Monthly Archives: January 2012

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Can’t cope, won’t cope…

Hey darlings! Can I call you darlings? I’d like to give an affectionate name for you; my collection of readers. Ricky Gervais has ‘Twonks’, Tulisa has ‘N-Dublets’ and ‘Muffins’… I’ll have a little think. Suggestions on a postcard?

It feels like an absolute age since I posted last. There are a few reasons as to why and I feel that, to reward your loyalty to my drivel, I’d better explain myself. I’ve spent the last week or so trying to get over a nasty virus (who knew one person could house SO much snot?!) and have been horrendously busy making important phone calls, writing letters, learning to dance this ‘hump’ that Rizzle Kicks keep singing about, researching world wines (read ‘researching’ as ‘drinking’) and digging my way out from under a mountain of paperwork. My mum had a form to fill in the other day so we decided to make a makeshift office in order to motivate us (we sat next to each other at the table and shuffled papers). It was a welcome dose of normality actually. Mum Babes (that’s what I call her…) used to work in an office at the MoD so she said it was quite nostalgic. I made the office environment more realistic by sending out an inter-office memo to my ‘colleague’. Well, I drew a penis on a bit of paper and threw it at her. I really am quite proficient at procrastination…

My side of the ‘office’. Note the Mickey Mouse straw in the bottle of wine. That’s incongruity if I ever saw it.

Wine tasting. It has to be done…

Another reason for my absence is that I’ve had the worst case of writer’s block EVER. If Jackie Collins had suffered the same then the literary world would be a better place. I think I’ve been trying too hard to force an idea but have recently realised that inspiration is like the female orgasm; sometimes you just have to accept that it’s not coming… On the subject of acquiescence, I’d like to talk about coping. I’ve been steadfast in my resolve for this blog to be a ‘No-Moan-Zone’ but I also want to be realistic. I audaciously likened myself to Wonder Woman (with smaller tits, don’t forget) but no-one’s superhuman, least of all me. But I do have a mechanism. In times of duress, I shut myself off from the outside world completely. I want to do everything alone because that’s how I’ve been raised; to be strong and independent. And I’ve had the best role model for it. Mum Babes has raised two children alone for 21 years. She’s contended with Katie’s disabilities, my ill health (chronic asthma, heart surgery aged 11, viral meningitis at 15) and her own illnesses. If I was ‘down with it’ I’d say she was a ‘real G’. She’s hot, too.

So. Coping. Everyone does it differently; some people don’t do it at all. A relative of mine had a nervous breakdown after her son cut his finger open… If I can give any advice (and you should all know by now that I’m not that good at giving it..!) it would be to find a coping mechanism that suits you. I use humour – you may have noticed! Last week my mum was rushed into hospital with chest pains. (She’s home now and being looked after by Nurse Amy). It was very stressful for both of us but we naturally resort to humour to get through. In this particular instance she made me sniff her armpits to make sure she didn’t stink. You never know who you’re going to meet in the middle of a chest X-ray…right?! We cracked some commode-related jokes, I did a little dance behind the curtains…you get the picture.  When I was 15 I was admitted to Birmingham Children’s with Viral Meningitis. To lighten the mood, mum put on one surgical glove, wore a sick bowl like a hat and Moonwalked around my hospital room. I was sitting on a bedpan at the time. It was so funny that, well, I’m sure you get the picture…

I also drink and dance to ‘cope’. For me, the hardest part of caring is wanting to sink a bottle of brandy but knowing it’s morally irresponsible to ‘drink on the job’. I will have a little tipple though. When it’s quite I’ll pour myself a drink and dance like a video ho until I can’t remember what I was stressed about to begin with. (I’m not admitting to alcoholism here, by the way! Although, you’ll often see me sneaking back from the corner shop with a carrier bag clanking suspiciously :p). Obviously not everyone will be placated by ‘my way’, but that’s my point. It’s MY mechanism. Do something that makes you feel like ‘you’. Just for a moment. Shut yourself off from the world/shout at everyone/scream into a pillow/ get drunk/do something crazy/ laugh at nothing/dance it out/cry… Do something that provides a release, however short lived that might be.

This is me mid ‘tipsy-dancing':

 

I don’t really know what else to say. I’d better go as there’s a quarter of a bottle of brandy going begging and a sexy bit of reggae has just come on the radio… amy-signature

We found lust in a hopeless place…

Happy New Year darlings! I hope you’ve all had a great Christmas and a good start to 2012. I’d planned on an early night in my snuggie with my Hello Ladies DVD for NYE but ended up dancing around the living room, completely pissed and doing gymnastics in my underwear… If that’s a sign of things to come then I can safely say that this year will be GREAT ;)

Here’s me in my snuggie:

Here I am smooching Steve:

The above quickly turned into this sort of debauchery:
Bottoms up!

Bottoms out!

Fancy a snog?

I’m not a fan of venturing out into Club Land for New Years. I did it once in 2008 and have decided that it’s definitely not for me. Paying a ridiculous amount of gold to get into a club where you’re all crammed in like sardines, awaiting sloppy midnight kisses from strangers? Thanks but no thanks.

NYE 2008 – This guy’s New Years resolution was probably to lure in innocent girls with his Scooby Doo facade, then turn into some kind of modern day Jack the Ripper (He tried to kidnap me shortly after this picture was taken…) We did go out in Coventry though so I suppose I was asking for it:

On the subject of smooches from strangers, this blog is going to be all about the early stages of relationships. I find it very easy to talk openly about love, lust, sex and rock ‘n’ roll but it’s not all been plain sailing. I know I’m only 22 but I’ve had my fair share of dating dilemmas and I want to share them with you. You lucky sods ;) It’s common knowledge that finding your soul mate is bloody hard but when you’re a carer it’s akin to finding Wally when he’s hiding inside a candy cane – nigh on impossible.

Being a carer has made me incredibly picky as I have to find someone who’s not only tall (no-brainer) handsome and a snazzy dresser but is also understanding, kind hearted, tolerant and as emotionally strong as I am. I am aware that this man probably doesn’t exist but I’ll keep searching, everyone needs a project, right? It’s also difficult because, as a carer, you’re constantly giving upwards of 80% of yourself to someone else as standard. You often don’t have the time or energy to give to someone new, which makes the initial dating such a pain in the arse. In an ideal world, I’d skip the ‘getting to know each other’ side-stepping and go straight into that ‘comfortable’ phase. You know – where you can walk around the house nude, burp like a man or admit that all the orgasms from day one have been faked. (I got a B in GCSE drama, FYI. I’ll leave you with that thought for a minute…) But seriously, it can be a damn ballache laying down foundations of a relationship when you have such time consuming responsibilities. I don’t expect guys to be empathetic (well you wouldn’t anyway would you?!) but it’s hard to establish a ‘date timetable’ when you’re constantly attending hospital appointments, changing NG tubes, being Superwoman etc. It can also be incredibly daunting sharing your life story with someone for the first time, especially when you reveal that you have a moral obligation to put your family (or whoever you care for) first. Just last week my mum had arranged to go for drinks with a friend of a friend of hers. She had fun but the guy admitted that their mutual friend had tried to warn him off her, citing Katie’s complex care needs and mum’s health issues  as a reason for him to back off a bit.  What a shallow bastard. It didn’t deter mama’s date but it made me so mad to think that people could be so heartless. You may think that this is a one off occurrence but you would be wrong. It’s happened to my mum a number of times and, often being consumed by paranoia, I’m convinced that it will happen to me too. How horrendously weak are some people? I am kind of grateful though, I’ve decided it’s my way of sorting the wheat from the chaff.  If you crumble under pressure and can’t cope with adversity then you’re probably shit in bed anyway…

My fellow independent women are probably shouting “why do you need a man?!’’ My answer is: I don’t, not really. Sometimes I use men’s shower gel liberally during my bedtime bath. Then when I’m sleeping I sniff my own armpit and it’s pretty much the same as being in bed with a man – sans the dodgy smells and grunting… Then there’s the other obvious male ‘replacement’. You know the one I mean; I broke mine last year. I will say this to the ladies though; make sure you buy one that will ‘suit’ you. I won’t elaborate further but just to warn you, it can be horrifically embarrassing turning up in A& E because you’re having a severe allergic reaction to a certain phallic ‘rabbit’…  My mum found this out the hard way.  J.H.Christ!! Latex allergies are highly inconvenient. Turns out it’s hereditary. I found out that I have one after a trip to the gynaecologist. I don’t feel we know each other well enough for me to divulge further so I’ll leave this little anecdote for another time ;)

Beware the Rabbit…

I did mention that I have become quite picky. You can blame Disney for adducing my old fashioned outlook on relationships. (In the sense that I expect guys to open doors for me and I don’t really mind baking them a cake whilst they call me ‘the missus’) Here’s a short list of my requirements:

Turn On’s
-Understanding, tolerant, kind, patient <insert other soppy qualities here> guys
-Funny guys
-Snazzy dressers
-Glasses
-Tall guys
-Funny guys
-Glasses
-Bit of a beard
-Tall guys
-Well, basically this:

Turn Off’s
-Assholes (No, not THOSE ones…)
-Manipulative, mean, cocky guys
-Small men
-This:

(I’m aware he’s wearing glasses, there are exceptions to every rule…)

When you’ve been 6ft and ginger for a long time you stop expecting propositions from guys but recently I’ve been inundated and I’m finding it incredibly strange! The 14 year old gangly geek inside of me keeps shouting “they’re obviously taking the piss” whilst the horny adult argues: “get ya leg over girl!” I’ll admit that it feels a bit weird to say out loud that I have ‘admirers’ but I kinda like it. (Don’t judge me; I’ve never really been able to say “oh, so-and-so fancies me!”) However, I do think that most guys are invariably attracted to this:

 

…and then back off quite a bit when they realise the realities of care and all that it requires. I am one of the most tactile people you will ever meet and I wear my heart on my sleeve. I can also be incredibly guarded as I’m petrified of getting hurt after laying myself bare. (Emotionally, I’ll have you know! I use the ‘three date rule’ for physical bareness :p) When you’re a carer you really need all of your reserve energy for yourself and you can’t access it if you’re wasting it by snivelling over a break up.  I really am procrastinating here, I haven’t made a point but I think that might actually be my point..? As a carer, you can’t make solid plans. Every day is a surprise whether you like it or not. If you’re single then someone has to fit in with your way of life, like it or lump it.

So there you have it. I have no advice to give to single carers because if I did, I’d have applied it to my situation and you can obviously tell I haven’t… But I’m not really bothered. I’ve won a Carer’s Award, made it into a National Magazine (Reveal) and appeared on National TV (Text Santa & ITV Central News) all as a result of things I’ve done by myself. My mum has managed to raise us alone for 21 years and she’s by biggest role model. The Spice Girls can shove their Zig-A-Zig-Ah up their bleached arseholes because that’s more girl power than they could ever hope to have…

amy-signature

P.S Despite me not surreptitiously seeking a man, if Steve Merchant knocked on my door, well… ;)