Allocate your sentiment and stick it in a box. I've never been an extrovert, but I'm still breathing.

Family get-togethers.
*sigh*
Always the same.
I spent last night with my folks, my brother and his wife, my niece and her boyfriend, and an amalgamation of 'friends' for a wedding reception. Amalgamation may be the wrong word, but it's late and my brain is sketchy.

Dear friends and family,
It's very sweet of you to think of me. It's oh so kind of you to spare a thought for me in your own busy lives. It's lovely and warming to see how much you care about me. But seriously....I'm not 'with' anybody at the moment, but please....try not to see that as such a negative thing. I'm just fine how I am. My life is good. Everything is cool. I don't 'need' to be with somebody just because you see it as the 'norm'. I don't need a partner because in your eyes I must get lonely or sex-starved or will be seen as an 'odd' person. I don't feel abnormal or weird or out-of-place just because I don't have somebody on my arm. I know you think I need to be with somebody....anybody....but seriously, I don't. So please, please stop trying to push me in the direction of other single people. Please stop suggesting potential partners. And please, please stop showing me pity in your eyes. I'm just fine the way I am.

If you only think and remember one thing about me, it's that I'd rather be alone for the right reasons, than with somebody for the wrong ones.

Much love and respect,

bedshaped x

I've recently been asked when the last time it was that I cried.
How about while listening to this....

Polly.

I want to recognise your beauty's not just a mask.

So....
Why do I sneeze when I'm plucking my eyebrows?

And then she said "Darling, you don't understand. It was the black sambucas and it got out of hand."

Last Saturday night, I was reminded several times why I hate going out to pubs and clubs. Especially in this crappy town where I've found myself, once again.
Apart from the brief moment my friend and I were told off like a pair of naughty schoolboys for dancing on the furniture in the club, the later parts of the night, where the trouble usually kicks off, never happened. Although our group of thirteen or fourteen guys out celebrating a 'stag night' for a friend who's getting married this coming Saturday, all dressed in Hawaiian shirts were probably an easy target, nothing else much happened. But then again, the fight that broke out between two guys over a girl and a pool table in the 'quiet pub' that we'd all met up in at 7.30 was enough to set all the bad reminders off in my head at such an early stage. I guess that had already tainted the night for me.

It's probably been almost ten years since I've been out for a proper night on the tiles in this crappy town that I'm currently calling home. The fashions have changed, with the girls, anyway. Most of them seem to dress like they are auditioning for the next position to become free in The Pussycat Dolls. It's tragic and a little pathetic. It makes you feel like you can't even strike up a conversation with any of them, without them thinking that the only reason you're talking to them is because they are dressed like a hooker and you want to get into their knickers! Well, actually, no. I just wanted to enjoy the night....see if you were enjoying the music....ask if it's always a packed night in this club....have some small talk and chit chat. But of course, you're a Pussycat Doll wannabe, strutting your stuff around like you own the place, bumping and grinding like an extra in an R Kelly music video....so of course my only intentions are sexual!
How on earth can you just go out an enjoy yourself in that kind of atmosphere?

The guys are just as bad. Ok, they aren't so provocatively dressed, but most of them look like they are auditioning for the next Twilight movie. Emotionless faces. Holding onto their pints like their lives depended on it. Occasionally changing their weight to the other leg, allowing them to strike yet another pose that's taken straight from Zoolander.

I left on Saturday night feeling completely disappointed in the so called clubbing scene in this town. My only solace and 'fun' were the times I dragged my brother up to dance to Chaka Khan and Prince, amongst others. Oh, and taking a liking to having several attempts at 'pole dancing'.

I walked with my brother back to his house, where his wife was still up, waiting for us to get back. I was kind of expecting to find her behind the front door, rolling pin in hand, anger and frustration in her face. Especially after the text messages she repeatedly sent to his and my phones asking the same thing; "Are you intending on coming back anytime soon!!!!".
The three of us sat together in the dining room, his iPod docked between two tinny sounding woofers and playing random, while we talked about our evenings. By this time it was fast approaching 3am. Shortly after, my brother stood up and announced he was too tired and was hitting the sack. I was torn between ringing for a taxi or sleeping over. I did neither. My sister-in-law and I stayed up all night talking, putting the world to rights and listening to my brother's music choices on his iPod. Everything was going ok until Scooter came on! I really need to speak to him about that!
The stupid o'clock conversations would have been nice, lovely even, had they not been broken on several occasions with outrageous flirting and quite frankly uncomfortable conversations from my sister-in-law....my own brother's wife....bordering on sexual suggestions that were just wrong, wrong, wrong!
I laughed them off.

I've since had a text message from her apologising, saying she feels embarrassed and ashamed and blaming the drink. Such an easy thing to blame, huh?
Why do some people never learn about the shitty effects of alcohol?!

I've not replied to her.

You think there may be something wrong with you, to make you doubt your love like this.

On Tuesday, I found out that the Stag Party I'm attending on Saturday night is themed. Hawaiian shirts for all to be exact.
My day off on Wednesday was mostly spent going around the shops, asking the shop assistants if they could help me out with such attire. I was met with either blank, shocked or dismayed looks. The result being that I was left with no Hawaiian shirt for the Stag Party and further instructions that if I couldn't find one at short notice, then anything bright, colourful, cheerful and out of the ordinary would suffice.
I found a place online late Wednesday night, placed an order and got a bright pink Hawaiian shirt, with "Hawaii" lettering, islands and palm trees printed all over it delivered to my work-place this morning.
Saved by the bell!

As an advanced warning, anything that's posted here on Saturday night/early Sunday morning is done so 'under the influence' and is not to be taken seriously. And of course such a post will be removed when I rise from the dead on Sunday, anyway.

Breathe me, everytime you close your eyes. Taste me, everytime you cry.

Ask most guys what their favourite part of a girls' body is, and if they're honest, they will answer with either a girls' tits or arse. Whilst I can appreciate both of these, as any guy can, neither of these would be my choice of favourite part. In fact, I don't think they would even come in the top five, even if such a list existed. Which, for the record, doesn't.

For me, my favourite part of a girl's body is, and always has been the same. For as long as I can remember, anyway. It's probably got a proper name, but I'm buggered if I know what it is, and can't be arsed to find out. Besides, knowing the proper, medical name for it would probably taint it for me a little, and I don't want that. I like it just the way it is.

Humour me just for a moment. Imagine a girl standing naked before you, facing away from you. I know, it's a a tall order, but....
Where her back ends and her bum begins....well, that's the place. I know that technically there isn't anything between the base of a girl's back and her bum, they just....merge together. But, it's at the point where they merge.
Ok, so I've maybe failed miserably with my written description, so here's where my research and pictorial guides come in.
Oh, by the way, even though I've ensured that nothing 'naughty' is shown, these may be NSFW. Ok?










And yes, I kept the long hair in for a reason.

Don't ask me why it's my favourite place. I don't know. But it's a place that, for me, just wants to be kissed, caressed, stroked, loved, have circles drawn upon it, brushed against, breathed on, licked, rubbed, massaged, touched....

People have completely different preferences and tastes when it comes to what they find physically attractive in their partners.....lovers...whatever. And I'm just the same. But I have to say that everything else about the person makes such a huge impact and compliment to their physical being that I've come to the conclusion that I don't have a 'type', as it were. There's certain things I really like, yes. Like long hair, nice eyes, nice eye make up, a girl who takes pride in her appearance, skirts, strappy tops, silver jewellery, the occasional well thought out and well placed tattoo, glasses....then there's a girl who has an open mind, a sense of humour, is spiritual in her thinking, loyal, sensitive, emotional, ambitious and driven, artistic, loves music, likes discovering new things, has a good heart and soul, is trusting and trustworthy....
And without wanting to sound horribly shallow, there are certain things I've mentioned there that I just wouldn't give up. But, I've realized that a girl can be unbelievably attractive to me without fitting into all or even most of my preferred things. It's very, very difficult to explain. If you were sat next to me and I was talking with you, then I'd probably be able to explain it better. But you're not. So maybe we should just leave it there.

There's one thing that I will never forget to understand, cherish and live by. And that's that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Nothing else in this life will or can ever change that for me.

I love the feeling when we lift off. Watching the world so small below. I love the dreaming when I think of... the safety in the clouds out my window.

I've only been working just over a week, and already I'm tiring of the banter between the guys when they talk about girls. It doesn't seem to matter where you work, what your social life is, who is in your circle of friends....there are always those sort of guys who seem to think that it's ok to talk about girls like they are pieces of meat.
It internally annoys me.
It gets to me.
It makes me feel embarrassed.
It makes me feel like walking away, and I often do.

We have six girls working at our place. None of them....not one of them can understand my brand of humour. Mind you, none of the other guys there can either. Maybe it's too early. Or maybe they will never get me. I hope in time they do, because the only people who think of me as the odd one out....the black sheep, as it were, is my family. And nothing I do will ever change that. I'm just....accepted, the way I am.

Sometimes, I wonder if anybody outside of my family will get me. Perhaps I'm just always gonna be misunderstood, to a certain degree. Looked upon with a frown, a squint, a pair of eyes full to the brim with suspicion and disbelief.

I've never pretended for one minute that I'm anything other than a little 'different'. Where it came from, I don't know. My childhood maybe? My up-bringing? My life that's been repeatedly shit upon?
To me, it doesn't matter so much where it came from. I am what I am. And if other people don't, wont, or can't accept me for who I am, then it's their problem, not mine.
I'm really proud to be me.
Mental breakdown aside. I know I am a good person. And if the world was filled with more good people, it would, without doubt, be a much, much better place.

This girl I know, needs some shelter. She don't believe anyone can help her. She's doing so much harm, doing so much damage.

So put the snoring and slight dribbling aside.
Start breathing.

Maybe it will take a while before you realize. But when you do, it will hit you like hammer.
I hope you're prepared.

I'll stop turning away from you, if you stop reading erotica and fucking yourself with your toys.
I'll start being more open with your friends when you stop fantasizing about fucking them.

I am the Sean Connery to your Roger Moore.
I am the Han Solo to your chewbaca.
I am the Duckie boy to your Watts.

Think about it.

Maybe you will never know the full potential. And that's just a shame. Such a shame.

Nothing will ever change it, not even if you spunk over my my hair, my chest....whatever. Nothing. Some things will never, ever change.

It's just your outlook that you needs to change.
And maybe one day it will come.
Or maybe you will never change your outlook, because that's how you feel.
It doesn't matter how many facts and figures you need, just ask.

Our minds pressed and guarded, while our flesh disregarded the lack of space for the light-hearted, in the boom that beats our drum.

I was gonna post tonight.
In fact, I'm almost finished with what I have to say. But....I was researching some pictures to go along with it, and well....I kinda got sidetracked.
*ahem*

Good job I have the house to myself this weekend!




Sometimes I am far too cryptic for my own good.