10 - Cigarettes are really good for you, fuck the facts.
Disclaimer: I am not a doctor.
Here are some lessons I can learn from the photos I had taken and backed up - important lessons... Lessons I am obliged to share with you. Lessons you too need to learn.
1 - Buy vegetables, cook healthy shit at home.
2 - Drink everything. Everything. It doesn't matter what colour it is, that's drink-racism. Dracism. Don't be a dracist.
3 - Have a nephew. If you can't have a nephew for biological or personal reasons, get kids involved in your life somehow. In a non-creepy way. They're fucking cool.
4 - Light candles. The more candles the better. Especially when you're drunk - the risk and decreased oxygen makes it even better.
5 - It's easy to tidy and un-tidy your bedroom. Do both religiously.
6 - Collect shoes. Collect a lot of shoes. Buy two pairs of shoes at a time, and shoes you'll never wear. It's good for the soul. Trust me, I'm fine.
7 - Plan tattoos, but don't necessarily get them...
8 - I know I said cook at home. But eat meals out whenever possible.
9 - Collect all the free condoms you can.
10 - Cigarettes are really good for you, fuck the facts.
Disclaimer: I am not a doctor.
Sunday, January 01, 2012
Dear men in nightclubs: stop being assholes. Sincerely, Kat.
And so, here it is: 2012.
I don't know about you, folks, but I didn't wake up as a new girl. Instead I woke up at 8am in an upright position on my friend's sofa and thought - "How long have I been awake? Why is there a bed on the floor? Where are Bethan and Louise?" Not a lot of time got spent on the thinking, I was pretty happy to climb into this makeshift bed for a few hours, because at 8am I was still drunk. My New Years Eve was spent in Northampton, with my friend's student house as base, and Northampton "clubs" as our destination.
I do not like clubs.
When I was 10 years old "clubs" had a different meaning to me (girl guides, swimming team, etc) and I still didn't like them. You may sit there and think "but you're a young, single girl who likes to drink and act in a completely obnoxious manner - why on earth would you not absolutely love clubs?"
Well for a start: the music, the girls, the guys, the prices... so everything. There are some things associated with clubs that I do like. I like getting ready (to an extent) and I like spending time with my friends.
Everyone you meet in a club is an absolute asshole. The girls all want free drinks, so they've dressed as much like a prospective rape victim as they possibly can. And the guys all want someone to fuck and it doesn't even matter who. Why would they waste breath on conversation when they can as easily say nothing and grope a woman? It's just as charming, right? Wrong. So wrong.
Last night some guy, who we'll call Dick, repeatedly pinched my bum. The first time I let it slide a bit, I probably politely told him to fuck off. He was less lucky the second time. I was drunk, but I'm pretty sure I slapped him, and I'm told that I then picked up a bottle and told him he really better leave me alone. I'd never have actually bottled the guy (I don't come from Brixton, for one) because even when I'm drunk I know it's best not to get a criminal record for GBH... even if it'd be totally justified.
Sometimes words are wasted on individuals like Dick. Instead of the vocal act of making small talk, he opted for the physical pinching act. And so, instead of the vocal act of explaining that women don't take too kindly to that kind of come-on, and "do you know that's harassment?" etc, I opted for the more physical act of slapping his big stupid face. Some people are too ignorant to understand words, but I'm hoping his sore face will teach him everything I could have explained.
Maybe I just shouldn't go to clubs, or maybe guys in clubs should stop being such complete freaks. I have never met a nice-seeming guy there, and if I have, I am pretty sure they were hiding some Rohypnol for later. The guys who I have met in clubs act like they're on night release from prison for rape-related-crimes. Please note, men, that there is NOTHING sexy about that.
And if I'm wrong about clubs - if these sex pests are actually the best boyfriend material I'll ever find, then I would rather die alone with several cats for company.
I believe that I can leave Jenna Marbles to wrap this up for me.
I don't know about you, folks, but I didn't wake up as a new girl. Instead I woke up at 8am in an upright position on my friend's sofa and thought - "How long have I been awake? Why is there a bed on the floor? Where are Bethan and Louise?" Not a lot of time got spent on the thinking, I was pretty happy to climb into this makeshift bed for a few hours, because at 8am I was still drunk. My New Years Eve was spent in Northampton, with my friend's student house as base, and Northampton "clubs" as our destination.
I do not like clubs.
When I was 10 years old "clubs" had a different meaning to me (girl guides, swimming team, etc) and I still didn't like them. You may sit there and think "but you're a young, single girl who likes to drink and act in a completely obnoxious manner - why on earth would you not absolutely love clubs?"
Well for a start: the music, the girls, the guys, the prices... so everything. There are some things associated with clubs that I do like. I like getting ready (to an extent) and I like spending time with my friends.
Everyone you meet in a club is an absolute asshole. The girls all want free drinks, so they've dressed as much like a prospective rape victim as they possibly can. And the guys all want someone to fuck and it doesn't even matter who. Why would they waste breath on conversation when they can as easily say nothing and grope a woman? It's just as charming, right? Wrong. So wrong.
Last night some guy, who we'll call Dick, repeatedly pinched my bum. The first time I let it slide a bit, I probably politely told him to fuck off. He was less lucky the second time. I was drunk, but I'm pretty sure I slapped him, and I'm told that I then picked up a bottle and told him he really better leave me alone. I'd never have actually bottled the guy (I don't come from Brixton, for one) because even when I'm drunk I know it's best not to get a criminal record for GBH... even if it'd be totally justified.
Sometimes words are wasted on individuals like Dick. Instead of the vocal act of making small talk, he opted for the physical pinching act. And so, instead of the vocal act of explaining that women don't take too kindly to that kind of come-on, and "do you know that's harassment?" etc, I opted for the more physical act of slapping his big stupid face. Some people are too ignorant to understand words, but I'm hoping his sore face will teach him everything I could have explained.
Maybe I just shouldn't go to clubs, or maybe guys in clubs should stop being such complete freaks. I have never met a nice-seeming guy there, and if I have, I am pretty sure they were hiding some Rohypnol for later. The guys who I have met in clubs act like they're on night release from prison for rape-related-crimes. Please note, men, that there is NOTHING sexy about that.
And if I'm wrong about clubs - if these sex pests are actually the best boyfriend material I'll ever find, then I would rather die alone with several cats for company.
I believe that I can leave Jenna Marbles to wrap this up for me.
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