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.

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.

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.

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.

New Year, New You?

For about a fortnight I've been thinking about what I can say with regards to New Years.
I kicked about a few ideas: evaluating the shocking failure of mine and other people's New Years resolutions; a guide to how to write a good New Years resolution... then I realized that can offer even less advice on those matters than the other things I frequently write about. As someone who can't stick to their own resolutions, I'm not the person to dictate your aspirations.

But it's just turned midnight here, so it's New Years Eve. Having just made a vodka and blackcurrant squash combination (it's not a poor man's Cosmo, it's a street-beggar's Cosmo, but it tastes alright) it feels like the right time to write.

Around this time of year, the saying "New Year, New Me" gets kicked about a lot. But I don't think many people wake up on January 1st suddenly 10lbs lighter with the resurrected Heath Ledger by their side (people wish for that kind of shit, right?)
We're a lot more likely to wake up hungover and vowing that our first resolution is to kick drinking this time - only to give it up as soon as the next chance arises.

To avoid further signature cynicism I am going to cut to the chase.

Whilst I could have said "New Year, New Me" a billion times last December, I spent the first 6 months of 2011 as someone I'd never like to be again.
Until June this year I had been on a relatively low dosage of anti-depressants for two and a half years, for something not entirely related to depression. I knew they weren't working for me because I like to drink, and they don't mix. Like a typically defiant teenager I mixed them anyway, and then a complete bitch always came out to play. I felt like I was sharing my body between two people - someone hell-bent on inflicting misery upon loved ones, and someone constantly apologizing for the infliction and promising to change.

I can't really remember why I decided I'd come off them, or why it took so long. In the Spring I'd taken a go at 'cold turkey' having forgotten them for a few days. I was freezing, sweating, dizzy and distraught. Two friends at the time took charge of telling me what to do: the first babbled a bunch of hippie shit like "keep at it"; the second (who actually has experience with anti-depressants) told me to go home, take two, go to bed, and get out when I felt alright again. I still talk to the second person.

By June I decided I'd give it a proper go. For a very short while I took one every other day, then I stopped taking them altogether. If I'd spoken to a GP they'd have given me half doses and time scales, but I was off them within about two weeks. I was dizzy all the time, and I was scared of the stairs at work in case I passed out on them.

In true "everything all at once" style, I also went through a break-up. I went drinking every night, took up smoking, lost about half a stone and spent every night sleeping in my best friend's bed. I went home for free food and clean clothes. It's not my place to promote all that, but I reckon it helped. It took about 6 weeks, then I was on form. Really, really good things started to happen.

Since all that shit I've found my feet. The other night my friend went, "I was thinking about you in the shower the other day" which is always a weird start to a confession. She told me that in the last 6 months she feels like I've become more of a whole person. Let me tell you now that if you've ever been a half person, someone telling you that is probably the sweetest thing.


Here's where it stops being about me, and starts being about you. No calendar year is going to change you. Essentially, you are the only person who can change you - how much do you want to change? Sometimes the things that are really hard to do will turn out to be the best things you did. If I come anywhere near a belief or life-guidance system, it's that the more you go through, the more you get. Take that however you want, or not at all.

Don't make promises about change that you expect to fulfil overnight, and have as much fun as you can. That's the only resolution advice I can give.

Happy New Years Eve, and worry about next year when it comes.

Reasons why I hate Christmas Day

So, you may have read a previous blog entry of mine regarding Christmas, in which case you would already know that it's not my favourite holiday (nor is it my least favourite, mind you, wait for my rant on Valentines Day come late January/February.) If you haven't read it and you have some time to kill you can find it here (http://ponderinglifeonmars.blogspot.com/2011/12/debating-christmas.html) but it's a long one. All you need to know is that I think it's commercial bullshit.

Today is Christmas Day, and here is a list of more things that I hate about this particular day.

Disclaimer: I know I'm a Grinch-esque dickhead. Deal with it, or read no further. Simple.
As usual this is written with my tongue very firmly in my cheek, and I don't mean to cause any offence. Then again, if you're easily offended, why the hell do you read my blog? Dumbass.

1: I don't care what you got you for Christmas. Whilst my family celebrate Christmas, the gift giving isn't a giant thing here. My parents subsidize a lot of my basic needs throughout the year (clothing, transport, food) so when it comes to today there's a budget of about £50 going on. This year they cleared £50 debt for me, and bought some sweet little odd bits. Families where you guys get iPads, laptops, ponies - I just don't get it. To me, you just look like a complete brat. And those of you in relationships are the worst! "Omg I luv you bby thank u for all this stuff it proves u luv me". No. Love isn't how much shit someone can buy you for one day of the year. I'm in no place to talk about what love actually is, but I know that much about what it isn't. Get over yourselves.

2: I don't care how much you eat: it isn't a competition. Why is it so important to you that you eat more than you can possibly accommodate? In 2007 I had my first Christmas with an eating disorder. I know for a fact that you can do Christmas without gaining 5lbs that a week later you vow to lose, alongside a bunch of other shit resolutions you can't keep - for example: "get a job; join the gym; stop cheating on my girlfriend and buying her nice stuff so she never knows" - I'm onto you all! Christmas dinner is essentially white meat, potatoes and vegetables. That's diet food. Eat less Quality Street and you won't have any problems. Alternatively, keep eating until you want to die, but don't come crying to me about weight gain. Get some fucking self control.

3: I don't even care about finishing this blog entry. Started writing in a really bad mood, but another vanilla vodka & diet coke and Morcheeba album later, I'm in better spirits.

Now, in all honesty guys, I hope you had a good day. Christmas is a great time to be with your loved ones and even I felt a little twinge of love for it all earlier - a very little one, mind you, followed by a shed-load of anxiety and apathy. I'm just super fun like that.
Christmas Eve, however, exceeded my low expectations a lot. For a miserable bitch I can safely say I enjoyed seeing everyone I went to school with, and I didn't even like school, so I don't know how I managed that. And I've enjoyed having a day off from work today, so there we go, it was pretty alright. Back to the real world at 6:45 tomorrow morning when I wake up for the Boxing Day Sales rush. Prepare for a whole host of anger about that, you lucky bastards, the ultimate Christmas gift from me to you.

Love from Scrooge.

Debating Christmas

WARNING: Topical blog post beginning approximately 2 lines from where you are currently reading.

The popular topic I am choosing tonight, ladies and gentlemen, is Christmas.
Earlier this evening I was advised that if I wanted to maintain originality I should publish this post in June. However, there are certain feelings that I won't remember in June - when the sun is shining; when men stop wearing their shirts so much; and when I don't spend every day having commercial nonsense shoved in my face. I regret to inform you that mine is not a particularly positive view of Christmas.

Jumping right in at the deep end with a matter I am not formally educated in - let's start with religion.
The Wikipedia definition (of course I didn't read any further than the first webpage Google suggested - I have a life) of the celebration is: "Christmas or Christmas Day (Old English: Crīstesmæsse, literally "Christ's mass") is an annual commemoration of the birth of Jesus Christ, celebrated generally on December 25 as a religious and cultural holiday by billions of people around the world."
Whilst the 2001 census of the United Kingdom showed that 71.6% of the population are Christians, a different survey by Tearfund showed that only 10% attend church weekly.

Unsatisfied by the results of these census', I set out on my own data-gathering mission. On Twitter and Facebook I asked everybody,

1: Are you a Christian?
2: Do you celebrate Christmas?

Of 12 respondents there were 12 who celebrate Christmas; 8 non-Christians; 4 Christians; and a partridge in a pear-tree.

This is the part where I must clarify my own religious standing. As the daughter of a church-going Catholic and a man who swings between attending Quaker meetings and Anglican services, I was forced for several years to attend all Catholic Christmas masses - and trust me; there are a bloody lot of them. Because of this, I remain very aware of what Christmas has historically and traditionally meant. Yet my views on religion are completely grey. I no longer attend church, I don't have any particular beliefs or non-beliefs, and I don't spend much time exploring what 'faith' I might have... apart from after I've sunk a few bevvies and I start ranting about my views regarding Life on Mars, but that's another story for another time. (Or for the next time I get drunk, if you happen to be there.)

With a heavy heart I must admit that nowadays I believe that Christmas is a holiday that has been swallowed by advertising and consumerism, used to manipulate absolutely everybody. Including people who describe the Bible as "the most ridiculous fairy-tale ever written" and who liken Jesus to folklore characters like Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy. Sometimes I just have to ask - isn't it a bit hypocritical to deny the existence of Jesus and yet partake in festivities linked to his birth? I'm not saying that I think it is, I'm only musing.

But actually, Christian celebrations of Christmas were not entirely new. Several other religious doctrines had a 'Festival of Light', including the Hindu celebration of Diwali which is a celebration of "the victory of good over evil." The church adopted December the 25th as Jesus' date of birth despite opposition from Jerusalem, and the date was also the birthday of Mirthra - the Iranian 'God of Light'. What I am basically saying, is that the church was a little bit like J.K. Rowling writing Harry Potter - they just nabbed some of the good stuff that other people had done before them. Sorry, J.K. - I love your work.

Now, here I wanted to argue some stuff about how people get depressed in the winter and that Christmas is celebrated in an attempt to banish 'winter blues'. Then I did some research into the epidemiology of suicide and found that the idea of 'increased suicide rates in winter' is merely a myth pushed by the media. In fact, suicide rates are better categorized by days of the week - in the Unites States more people commit suicide on a Monday, and Saturday is the least popular day for suicides. So Bob Geldof was scarily correct when he sang "I Don't Like Mondays". I would love to suggest that we abolish Mondays, but that seems a bit tricky, don't you think?

It may be a valid argument that Christmas is a much needed cheer-up from the bleakness of winter - and that people put lights up in the streets and their homes to make up for the lack of the sun; and cut down trees for their homes as a substitute for the bare ones everywhere else. For people who have families it also seems a good time to gather and enjoy food, drink and each-others company - and you certainly don't need any religious beliefs to partake in those activities.

Besides the religious upbringing, the other factor that shapes my opinion of Christmas is my sector of work: retail. For the last four Christmases I have sold flowers, smelly cleansing shite and classic female gifts to Joe Public. The aim of the retail game is to have as many trading days as possible, resulting in minimal rest and relaxation for those who work in a shop, and maximum me-me-me for Joe. We work until around 6pm on Christmas Eve; Christmas Day may be our only day off in a week or more; and on Boxing Day it's back to work for the sales to start, and for Joe to return all the gifts he didn't like this year.
Yesterday I ended up discussing this with a customer who asked me how I felt to be working on Christmas Eve. I told her, "It doesn't bother me, I'm not big in to Christmas." With a slightly sad look on her face, she asked me why, and I facetiously replied "I dunno. Maybe because I work in retail."
Whilst I enjoy facilitating the gift-buying of people who are looking forward to a cosy Christmas, I am forced to listen to some of the worst Christmas pop 'music' known to mankind. Unwillingly, I know every single word to PJ & Duncan's 'Eternal Love', and all I want for Christmas this year is for Boxing Day to hurry up so that these painful attacks on my eardrums are halted for the next ten months. If you work in retail and Christmas hasn't been ruined for you, please teach me how.

In short, dear reader (but God knows you've been reading this a long time now - I bloody wrote it) this Sunday it doesn't matter if you are a Christian, an atheist, or a Jedi Knight. When you raise your glass and pull your cracker and carve your turkey, it doesn't matter if you choose to remember God, or Santa Claus, or Han Solo. But if you don't remember everyone who works in retail, who sold Joe those gifts he bought for you, I hope you go to Hell, or Lidl, or the Death Star (insert your personal idea of torture here.)

Merry Christmas.