31.10.16

It's just not for me





so there are certain things I have done in my 25 years of life that I'm not particularly proud of.
That includes the following:

- skipping after school activities that my parents paid for to watch Cartoon Network. More than once or twice
- getting way to comfortable in my previous relationship and gaining all that weight
- writing this awful bullying piece of 'fiction' out of hatred for one of my classmates who used to wind me up constantly when I was about 12. And getting found out for it
- wearing everything I wore circa 2004-2007
- being a McDonald's employee for more than 3 years
- not being promoted once while in that job


I could continue but this is already a fair amount of embarrassment. And trust me, while trying to think of items to put on this list, I uncovered some really deeply concealed memories that I wish I could erase, and that I will never remind anyone or openly talk about in general...

Anyhow, the thing that made me write this post is a conversation I had with my sister about an hour ago. Out of pure curiosity as to what she'd say to it, I sent her a Now Hiring from one of my favourite Lithuanian festival foods - Beaver's Pancakery (rough translation). My sister is in her final year of uni, and what I expected her to say was something along the lines of 'piss off, I'm too busy writing my dissertation'. However, what I got back felt like a slap on the face as it was so unexpected.

The initial response was 'I don't want to work with food any more, ya'know'. So jokingly, thinking she was being facetious, I went 'yeah, that's obvs too low for you now, won't go below management level'... What came next was like a fucking grand-piano dropping right onto my head. 'Well, you see, all that fake smiling and pretending to be friendly, it's just not for me!', she said.

I couldn't believe what I was reading. Initially I took that response as personal offence - I worked in an absolute craphole of a job kissing fat chavs' arses for nearly four years, and she was fully aware of it! Is that what you think of me? That THAT was my bloody calling for all those years?

I went to argue and in a way - stand my ground. I asked whether she thought anyone working in the service industry, the minimum-paid jobs, whether any of those people thought it was for them. I said to her 'everyone's got to start somewhere...', meaning you have to have experience sweating away in a kitchen in order to eventually escape it. She then added up all her work time (which was all in the service/food industry) to 4-5 months and said 'well, of course, but I have already started', implying that after those 4 months, the only way is up. She told me that the few months she did work as a waitress was enough for her to realise it wasn't for her.

Once again, I was shocked, but didn't continue the conversation. Her rhetoric reminded me so much of the people you see on those horrible fury-inducing programmes about people on benefits. It's now been some time since this chat happened but I haven't stopped thinking about what she said.

As if we had actually been brought up in the same household with the same values and expectations?! I'm aware I said that I didn't want to work in food more than a dozen times last time I was job-hunting, but by that time I had already graduated, had years of minimum-wage customer facing experience under my belt, and had moved out and been fully supporting myself for longer than 2 years. My sister, however, hasn't had to work in order to survive for a day in her life, she has not moved out and I definitely don't see that happening any time soon. Whenever she did have a job, it was just part time and as far as I'm aware, it wasn't her only income, i.e., mum and dad would still give a little bit of pocket money - and obviously she never paid rent.

I am sitting here completely baffled. Isn't she sick of being stuck living with our parents? She always tells me she is. Isn't there any urgency of becoming independent? Does she actually feel that her degree from a way-below-par university will provide her with an open road for career-building? Or is she just so deluded she thinks everyone out there is following their true calling, and only does jobs that are meant for them?

I can't say I'm proud of having worked at McDonald's for that long, that's why it's on the list. But I definitely do not regret it one bit. Aside from the fact that I met some truly brilliant people there, it taught me some valuable life lessons. The most important of all - you have to work in the service industry for some time to understand what it means to be a decent person. There's so much truth in the saying that a person who is nice to you but rude to the waiter is not a nice person! I learned that in order to succeed you don't just have to be good at what you do. Sometimes you have to be good at playing other people too. Most times the world isn't fair and that's just the way it is, hence why, you're better off playing the game than sitting silently in the corner doing your job perfectly well. It taught me just how completely appalling people who can work but won't are. Because at points when I was scrubbing disgusting day's worth of grease (and believe me, that's a lot of grease) off an extractor fan at 3am in ice cold water, I certainly wasn't thinking that this job is my true calling and that is the reason why I'm in it. Because when I was putting on an ill-fitting polo that had already been washed twice and still reeked of sweat, I definitely didn't think this job is what I want to do for the rest of my life. Because when some benefit scrounging scumbag shouted at me and called me a thick cunt for not giving him enough dipping sauce, I never thought 'this job is meant for me'.

I was thinking that to me, as an educated twenty-something, freeloading just wasn't an option.

And I still can't believe that to my sister, it is.

1.6.16

I'm in lesbians with you











So it has kind of been the best month and a half in quite a while*. After deciding This Is It about a month ago, me and my against-all-odds partner in crime have been the two happiest 24-year old teenagers in the world.
He makes me laugh, he wants to adventure with me, he introduces me to new music, he likes most things I do too, he thinks I'm perfect and makes me incredibly happy. And he wants to spend the rest of his life with me.
If this isn't #relationshipgoals, I don't know what is.











*by this of course I mean my whole life.

27.4.16

i know it's chemicals that make me cling to you, cling to you





This morning I had one of those moments when you feel like your whole world is sinking, because you're slowly but at the same time very quickly realising you've lost something of extreme importance (and, in my case, monetary value). Bring Me The Horizon in your headphones optional, although it did add to the mood.
One minute I had my £6,000 travel card in my hand, the next minute I could barely breathe because the train had started moving and my first thought was the card is there, on the platform somewhere, my trusty £6,000 card, with my face before I lost weight on, which I took out a loan and paid £6,000 for. £6,000 on a platform in Colchester train station, which I'm leaving behind at 15,896,547 Mph.

Of course by this time I was already going through my bag and pockets like there's no tomorrow, and what happened next made me really happy.
A slightly older than middle-aged gentleman spoke to me in a reassuring voice asking if I was looking for my travel card. There and then in that moment I knew that either he was a total cunt, having seen me lose it before we got on this train and said nothing, or a little angel who can somehow see the card somewhere I can't.
The latter turned out to be the case, and I thought wow, I do love random nice people on public transport. Like that guy who just gave me the 20p I needed for my bus journey that one night.

And then when I got to Liverpool Street I got the chance to pay it forward so to say. This young schoolgirl dropped a £10 note and didn't notice it. Guess who was there to save the day.
I expect karma points, because I'm not sure it works in reverse.

It's been a lovely Wednesday.



--


So it turns out tinder isn't the worst thing that could have ever happened to me.
But I suppose later on that in my future posts, because so far all I shall say is I have been impersonating the Cheshire Cat for the best part of the last 9 days. Prepare your body for the incoming cheese:
It has been like nothing I have ever experienced before.
That's it, won't say any more for now, even though my insides are trembling with how much I want to express everything to the outside world. Shout it off the rooftops if you will...










12.4.16

desperate times call for double measures

 Pinterest



So it's coming up to a month since I ventured out into the world of online dating. And all I can say I'm now in a bit of a love-hate relationship with it. It's literally been the most interesting, exciting yet frustrating experience ever.

Like for example, what photos do you put up so you attract the right crowd? I first had an artsy sort of picture, but nothing too out there. It seemed to be going pretty well, however, the crowd wasn't quote right.
In a desperate attempt to just get more views in general, I changed it for something where I look conventionally hot, if I do say so myself. I mostly got an influx of messages from the opposite kind of men to my ideal potential matches. Then yesterday I put up something where I have some sick looking make up on, just to repel every EssexBwoiiii69 that might be interested.
And if that doesn't get the juices flowing for you mate, I don't think I want to hear from you.

And yes, I am only saying that because I went way out of my comfort zone and messaged about 10 attractive men, whom I'm not even gonna lie, I imagined drinking wine, eating cheese and having very cool intellectual conversations with. And then fucking for hours.
But got no replies.

That's right, I suppose I do deserve a taste of my own medicine once in a while, for turning down every feet-, gym- and veganism-obsessed male out there. But for fuck's sake, there must be at least one or two attractive, intelligent, fairly tall omnivore 24-36 year olds with no kids or open relationships, whom I could go to museums, galleries, gigs, and cool hipster-esque eateries with?


or is that too much to ask for?




The Courteeners - Scratch Your Name Upon My Lips

30.3.16

single and ready to tinder

from Pinterest



Needless to say I don't know where to begin.


I suppose I'll explain myself first.

So this blog used to be quite a significant part of my life about 5 or so years ago. I wrote in my native tongue, and, as it turns out, was pretty decent. And this is judging by someone who's now 5 years older and supposedly more mature.

I have, however, hidden the majority of my old posts. They may surface at some point, they may not. Most of them were teenage angst and sexual frustration-ridden anyway, although not as embarrassing to read back as I'd hoped they would be.
I've left one post in the public domain, for comparison and such.



And to be perfectly honest, I'm only slightly less of a lost soul in the world than I was back then.

I wanted to say next month, but who am I kidding, this was a work in progress ever since November, I'm starting a little bit of a new chapter in my life. The agenda involves: moving to the city, discovering new favourite takeaway joints, spending less money on takeaways and more on live music, failing that and spending all my money on clothes. Also, going on many a tinder date and documenting them here.

I suppose a few fundamentals have changed since I vented here last: I'm no longer a sexually frustrated virgin, I don't speak with an accent anymore, I have gained and lost and gained and lost weight, and I know what a vCPU is.



In a bit.