The Twat With No Name

There was this really surreal moment when I was out dancing to Michael Jackson with my girls M & MB on Saturday night. As usual I was being silly and doing glove and leg moves with my mock moonwalks. We were laughing away when I noticed their attention had been diverted and M said, 'Oh dear NML. Looks like you've got competition!'. I turned around and my first thought was 'Who is this frickin clown?'.

This woman with pale white makeup, bright red lips and heavy black makeup round her eyes is throwing time warp moves to MJ. I actually thought that I was imagining it and just stared at her and then got a fit of the giggles. A while later we had another surreal moment when the most woeful smell of egg fart wafted by. It was this group of women 'pupping' away like there was no tomorrow and when I say we were swooning from the stench, I kid you not! I actually thought MB was going to say something, but I think she was too choked up...

For today, the current man in my life shall be known as The Twat With No Name as he has REALLY pissed me off. I have been in really good spirits as I had a two hour consulatation with my new acupuncturist this morning and a two hour treatment session this evening. I refuse to resign myself to a life of doom and gloom with a half life on steroids so I am happy to fork out in the name of my health, particularly when not only is acupuncture highly recommended but my acupuncturist has done a lot of work with people with immune system diseases.

I decided to phone him as I walked home as I think I was a bit moody as I fell asleep in the middle of Columbo yesterday and he woke me out of my sleep. We chatted away and I foolishly told him that I had been for acupuncture. At first he was quite positive and agreed that it can be quite good, but then I had to suffer twenty minutes of him lecturing and preaching me on the virtues of medicine and steroids, and he must have said the words, 'There is no cure' about ten times.

Now there are enough haters out there to pronounce doom and gloom, but he has no business making assumptions about me and my illness and maybe if he stopped listening to the sound of his own voice for a few seconds, he might even grasp that I am trying to do the best that I can for myself and I am willing to try other avenues to give myself a better quality of life. If I think about no cure, death, whatever, and consign myself to the scrap heap at 28 years old, what else is there in store for me? I may as well give up now.

I ended the call very abruptly after telling him very firmly that whilst I respect his point of view, I'M the one who is sick here and he needs to respect my choices. And now I'm not speaking to him because quite frankly I don't need anyone peeing all over my parade. So he can kiss my black ass. Rant over.

Before he became the Twat With No Name, things were going along OK, good actually, although I have found that I'm already a bit bored with the whole him living away during the week and my weekends falling into a routine. Where is the romance? Have I fallen into another Mr Unavailable trap? Am I feeding my Miss Commitment-Phobe antics? I know that I don't want to do 'this' for eighteen months which is the period that he's living away for, which kind of puts me in a strange place. Oh well, forget that mofo for now!

The other thing I did today was get filmed by some guys from Sussex University for their final year documentary on What Women Want. It was quite funny when one of the boys asked if they could use the bathroom and I told him that he could, but to make sure he lifted the seat when he went, put it back down when he was done, and no #2's. It was great to sound off about men and women and also fuss over the lovely guy that they brought with them as he gets disregarded as a 'nice guy' - naughty girls! When the filming was over, I said to the interviewer, 'Er, just so you know, those socks and those shoes are a no-no!' and laughed as he cringed. Jaysus boys, how many times do I need to tell you? If it's a sports shoe, you can do sports socks, anything else, play it safe with black, navy or grey. OK?

The Great Rubber Tesco Humiliation

There are some things in life that I can't be trusted to do. I sometimes say naughty things when I really meant to keep it to myself. I can't be trusted to hear things properly as I always hear something dirty. I can't be trusted on a night out as I may do a little Michael Jackson move, or the running man. I can't be trusted not to take the piss when I've been explicitly told not to. And....I can't be trusted to buy condoms. (I pray that my parents are not reading this.)

The last time I bought condoms almost two years ago, it resulted in the security alarm going off and me brandishing the condoms at the security guard in guilty thief mode. Naturally I'm not very comfortable about buying condoms the way some of us are uncomfortable buying sanitary towels or tampons. Anyway, I digress....

I had to pop to Tesco (massive supermarket chain) which is about a 3 minute walk from my flat and whilst my main purpose was to do my grocery shopping, I decided to err on the cautious side and buy condoms, just to be on the safe side. Even though it's only been open (the shop that is...) for a couple of weeks, I think that some of the staff recognise me, which can be irritating on occasions like this when you want to undertake a covert operation (really need to stop watching crime shows). I picked up the various food and drink items that I needed and made the approach to the shelves with the health and cosmetic products which faces the checkout. It took several walks up and down the shelf to establish that there were no condoms on it and I felt the horrid realisation dawn on me that the stupid rubber yokes were behind the checkout.

No doubt looking like I was casing the joint, I walked up to the checkout, safe in the knowledge that there was no-one behind me. I thought I had struck it lucky by dealing with a female cashier and as she scanned orange juice, bread, tiger prawns etc, I coughed and said quietly, 'Can I get a 3 pack of the Featherlite condoms please?'

'Condoms?' she says very audibly and gesticulates towards the condoms a few feet away. Where's f*cking sisterhood when you need it? I felt my whole body go really hot and had a quick look behind me and realised that there were now at least 10 people in the queue. I nodded at her hurriedly and horror gripped me when she returned, with not 1 pack, but about 5 or 6 packets! I have never felt so embarrassed!

'No' I said feeling like I was going to puke with embarrassment. 'Just one pack!' I hissed.

'Oh!' she said looking at me confused and she returned to the condom shelf with the packets and returned with 1 JUMBO pack!

Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Now anyone who is familiar with my antics knows that when I'm nervous, I have a tendency to start laughing. Suddenly I felt this uncontrollable urge to giggle. It was all so ridiculous.

As she walked back towards the till with her hands outstretched holding the Jumbo pack (how strange is this woman?), I said 'I don't want that massive pack. I. Want. One. Box. of. The. 3. Pack. of. Featherlites.'

Again she looks bewildered and the two teenagers who I think had been eyeing me earlier in the hope that they could ask me to buy them some alcohol are cracking up laughing. I glare at the pair of them and hopefully the boys nuts shriveled.

The dozy woman returns to the shelf and picks up 3 packets and I yelled, 'No, just 1 packet!'

And finally we had lift off. I didn't look at anyone as I left the store, and I made a mental note to send a snotty email to Tesco and to also wear a hat the next time I go in. And then I stood outside and laughed uncontrollably for a minute.

Later that evening, when The Man with No Name was about to go into the kitchen, out of the corner of my eye I spotted the box of condoms on the kitchen counter. I shot up out of the seat and distracted him so I could get the box. Jaysus, I must have forgotten to put them away when I unpacked the groceries!

I'm thinking I could send an email like this to Tesco:

Dear Sir/Madam

I thought I should just let you know that some of your staff are fuckwits. For the shop that says 'Every little helps' in all of its ads, you failed to cover the basics with your nobby staff. As a single woman, I would like to be able to buy johnnies without having to be humilated by your staff. I suggest you give them some training on how to sell condoms to people over the counter, without embarassing them, because after all, Every Little Helps....

Yours rubberingly

NML

Away With The Birds

Recently I've become concerned that there were birds trapped somewhere in my building because I kept hearing squawking, generally when I'm in the shower each morning between 7.30 and 8. It's difficult to describe the sound, but it's like the bird was saying 'Ah' as if in pain, over and over again, and then something would make it stop. I was pottering about this morning and I heard the noise again. 'Bloody birds!' I thought to myself and then I stopped and listened and realised that the 'birds' were in fact my neighbours from hell bonking the shit out of each other.

Now I wanted to walk away and put some music on, but I felt trapped as the bed and the poor woman squeeked and squawked. 'Can't he tell that she's not enjoying that?' I mused and decided that he's one of those men who has no game and goes at her like a jackhammer. It stopped about a minute later (he obviously doesn't do the basic 3 minutes) and with the silence came the knowledge that yet another woman is unsatisfied with her servicing. AND she goes through this at least a couple of times a day! I'd feel sorry for her, but not only has she now been disturbing my mornings with her squawking, but she's flooded my hallway (with water!) and woken me up more times than I care to remember with her loud music.

Naturally the moment I take time off work, my body decides to be a traitor and starts to act up. I was unwell for most of yesterday with sharp jabbing pains in my stomach, and today they've left me in exchange for a sudden horrible chesty cough, horrid joint pain, and hideous need to sleep. To annoy me further, my memory which has been affected by my sarcoidosis (mostly short term memory) is playing havoc with me, and I'm finding myself flailing around trying to remember stuff, plus I got lost yesterday (twice) even though I've been to the place several times (and it's about three minutes from my office), plus I boiled an egg this morning for 30 minutes..without the egg....

My first day off work has been blissfully peaceful and uninterrupted (bar the shagging) as I have caught up on almost everything that needed to be done (monumental laundry, tidying, organising) and I found myself glued to MTV Base and salivated a few times over hot totty on screen. Note to self: Don't attempt to dance to music when you're in the shower as you could end up doing demi-splits in the bath...

Off The Wall

I had such a funny night at my mate Lizzy Whizz’s birthday on Saturday, surrounded by my old university friends. Standing there with them for the 6^th of her birthday parties made me suddenly realise that we’d all been friends for five years and that particularly for my friend G and I, Saturday night marked five years of friendship which started when I got paraletically drunk and sat on the wall waiting for my taxi and somehow fell backwards into the bushes and snow, and had to be pulled out by G. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship where I watched him cop off with many a girl (and laughed) and he still stayed my friend when I choked on an Aftershock shot and threw up into my hands and all over the feet of a pair of FMB’s…..

Unfortunately G wasn’t very well on Saturday, so he was sober with me but he mysteriously kept his jacket on. I thought he was trying to be ‘too cool for school’ but when us girls started playing with the zipper on the jacket, I discovered a t-shirt covered with diamantes and rhinestones! Gosh we ripped the piss out of him for ages. ‘NML! I’m keeping the jacket zipped because I don’t think this lot are ready for it’ he said. ‘G, I don’t think anyone will ever be ready for that!’

One of the lads was really drunk and insisted on attempting to dance in a very unrhythmic manner beside me and against me. Eventually when it was getting in the way of conversations, I told him to ‘Beat it! You’re making me lose my rhythm!’ He also tried to get me to snog one of the girls (seriously the whole lipstick lesbian thing is sooo passé!) and for some reason was pressing on the crown of my head whilst I was at the bar. ‘I think you’d better save the head pressing for your girlfriend when she’s giving you a BJ…….’

I have one more day left of work for the whole week (Yay!) which is a relief because I feel really shite at the moment. It’s not as bad as it could be, but my knees are really bad at the moment, I keep waking up with a pain in the eye (the starts of a sty) and I’ve felt like I want to go to sleep all the time for about two weeks. I must have sensed that I was gonna go into a decline as I booked this time off before that. The ‘ole sarcoidosis that I’ve gotten so used to is behind all of this and hopefully I’ll feel more like myself in a few days. I’m looking forward to plenty of R&R and just doing my own thing.

I spoke with him (guy I’m seeing that I can’t decide on a name) last night and he was talking about work and a difficult registrar that he works with. ‘I’m gonna get on top of her this week!’ he exclaimed. Cue tumbleweeds. ‘Er, I don’t understand why you’re telling me this…’ I said feeling more than a little unsure. ‘Not like that silly! That’s for you!’ he said cheekily.

As you do in my workplace, we were discussing Michael Jackson within a few minutes of getting to work as I'm rather excited about the rereleasing of his singles. 'Would you let your kid stay around in his house?' one of the girls demanded. 'No' and I got up out of my seat, 'But I would teach them how to HEE HEE' I said with a special MJ kick for extra effect.

The Bro and I went to watch Big Momma's House 2 after work tonight, with it firmly in mind that we were gonna laugh as dirty as possible. And laugh we did, and there were a couple of times when we nearly fell out of seats with our silliness. We also had another dirty laugher down the back trying to compete, but I think we won this one hands down. God we're so childish!

Out of The Closet

I was trying to eat my breakfast in a hurry yesterday when I heard my phone beep and saw a text message from my colleague PDot saying 'Classic!' and I felt fear clutch my stomach. I immediately knew that the article in the Daily Express had come out. I texted him back and told him not to say anything and that I hadn't seen it yet and raced out the door so that I could stop at the shop en route. It took three panicked flicks through the paper to find myself and I nearly died of shock when I realised that 1)I was on my own, 2) It was on a half page, and 3) that I think I preferred my hair with the wild curly look. Anyway, I digress...

As I walked onto my floor at work, there was about five seconds when I thought that I was safe and I'd gotten away with it. But no, PDot had opened his big gob and half my floor was reading my blog and MBF was keeping a rather low profile a few metres away. Within minutes, word had reached the 2nd floor as it turns out that the Richard Branson lookalike reads The Daily Express. The next hour in particular was excruciating, but to be fair, not one person had anything negative to say, quite the opposite! However I did cringe over the course of the day as the boys read my blog ALL day, plus emails were coming through from various friends, plus the boys told my boss that I said he has the flattest arse in the world (he does) and that I also think he talks about himself a lot (he does). Oh and people keep asking me to mention them, plus lots of people asked if I'm tempted to change it now that it's out in the open - hell no!

I mentioned to my mum a few days ago that there is the existence of a man in my life for the past while. I specifically said that it was early days, that I was being chilled about it, but that things were going well, and that we're just seeing each other. I spoke to her yesterday a few times and she mentioned that she'd told numerous people that I have a boyfriend and no doubt, because 1) she's a mother, 2) a proud Jamaican mother at that, she's told them he's a doctor. 'Jaysus ma!' I roared at her. 'I TOLD you we're not boyfriend and girlfriend!', to which she replied. 'Hmm, oh well...I've told everyone now!' Hilarious!

So he came back to London last night and things are still great. Since we met, I've either spoken with him or communicated with him in some way, pretty much every day, and time is going by quickly. The whole sweat thing was a one off and we try to out talk each other. We're alarmingly similar in some regards - confidence, ability to talk, interests, sense of humour, life values - but this also means that it makes for some interesting times as we're both very head strong. I'm a bit of a Selfish Single, which is what happens when you haven't been in a proper relationship for the best part of three years. I like things MY way!

He's away during the week putting in 70 hours as a doctor so at the moment, the weekends are when we spend time together, although when I get my act together, I'll go up to him when I can during the week as he's just over an hour away. We're finding out lots about each other and it's making for some rather entertaining conversations and loud exchanges. I'm so frickin territorial that when he put his iPod in my Logic3 speakers and played his music the first time, I'll admit that there was a minute or so when I felt ridiculously territorial. We share some musical tastes, but he started playing some guy called, oh I forget his name (something Buckley I think) and I told him to 'take that shite off as it sounds like music to slit your wrists to'. We've argued about Condaleeza Rice, and our big talking point is male and female interaction, which as you all know is my favourite topic of conversation. It's all good.

He has stayed over and this morning we had a heated exchange about the fact that he farted. Now, let's be real people, this is me we're talking about. I hate the fact that women probably treat toilets worse than men, I don't believe in having a poo at work unless you're desperate, and I'm just not good with smells. It was an absolute ripper soundwise and I was so shocked, I tried to suffocate myself with my own pillow. Naturally he had to get all philosophical about farting and started talking about toilets in hospitals and I nearly threw up with the shock as I think my imagination is too vivid. He's a football addict and whilst I'm brilliant at Pro Evo Soccer on PS2, I don't particularly like watching football but he won that one in the end and I tried not to sulk about missing part of Columbo....

So just to clarify peeps, I am happy, we're great, we're only seeing each other, but I'm not going to define anything and write it in the sand that we're boyfriend and girlfriend. It's good to let things be and get to know each other. He's not ambiguous, he's available, and he's as much of a pain in the arse as I am. It's all good.

Have fabulous weekends and thanks for all of the lovely well wishing emails! xx

Sentimental Boys and NML Madness

Can I just say – I had no idea that men were so bleedin' sentimental about Valentine's day. Maybe I missed something somewhere, but I always thought that men felt like it was their teeth being pulled out, or something was being rammed up their bums, but it seems that the species with a penis gives a shit. Or maybe it's just the men I know. The reminiscing over past loves, the mentioning that they were alone on Valentine's day. Merciful hour! In the Blogworld and real world, when men say things like this, women come running. I have seen some blogs where men say how lonely they are and how awful they were to their exes and women beat a path to their door. The difference between men and women is that when men get all maudlin and emotional and say that they're alone, they get offers of sex. When women get maudlin and emotional, we're sad Bridget Jone's types, with a 'Do Not Approach' sign flashing off us. Oh the joys of life!

I have been one busy little bee for the past few days and work is draining the life force out of me. Yesterday I had to go to both Milton Keynes and Watford and some of you may remember that I got the places mixed up a few weeks ago and missed my meeting. Well I had to see the same client again and I phoned up checking for directions and asked for the wrong person. 'Is that NML?' 'Er, yes' I replied hesitantly. 'Oh you're the one that ended up in the wrong place?! We had a right laugh in here!' Mortified beyond belief I said, 'Well do me a favour and don't seal my fate as a nutter by telling him I phoned up and asked for the wrong person!'

I spoke with Dot Dot Dot Man yesterday as I thought he may be around for lunch and I was in what felt like the countryside and he works around those parts sometimes. Unfortunately he wasn't around but we did have a catch up and a laugh. I thought things may be a bit weird after our whopper of a 'misunderstanding' (male term for cock up that's normally their fault), but we're fine. We haven't had enough of anything to have history be in the way of us remaining friends, plus we hardly see each other about anyway! I wouldn't pee on most of my exes/previous 'love' interests if they were on fire, so the fact that I can be cool with Dot Dot Dot Man says a lot!

I've got the MJ fever again and my beloved iPod has been pumping out his hits. I have however drawn the conclusion that he does a hell of a lot 'Hee Hee's and 'Woo hoo's and that some of the things he says doesn't actually make very much sense. Anyway I did my washing up to Beat It and Billie Jean and inadvertently found myself trying to do one of the moves from the Beat It video and stubbed my foot on the cupboards...

What do you do when your boss is saying stuff and other people are disagreeing for the hell of it? Punch the air and say 'Right on sistah!' just because it feels funny and makes us laugh rather loud.

I may be in the papers tomorrow and suddenly I feel rather nervous. I hope I actually look black (sometimes photographers just don't get it right with black people and could end up looking like MJ on crack) and I hope that my cleavage isn't showing as my ma will go ballistic saying stuff like 'What will the neighbours say?'

I have to go to a leaving do tonight and I bet they'll be playing lots of cheesy music, and I may be forced to moonwalk or do the running man….yay!

On a sadder note, I'd like to say rest in peace to Lynden David Hall who died of Hodgkins Lymphoma on Tuesday. He was only 31 years old and I still listen to his first album Medicine 4 My Pain. Some of you may remember him as the wedding singer in Love Actually. I saw him perform a couple of years ago as support for The Isley Brothers and he was brilliant.

Valentines Oh Valentines, What a Load of %$88%£$

Jaysus, do I sound like a cynical cow if I say that the gazillion couples that I have seen either walking around or sitting opposite each other in restaurants, prison waiting room style, made my hair want to poof up into one big 'fro? I thought it was kinda sweet and kinda contrived. Everyone is holding hands, fannying around looking for chocolates, flowers and other unoriginal gifts, and generally getting themselves in a tizz. Not on any one day of the year have I ever seen so many couples out in force, and despite the fact that I'm black, I really felt like a minority today. It is a bit weird though the way couples come out in force for a commercially driven Hallmark day when there are 365 days in the year when they could be showing their faces.

There was one moment when I thought, 'Hmmmm, I wonder what it would be like to be one of the 'in' crowd' as I watched a man standing on the Tube platform with a bunch of flowers pointing downwards, as if that hid the fact that he had succumbed to this Hallmark day. 'Somebody somewhere is going to be really pleased with themselves tonight' I thought and just as I felt a slight twinge of couple envy, he rammed his fingers up his bum crack with his free hand for a good 'ole scratch, THEN dug his nose, THEN gave a little 'adjustment' to his crotch. Couple envy over....these men make me heave!

I've never been big on Valentine's day as you all know by now, and this is even more compounded by the fact that four years ago, roundabout the time that I am typing this, I got engaged to my ex, or as some of you refer to him Mr Brown Suit. For anyone not in the know, he's called this because the last time I saw him, he was dressed in varying shades of brown from head to foot, looking like one big lump of poo. Black folk, man....he brought back all of my fears of the colour brown in one swift moment of shit dress sense.

Anyway enough about my ex, as I will feel compelled to leap up and start doing the ironing (I don't know why I have gone out with guys that are ironing kings) or I may have to get up and play with the blinds to make sure they are closed the wrong way (he was very anal retentive). God I am being bitchy!

Things are ticking along very nicely with the guy who is defying a name and I refuse to call him anything to do with doctor. We continue to speak each day and I'm looking forward to seeing him. He is away during the week at his new job which is about an hour or so away, and he's adjusting to it and realising just how demanding the whole thing is. I guess this will be something that we will both have to work around, and hopefully it will be OK. I will see him this weekend although we haven't figured out the where's and how's as he is super stressed with work and thinks he may have to work late on Friday.

We've been taking the piss out of each other about Valentine's and fortunately he has the same attitude towards it that I do. He made me laugh by telling me that despite being super stressed, he had been thinking about me, including the moment when he was giving an injection to a woman and thought that my arm was just like hers and the moment he was eating the Twix and he thought that my skin was the same caramel colour.

A couple of people commented on the issue that he had with his family last weekend and I refuse to use that as a reason to bin him off, because my family, no matter how much I love and adore them, are far from perfect. They are the best people in the world to have a laugh with, but I have had some difficult times and some of my exes have been far from understanding and very judgmental. The ex fiance in particular really judged me because I wasn't getting on with my mother at the time. Shit happens, we deal with it, and none of us can choose our families, although I wouldn't exchange mine for anything. If anything, it's something to be aware of.

Now as for the little thing that I have been a bit cloak and dagger about, I won't go overboard with details yet as I don't know exactly when it's coming out, but I'm going to be in a newspaper feature in the next week or so. I even had my photo taken for it - Naturally I managed to turn that into a right pallava when I told the photographer to be careful when he was taking my picture as I didn't want to look like either a black person with no features and just the whites of my eyes, or a white black person in a weird MJ moment. I had a right giggle with the photographer but he probably thinks I'm a fruitloop.

Check out my latest column on Baggage Reclaim if you have a moment....naturally with it being Valentine's, I continued on a little with my theme from today....

One of my clients phoned me this morning to cancel our meeting. 'I can't believe you're blowing me out on Valentine's day!' I wisecracked, pretending to sound really upset. Oh what fun there is to be had!

It's All Good

Every so often, I get a rather stark reminder that I'm not a 'youth' anymore, such as tonight where I'm struggling to stay awake and the new series of 24 is on, or last week when I panicked after watching the Baby Race programme and realised I am getting older. However, after a very funny dinner with my girls M & MB, where MB and I eyed up early twenties totty out the window and I had them nearly wetting themselves laughing over me telling my date about the sweat issue and my prior loss of temper, we walked outside to discover a gang of 'youths', all female and white, hurtling Jamaican stylee abuse at some boys.

Now for anyone in the know, Jamaican swearwords are extra coarse and naughty, and with the merging of cultures these days, I never fail to be amused by the sudden prolific use of Jamaican words in English culture. We stood their open mouthed as a girl roared at the poor bemused guy, 'Suck your mothers pum pum with a long straw!' to which her friend said, 'No, with a f'ng short straw!'. They all turned around to see three black women standing their shocked and open mouthed, to which one of them said, 'Don't mind us. We're high.' We all started to laugh nervously and when we got in the car, MB said in her posh English accent, 'Can you believe that they said that they should suck their mothers with a pum pum and a straw? What does that mean?' Jaysus, I nearly died laughing and on we had to explain to her that not only had she got it arseways round, but that 'pum pum' means vagina....

Naturally my date didn't quite go according to plan, when he rocked up almost two hours late. I had spoken to him at various different points during the two hours and it became quite clear that he was involved in a rather nasty row and altercation with his father and a few family members. Naturally when we first spoke I was royally f*cked off and in huffy tones I agreed to still see him. The family members yelling in the background left me very certain that he was telling the truth and when he arrived, he was very upset. He spent about twenty minutes explaining, apologising and swearing that he had planned to be early, not late.

To be honest, and this is going to sound like I'm taking the piss, and I swear I'm not, but it was difficult to stay annoyed and not be empathetic when it appears that his family are WAAAAAY more nutty and disfunctional than mine. It's like watching an episode of Eastenders and feeling slightly mollified that no matter what you say about your own life, it isn't as bad as that. He had to take a call from a family member and as I watched, I thought, 'Oooh, he's HOT!', then I quickly reminded myself that I was supposed to comforting not drooling.....

There were no odour issues last night, despite the fact that he didn't actually wear deodorant. Naturally I was pleased although I couldn't help but make a remark about the deodorant. So it seems that the dodgy odour occasion is actually down to wearing knitted sweat (the jumper). Naturally he thought that I smelt great in Victoria's Secret body lotion and spray. I'm good at subtle hints, eh?

We had a great, chilled time together talking (both of us equally) and watching Magnolia which I have attempted to watch about ten times, but never previously got to the end. He's still a little hyper but it is actually nerves and just getting used to me, and it's rather entertaining as it's like a power struggle as it seems that I'm rather bossy. I think it's because I've been single for almost three years and I like things MY way, so I have to adjust. He's so open and honest it's actually becoming quite funny, but at least people know where they are with him. It's good and I'll see him again next weekend.

And before anyone says anything about Valentine's day, I don't subscribe to that BS. I've had enough scratchy underwear, dodgy red roses, love cheques and furry handcuffs to last me a long time. I think the day is overrated and highly commercial and it's a mugs game, so you'll never find me getting my knickers in a know over it.

Ooh, and I have a little revelation coming up soon, but I'll leave you all hangin... hee hee!

I'm Exhaling (& Choking) With a Dose of Truth *&* I Have a Date

Sometimes there comes a point in your life when you have to exhale and just let things be. I had to exhale rather quickly when I choked on the toilet stench my colleague made on the train this morning (but didn't embrace and enjoy), but last night after a talk with the doctor guy, I did exhale and I'll see him on Saturday.

Last week as I wrote an article for Baggage about Miss Commitment-Phobe's, that niggling sensation that I've had for quite a while crystalised into the realisation that I do have some commitment issues. Last night as I chatted with the doctor (for F's sake why can't I think of a name?!), I realised what a pain in the arse I am. I can find more faults in a man than Simon Cowell can find in the worst singers, and I think I do it because I don't want to get close, even though I actually do. I don't think it's any coincidence that after years of going out with one chump after another and then breaking up with Mr Brown Suit (the ex-fiance) almost three years ago, I have gone from the girl who couldn't stop committing to the girl whose stopped committing.

He actually had the balls to point out that I give off mixed signals and that I'm a bit of a complex character who he genuinely fancies, but he's also not going to hop to it with my rules. Naturally I was outraged and thought that his little telling off was leading to him saying that he didn't want to see me again, so I was a right bitch and rather than cuss him, I just clammed up and my tone went rather cold and stand-offish. He told me that there was no need for me to be upset and that he was just being honest so that we could move on.

This is where you will all think I'm very naughty. 'Well if we're going to be doing the honest tip, I think I should deliver some home truths....'. Yes dear readers, you can see where this is headed. 'I know you have your views on deodorant and perspiring but....I don't do sweat. Some women may not mind and maybe I have an over-sensitive nose, but I like deodorant and I like sweet-smelling'. Cue tumbleweeds and my heart thudding in my chest. 'Are you telling me that I smell?' he said after the excrutiating silence. 'No, I'm telling you that I don't do sweat. If you wanna be with me, you need to do the deodorant thing.'

I tried not to laugh to myself as the last line reminds me of that song, 'Got to have a J.O.B if you wanna be with me...'

Anyway, he was totally fine about it and respects my view AND he will be wearing deodorant and aftershave (he has actually been wearing deodorant at work) when we have dinner and a chilled evening at mine on Saturday after his long week in his new job as a doctor. We discussed him talking way more than I do, and like many of you suggested, it's a nerves thing which is his barrier for stopping people from really getting to know him. He said he does start to talk less and that after a while, I'll be begging him to speak. He thinks we have a great connection (we do), a great attraction (we do) and that we should just go with the flow (I agree). I checked the Master List and he meets at least 80% of the criteria and we're being straight with each other.

Today was spent in the north of England with one of my favourite boys PDot from work. He's the one that's really bloody routine with going for a NO 2 with his newspaper and he has delayed me a few times with his toilet antics at meetings. Knowing that he goes for a poo at around 10am, I thought it would be quite funny to talk and talk and talk and talk, to see how long it would take for him to give in and tell me he needed to go with the paper. He actually made it to almost 11am but looked agonised as I stifled laughter! Unfortunately he had bubble guts today which meant that in a one hour period on the train, I saw him go once with the newspaper, then a leaflet, then the train timetable. We had to leg it off the train as we hadn't realised it was our stop, and as we belted it through the doors, I sucked in this woeful stench and thought I would throw up! Bloody PDot!

We got stuck waiting for a train back for almost two hours, so we sat in a country pub in the arse of nowhere, stuffing our faces and playing dominos. Naturally competitive, we talked in silly voices with him calling himself the Powermaster doing the Powerplay and I called myself the Powermistress. We were howling with laughter taking the piss out of each other and I beat him 5:4 and he almost wept. We legged it outside to wait for the train and I'm sure that all that could be heard for miles was 'Black people hate the f*cking cold! I'm DYING!'. When we got on the train, we sat down and decided to go to sleep. It would only happen to us that the woman in the four seater across from us was a total nutter and she was reading her book and 'tee hee heeing' out loud with this insane laugh. PDot was making faces at me which meant that everytime she 'tee hee hee'd', I let out choking giggles as I tried to hide my face and stop the laughter.

I'm off tomorrow, YAY!, which means I can catch up on blogs and chill out. I'm seriously bleedin' tired! I'm spending tomorrow night with M, and then I've got a date on Saturday. Have fabulous weekends xx

Mummies & Babies

So I decide to stay home yesterday as I felt rough as a badgers arse with the dodgy stomach from hell, and subjected myself to the rigours of daytime TV, and also had a joyous reunion with an episode of Columbo (Yay!) when I got a telephone call which had me then calling my ma to pass on a message. Now bad enough that I have a hideous case of the bubble guts and I'm afraid to eat anything, I also had to be subjected to an analysis of my job, my illness and my 'stress'.

Ma: Ooh, you know it's the job that's making you ill you know!
No shit Sherlock, I'm thinking to myself.
NML: Uh huh....
Ma: I mean what are you going to do with yourself? I'm sure that it's that job that's been aggravating your illness.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, couldn't my ma just take the message, and say mummy things that make you feel better when you're sick?
NML: Yep.
Ma: You didn't have to get a degree to do your job you know. Did you? I mean, you could have got this far without the degree. I'm just saying.
Maybe I should watch a DVD this evening.
NML: Yes ma.
Ma: You could be doing so much more with yourself instead of working in advertising. Don't you think you should be doing something better? I mean, remember that you've got your illness and you should be thinking of your future.
As if I haven't enough to be bothering me, I now need to add 'Shit job', to the list of things which already includes 'Stupid fucking illness', 'Erase bad taste in men', 'Buy a bloody flat now because that's what people your age do' and 'Hurry up and get a man before you end up an old maid and deny your mother grandchildren'.
NML: Uh-huh. OK, I have to go now. Bye!

When I got into bed last night there was a programme on Channel 4 called The Baby Race which follows a group of thirty-something women trying to fulfill their dream of having babies. I always put the TV on and time it to turn off after an hour, but I found myself unable to sleep as I listened to talk of adoption, IVF, artificial insemination and started to feel a little patter of fear.

I'm 28 but in a few years time, *I* could be one of those women! They used to be like me - Single, had a few boyfriends, decent job, hoping to meet the 'right' guy, thought they had plenty of time. It seems that we don't and when you get to mid-thirties, apparently you need to start racing.

Naturally within about ten minutes of arriving at work this morning, I announced to my poor boss that I had decided I was going to have a baby this year, something that seemed like the appropriate solution by the time I sat at my desk. 'You're not' he said. 'Yes I bloody am!' I said with my little hissy fit. 'Who with?' he asked. 'Er, I haven't quite got that far yet.....'

M and I had one of our usual catch ups and we ended up talking about the baby thing and comparing Jamaican mothers that just can't help but tell you irrelevant stories that all revolve around what it could only have been like if we had some kids. We were howling with laughter and I told her about how I thought I'd have a kid by the time I was 30. 'Sure you'll be 29 soon?' says M. 'OH F*CK! I'm less than 18 months away from 30. Where the f*ck has the time gone?' I demanded. 'I remember when I was 4! I remember when I was 15! How the hell did I get here?!'

And if ever there was a sign that I need to get a boyfriend, it's having a couple of dreams with my boss in them. There was nothing filthy but I think we had a snog. Either way, I was traumatised when I woke up. When I told M, she howled with laughter. 'It's a sign! I'm telling you! You need to get a boyfriend!'

I think I have gotten over the idea of having a baby this year. I know you can't plan for these things, but it helps if 1) you're getting some sex in the first place, and 2) you don't have a pathological fear of pushing something the size of a melon out of something the size of a lemon.....

Check out my column on women being bad to women on Baggage Reclaim.

Attention Seeking Boys

The hardest week of work ended with me opting to stay in on Friday night as I was absolutely exhausted. I have been frighteningly busy all week and I think I've overdone things as I still feel pretty woeful today and my 'disease' is playing up (notice me practicing saying 'disease' instead of 'illness'). My lack of time has meant that my date (name yet to be decided) whilst he did phone, text and email, probably wasn't given the best of my attention.

He wanted to go out last night but I had already made plans and whilst several of my friends whether it was for a date or a boyfriend would change plans, I won't at this stage of the proceedings. I do that now and I find myself heading down a slippery slope. I didn't make any plans on Friday and spent a blissful night in, but I couldn't have met up with him that night as he had already made plans. He did ask me to meet up with him after my other arrangement but it would have pushed it into the late zone. I think 'dates' should start around 8/8.30 at the latest. He was asking to meet from 9.30 onwards and I just wasn't feeling it. We've already spoken briefly today and I've said that we can go out next weekend.

Slight technical hitch which can be remedied with us going out on Friday instead: I may be going to one of the biggest singles nights next Saturday and even my boss is thinking of going! I think there are over 2000 singles attending - surely there will be totty and master list possibilities in TWO THOUSAND? This singles night is supposed to be the prelude to Valentine's (you know that overrated commercial event that brings out more crotchless knickers, red roses, scratchy underwear and furry handcuffs than I care to think about) but as far as I'm concerned it's a serious totty opportunity. And before anyone starts, I don't have a boyfriend so I will not be feeling guilty about going!

Last night I went out with B for dinner which then rolled into drinks in this rather 'hip' bar in Angel. As soon as we arrived, guys were winking, making faces and doing the various weird things that people do to get attention. We finally got a spot in this extremely crowded bar and did our best to ignore the attention seeking. We were chatting away when a guy came over and asked B if she was Welsh because she was wearing a red top. Given the answer 'No', he didn't take the hint and stuck around for a few minutes babbling about why we weren't Welsh, telling us that we were the best looking girls in the room but that we'd let ourselves down by not being Welsh, and then he asked me if I was Welsh and I just pretended I couldn't hear him anymore. He took the hint and went back to what appeared to be his girlfriend who had just returned from the toilet......

Now B is a Northerner from Newcastle which does invite a few jokes from the type of people that love to be crass. If anything is like a red rag to a bull, it's taking the piss out of her for it and I steer well clear of the subject. This guy starts chatting me up and to be honest, none of what he was saying made sense or was related and so I didn't say anything. He asked where we both lived, and B said Tooting. B is in the process of moving and to be honest, she hates Tooting. This guy says to me totally straight faced, 'Tooting and Newcastle are very similar'. B didn't hear him properly, but I felt uncontrollable laughter take me over and it actually took several attempts before I could repeat what he'd said. Let's just say, she gave him some choice words...whilst I nearly pissed myself laughing.

A guy standing behind me, tapped me on the shoulder and asked, 'Do you go to the gym?' to which I replied 'No'. 'Do you exercise?' he asks, to which I also replied 'No' as he and his friends gawped at me. 'Your body is amazing. Look at that body lads. Can you believe she doesn't do any exercise? Oh the shape...oh the...' and I turned back to B as the crass guy was still there and I didn't want to have to listen to all that dribble from a guy that looked like a white, wider version of my dad

As I hugged her, we got a few looks from the guys, which B failed to notice. 'Do you think we should pretend to be lesbians like?' was her suggested method of stopping strange guys from approaching. 'Yes B, because pretending to be lesbians is just the thing to stop men being interested in us.....'

I tuned out of some of the strange guys around me, but I couldn't fail to notice the group of four trying to get my attention by attempting to dance as if they were in a rap video and they were waving at me, one blew a kiss at me, and another did a weird thrusting movement. Suddenly the lesbian act seemed rather tempting...

Master List Part Deux, Some Commitment Issues and I'm Smuggling Peanuts

'Day 34 in the Big Brother house. The housemates have finally cracked under the pressure and have now turned on each other...' These were the words I uttered within a couple of minutes of arriving at work as we started yet another day of the most pressurised week that we have ever experienced. I work with some of the funniest people around, and despite the pressure, I have laughed so hard my body hurt, but today tempers started to crack and God knows what it will be like tomorrow. Thankfully it will be over by 5pm!

Have I mentioned that I've spent two days sitting with a lurid blow up doll? Fortunately she has now been dressed and her front and back holes have been blocked and covered, which apparently is to prevent any of the boys from sneaking back into the building at night and trying to have sex with her....

And onto the end of my Master List. Before I get any of the boys having a moan about the length, despite this being the second half, I'm not going to have a total list of 52!

27. Ideally no more than five years older and three years younger. I've done older (11, 10, 8, 7 years difference) and it just doesn't work for me. That's not to say it couldn't happen again but I don't need a father figure and unfortunately that's what older guys try to do with me. Much younger boyfriends don't do it for me either. Been there, done that, nearly throttled the boy.

28. Equal or above income. Relationships are hard and I just don't believe that men feel comfortable for an extended period of time when the woman earns more than him. This shouldn't be the case, but I have witnessed countless examples. I'm not looking for someone to finance me though!

29. Must be assertive/Big Balls (proverbially). I don't want to be the sole provider of ideas, excitement or conversation for that matter. He needs to be able to take control when necessary and should be able to put me straight when necessary. He should have initiative and shouldn't be afraid to assert himself and certainly shouldn't be afraid to tell me that I'm out of line on occasion. Mustn't be a wife beater though...

30. Respectful of my culture. If he's not black, he should respect my culture and be adaptable like I would have to be. Fortunately I don't have strict traditions but when I have been in 'interracial relationships', there have been issues. If he's black, he shouldn't be trying to test my 'blackness'. And weird as this may sound, I don't want to be with a black guy that can't seem to get over the fact that I'm a paler shade of black because I'm part Chinese.

31. Sharing. Many people think that they're making a commitment even though they struggle to actually share themselves or aspects of their lives. I need someone who wants to share in my life, and I in his.

32. Mustn't be cricket/general sport obsessed. I spent my allotted time with my father on many a cricket pitch and somehow later on in life, I found myself engaged to an ex-professional cricketer (ooh what would an armchair psychologist say!?!). Whatever the sport, I'm delighted that a guy has a passion but I don't want someone who can't keep it balanced. A guy wouldn't like it if I blogged all the time....

The Ideal Man™™ does not have to fill all 32 of these but he should fill at least 80% depending on which one's he has or doesn't have. Some may think I'm harsh with some of this list, but I'm being honest and real and I don't really see why I should compromise on what are many basic things that a decent guy that aspires to be the best that he can be will be doing anyway. My problem in the past is that I've been all too willing to compromise on the things that are important to me whilst the guy doesn't do any compromising. Letting go of 'values' or a perceived notion of what the ideal guy should be like hasn't brought me a wealth of great boyfriends and has in fact opened the floodgates for chumps.

Naturally there is a slight monkey wrench in the works, because I'm NML and it's what I do. I say I would like to have a boyfriend and honestly I do, and I've now put together the Master List, but I have discovered through writing an article on Baggage Reclaim (it's been in the back of my mind for ages though) that I think I may have a few commitment issues....Ooops! Looks like I have some work to do....

Fortunately I suspected that my penchant for chumps and unavailable men had something to do with a secret fear of heartbreak and commitment, because, well I guess I may have got some dubious ideas about this love game as a child/teenager. Apparently I had my heart broken for the first time when I was two by my dad when my parents split (thankfully I don't remember it as such but apparently I was bereft and grieving). Fortunately I recognise a lot of things and I'm changing and working on it.

Now I must point out that is so fricking cold in London right now, I look like I'm smuggling peanuts constantly. That's hard nipples for anyone not in the know! I'm wearing this lovely white virginal nightdress (a girl can only dream...) which is strappy and great for the bust, but then I've gone and ruined the look with a chunky cream cardigan, Gap Kids three quarter length track bottoms and what I refer to as my Ronald MacDonald slipper socks (stripy hot pink, baby pink, orange and blue) from M&S kids department. Hope I haven't shattered any images you may have of me...it's bleedin' cold!