The hedonistic puppet.

There was once a little blonde puppet dressed in purple. She had little purple clogs, a glittery purple dress and even purple eyeshadow to match her purple eyes and dainty little mouth.
If a fairy had appeared from nowhere and turned her into a real girl, then she would have been considered someone who was a people pleaser, someone with low self esteem, a worrier perhaps prone to anxiety and depression. As a real girl she may have sought herself help from a cognitive behavioural therapist.
But as it is, she is a dancing puppet with a penchant for purple clothes and glitter.
She often goes on dates with boy puppets (alas, she has not yet found her Pinocchio), and on these dates she truly sparkles. She is witty, sexy, interesting, full of big smiles and giggles. The boy puppets generally always ask her out again. But as she smiles, inside she feels rather, well, wooden. Her heart has not yet come into play and without any real emotion to fuel it, her sparkle is splintering. It is too bright, too needy. And she is becoming so very very tired with her 'oh please like me, please like me!' dance.
She doesn't only do this dance for the boy puppets. Day in, day out, she performs this dance for anyone who shows a smidgen of interest. Everyone she speaks to. She whirls and twirls on her strings, her expensive glitter swirling around for anyone who might look. She is full of smiles and positivity. She lives a whirlwind of hedonism to make those around her smile. To entertain them with her stories and parties. Without it all she worries everyone will see her for what she is, just a plain wooden puppet.
After another day of whirling and twirling in ernest, desperate for love, attention and belonging. Our lovely purple puppet droops to the ground, her eyes virtually closed, she is caged by self loathing and the need to please others. Yet again her dance has drained her and still she has not recieved the love and appreciation she so craves.
That night, her dreams were visited by a kindly looking fairy dressed all in green.
"Are you going to turn me into a real girl?" asks the puppet.
The fairy shakes her head and instead puts a rather ugly, bony hand on her head. Her kindly face morphs into something far more sinister. She tugs at our puppets hair until tears spring into her large purple eyes.
"If you want to be free, you have to cut your own strings" hisses the fairy before she dissolves into dust.
Although it's agonizing, our brave little puppet pulls down each string and rips at them with her teeth. It feels like it takes hours, all night in fact. As she rips apart one string another seems to appear. But she continues, silently sobbing through the pain, ripping the strings away.
The next morning she wakes with an odd feeling. She is no longer wooden! She has flesh, skin and bone. No longer does she feel self conscious, desperate for others love and desire. Instead of sparkling with need, our purple puppet shimmers with self assurance and worth. She doesn't even feel the need for the purple eyeshadow.
With this new found self love and respect, she is free from pandering to the demands of others. She finds everyone is looking at her differently. Contrary to her expectations, they are looking at her with real admiration, real respect, they really like her.
Finally, our puppet's heart comes into play.

A Gentleman Caller.

For the past few months Miss Mayer has been entertaining a Gentleman Caller.
He's tall, attractive, works out and looks after his health. He's actually a bit blonder than you would expect... perhaps a little gingery? He definitely has a bit of a beard. A man like that always gives Miss Mayer terrible stubble rash but she secretly quite enjoys it, even though it can make her face very sore. Sometimes he wears glasses, but not always.
He's a bit retro in his ways and this is marked by the fact that he likes to wear a hat. Men nowadays never seem to wear hats, it's a real travesty.
The Gentleman Caller has a lovely voice. His accent can often change, sometimes he's northern, sometimes Welsh, sometimes a posh southern boy. A couple of times he has been a bit of an Essex boy. But one thing never changes, Miss Mayer loves listening to him and every intelligent, interesting, sometimes slightly geeky thing he has to say.
He takes the mickey out of her a lot but it's clear he adores her and her ditzyness. He adores the fact she can't put up a tent to save her life or even with a google map in her hand, will still end up going the wrong way. It means that he can sometimes look after her a little bit. Put her to bed when she's had too much to drink and is gabbling away about some rubbish.
I could go on and on about the thoughtful, romantic gestures that the Gentleman Caller could give. But that's not his way and it's not even really what Miss Mayer wants. Flowers on special occasions are nice, he knows that and does his best. But really he just loves being with her, doing things together. He loves it when she bakes for him, he loves it when they lie in bed and read together.  
He's a very decent, reliable and kind man who puts Miss Mayer first. She's more important to him than beer and the boys but only just! And he knows she needs her space to go out with the girls or even just be alone sometimes.
His sense of humour is pretty daft and silly. He's also creative, confident in himself and imaginative. Miss Mayer is always impressed by the fact that he seems to think quite differently to other people, he thinks like her.
He isn't too moody and is quite laid back but this doesn't stop him from being ambitious and passionate.
Although he is a massive softy, he's still a typical bloke. He still watches gory action films, the odd bit of football and/or rugby and is a bit obsessed by breasts and sex.
Despite fulfilling her checklist of 'perfect man wants' the most important thing about Gentleman Caller is that he loves Miss Mayer and would do anything for her. Oh and he thinks she's damn hot stuff. He tells her of these things sometimes, but often he doesn't need to. She can tell by the way he acts.

Yes, the Gentleman Caller really is the perfect man. What a shame he is a mere figment of Miss Mayer's imagination and lives only as the shirt of one of her former boyfriends (we'll call him 'A') and the tie of another former boyfriend, 'B', and a man's trilby she found in a shop in York and thought would rather suit her, all hanging on her clothing rack.

Last week Miss Mayer had an epiphany. She realised she could never move on with her life if she held on to the past, and to an idealised notion of what the perfect man would or could be. She decided that the two former boyfriends would not miss their tie and shirt, considering she'd had them both for a very long time and neither had come back to reclaim them. So she took the tie and the shirt and threw them in the bin.

The inability to stop daydreaming.

A few weeks back I wrote a post about giving up daydreaming. So I thought I would write a little update on how I'm doing with the, well, you know, not daydreaming...

It can't be done.

Seriously, it's totally impossible. 

Although, I've not been daydreaming at work and getting to bed on time a lot more and making it to the gym earlier, all of which are positives. But you can't change the habits of a lifetime in just a few weeks and Ryan Reynolds is too strong a pull to resist for 20 minutes at 6.10pm on the tube. 

I chatted with a friend about this (the inability to stop daydreaming that is, not Ryan Reynolds centered fantasies) and as I've never been one to sleep well she suggested that perhaps daydreaming is the way my brain rests. 

That and it really does cheer me up after a stressful day. 

Thus, I shall reach a compromise. I shall accept that daydreaming is just part of who I am and this will never change but I will try very hard to not daydream in the below situations:

1) At work

2) When I should be down the gym (perfectly fine to daydream while I'm at the gym, helps the time go by in a much more pleasurable manner)

3) When visiting my parents (they deserve my full attention!)

4) When out and chatting to friends (as above)

5) When I'm on a date and meant to be focusing on what the man is saying (insensitive to be daydreaming about Mr Reynolds or Mr Depp at this point really) 

6) When I should be going to bed

7) When I should be having a post run shower (I know, I'm disgusting)

8) When I should be cleaning the kitchen/bathroom/sweeping the living room floor

9) When I'm already running late to meet someone and shouldn't really be making myself later... 

Oooh, Johnny and Ryan, without shirts but with chocolate brownies that don't make you fat. 

Whoops. What can I say, the place in my head is just a nicer place to be.

Giving up my largest vice.

When I was younger I did one of those quizzes in a magazine that determines what kind of personality you are. Obviously such quizzes are often a load of generalised rubbish but this one got me spot on. It said I was one of life's dreamers. Always got my head in the clouds in a world of fantasy.
I live in a little fantasy world a lot more than I live in reality. (N.B I am able to tell the difference between my little fantasy world and reality - I don't have a personality disorder, I assure you all!). I can't even begin to imagine the hours upon hours upon hours of my life I have spent day dreaming. It's my greatest pursuit, my largest vice.
My very vivid and extensive imagination does have some plus points. I can write a silly story at the drop of a hat, I think very creatively at work, I'm more fun to be around as I have a very particular silly outlook on the world. Also, it's a great survival technique, something that keeps me cheerful. If I'm having a crap day I can just day dream about shoes and/or sex for a while and then I feel much better.
However, constant day dreaming has many negatives. A sheer lack of productivity is certainly one of the worst aspects of being a daydreamer. For example, it can be super busy at work, I'm working really hard and then Ryan Reynolds sans shirt chained to the floor a'la that famous scene in Blade pops in my head. Next thing I know, an hour has passed... in reality I have done little more than stare at a spreadsheet but in my fantasy world Ryan and I have met, fallen madly in love, married and he re-enacts that scene for my personal pleasure on a daily basis. Or, I've just got home from a really good night out with my girl mates. I should be going to bed and getting some sleep but I put some music on, lay on my bed and imagine all the amazing holidays and shopping trips me and my girlie mates could go on if I won a million quid on the lottery. Next thing I know, it's nearly two in the morning and I need to be up at 7am. I have lost many a weekend dancing round my house to music and imagining I'm a world famous jazz singer. I read an article recently that people tweeting all the time means they are now easily distracted from life's tasks. I never needed twitter to be distracted - my little fantasy land always did that for me.
Although my daydreaming has made me quite ambitious, as I'm always dreaming about the next big step, the next big thing. I worry that this means I will never be happy or content with my lot. I mean, it's hardly as if my daydreams are rooted in any achievable reality. I don't buy lottery tickets so it's pretty much impossible for me to win, I'm never going to become a world famous jazz singer due to the fact that I suffer from stage fright and it's not as if Ryan Reynolds lives down the road (sad times that). Constant day dreaming means that sometimes I don't appreciate the great things I have achieved and the amazingness of reality!
So, for one week, I have decided to instill some discipline to my head and give up day dreaming. I know this will not be easy. I gave up chewing pens just by putting nail biting solution on them but, as a former colleague pointed out to me, there is no nail biting solution for the brain.
Here are my rules for this week:
1) No music unless I'm doing something. I.e. right now, I have some music on but I'm writing so that's ok. But laying on my bed and putting music on is a no no. It's a sure fire way to day dream and no sleep at all land.
2) I shall have a daydream allowance. Twice a day I walk about twenty minutes to and from work. I have to make this walk so here is where I am allowed to let my brain go mental and have a good day dream to get it out of my system.
3) Instead of listening to my Ipod and daydreaming on the tube I will always read my book no matter how crowded it is. I shall read when I'm waiting for the tube as well.
4) If I start to daydream I shall stop and do something productive.
5) Every day I shall appreciate all the good things about my reality.

Dr Robotham and the 'evil' Roasted Penguin.

There was once a world where mice drove tube trains. The mice bloody loved it and you could hear them squeaking with delight through the trains PA system.
In this world, plays at the theatre would consist of women laughing and little else. And women in general were ruled by the pendants on their necklaces. As little girls, who had not yet been chained by the pendants desires for beauty and love, they would run amok in the fields filled with contentment and happiness.
When each girl hit 13, their fathers would construct a pendant that characterised what he wanted his little girl to be in life. Often, the fathers were kind and gave their daughters pendants of birds so they could continue to be free, although of course, still tempered by the need to be graceful. The girls who were given heart pendants were the worst off, for all they desired in life was the good love of a man, not an easy thing to find at any stretch.
For the daughter of Dr Robotham, there was only one thing her father felt able to give her... a robot pendant that he had named 'Mini Dr Robotham.' He hoped Mini Dr Robotham would guide his daughter through life without the shackles of love and vanity.
She despised Mini Dr Robotham all through school. While her friends had pendants of flowers, hearts, birds and keys (keys to the heart, get it?) she had a clunky robot with diamonds for eyes. But Mini Dr Robotham forced her to study hard, to be clever and disciplined. By just 16 she had already achieved great things.
By 26, she was a celebrated scientist, forging the way in the treatment of cancer. All day, every day, Mini Dr Robotham pushed her on, worked her harder, forced to strive for great breakthroughs.
It was then that she met a man. A fellow scientist who went by the name 'Roasted Penguin.' So called because when he was very angry or very excited about something, he would go red in the face and hop from side to side, like a penguin who had been shoved into a hot oven. Despite this unflattering characteristic, he was exceptionally good looking, kind hearted and in love with, well, Dr Robotham (because that is what she was now, although we'll call her Jennifer, to avoid confusion).
Of course, her miniature hated him and thought him evil. If his protégée was to sense Roasted Penguin's feelings it would stray her from the wrong path! She would forget all about order, good sense and discovery and her life would slide into daydreaming and gooey lovey doveyness (ick). These two traits were not productive! He had to keep her on the right path. Save her from the fates of other women who mooned and cried over men all day and made no real achievements in life.
Whenever Roasted Penguin smiled at Jennifer or helped out with some small deed in order to win her affections, Mini Dr Robotham's diamond eyes would blaze and cause Jennifer a small pain in her chest. He hoped this aversion therapy would put her right off the whole concept of 'love.'
Unfortunately for Mini Dr Robotham, Jennifer assumed the pains were pangs of longing for Roasted Penguin and a desire to no longer be lonely with just her work. For Mini Dr Robotham was merely a little robot and didn't understand the human need to be loved. Despite his best intentions and his attempts to keep them apart, Jennifer returned Roasted Penguin's feelings.
Happily, despite his concerns that their love would lead to a lack of productivity and sentimentality on the part of Jennifer, he was wrong. He had trained her too well to love like that.
And the old adage that two brains are better than one was certainly true here. On her own, Jennifer was a very clever woman, but with Roasted Penguin by her side, she was pure genius.

N.B. There is a man out there who actually goes by the name: 'Roasted Penguin.' I barely know this man and this story has nothing to do with him. I just really liked the name.
Similarly, there is a real person out there who goes by the name 'Dr Robotham.' This is a man I do not know at all and again, this story has nothing to do with him. I just really liked the name.

For Dan, Hannah and Oscar... for they are the only three who might get this.

Upon once a time there was a lady. She was a great beauty with dark hair and cat like eyes. But more than this, she had charm and depth and a frivolity that was impossible to resist.
On this particular evening, she was flanked by two gentlemen, two gentlemen who were entirely different but entirely the same. (I believe in modern terms, this is considered a bromance.)
First of her gentleman guards there was Oliver. A tall, blond and handsome man who often did push ups behind red velvet sofas (apparently the motion wakes him up, very odd indeed) and secondly there was Daniel, a gentleman of Indian decent who was a master of the piano and an all round 'laugh.'
The three tonight had to look after a ginger creature named Shelley. She drank and talked a lot but her jokes were often amusing, so she was easy to tolerate.
On this particular evening, after an hour or so in what is often known as an 'old man's pub' on Long Acre, this lady and her posse found themselves in an enchanted cave. The cave was decorated with many dancing men, men dressed in fine materials, green sequins, gold silks, purple sashes and silvery pointed shoes. Some men were more than dancing, they were doing difficult yoga positions or swinging on swings. It was quite the sight to behold.
After a glorious meal of stewed meat and pumpkin, lentils and yogurt (generally left for its boringness), the lady felt she should take her posse to Hospital.
Oh I don't mean a hospital with doctors, no one was ill you see. I mean a hospital of the soul... A bar that serves cocktails containing egg whites for a mere nine pounds and sofas covered in faux animal skin. What more could the human condition ask for?!
It is here that the story becomes a muddy affair... the cocktails were of the very strong variety and so the night became blurry... fun, but blurry indeed with conversation and far too comfortable sofas for a trendy bar.
This is where our tale moves to the ginger creature. You see, our fine lady did not overdo her drink and elegantly and easily found herself a bus back to Kensington where she resides. However, the next thing Shelley knew was sitting on an overcrowded night bus back to East London sans posse, pondering why the girl with the shaved head next to her was crying and why the could-be-gay-but-no-one-is-100%-sure man opposite her was rubbing her shoulder and telling her that 'Dave' needed to grow up, that although he loved her he couldn't deal with how special this shaved headed lady is and so had legged it.
And so it is four in the morning and the ginger creature with the terribly amusing jokes and over convoluted vocabulary is tapping away at her lap top trying to tell the tale of her typical Saturday night in London...
In short, when it comes to London ladies and gents, Shelley has one thing to say: Oh baby, it must be love.

New Years Resolutions. N.B. this isn't fiction.

It's that time of year again!
Yesterday out of interest I had a look at my resolutions for last year. Then, I had a good think about how much I have achieved.
Resolutions 1 & 2) Pay off overdraft, improve finances and approach to money.
I have completely paid off my overdraft and, wait for it, wait for it... have savings to the tune of £800! I have very much changed the way I approach money. In fact yesterday, I was in a shop and there was a lovely pair of red peeptoes on sale for £30 and a similarly lovely pair of nude peeptoes for £35. I walked out of the shop without buying either, reasoning with myself that I already owned three red pairs of shoes and a nude pair I never wore enough anyway.
Resolution 3) Improve my punctuation.
I'm sure it will never be my strongest point, but in the summer this year, I did have a meeting with my previous boss and he said he felt my punctuation was much improved. Hurrah hurrah hurrah.
Resolution 4) Get back to a healthier way of living.
I will go to the gym after work and then not have any sweets at the cinema. I will, I will, I will!
Resolution 5) Start being more crafty and making my own clothes, chutney and jam.
Errrrm, what?!
Resolution 6) Get better at web design.
Marginally improved. I think my site does look prettier. Probably can't be bothered to make it any better. 

And then we go to that sneaky bit at the bottom about about being a dignified lady and handling the menfolk better... well, it's safe to say that the money issue is where I have really excelled this year!

And so to my resolutions for 2011. Every year I make resolutions about money and health and to be honest, I will always try to improve myself in this way New Years Resolution or not, so for 2011 I have decided to take a different course:

1) Stop putting so much pressure on myself because I always do my very best anyway.
2) Like and accept myself for who and what I am, because I do quite well and am quite nice really.
3) Show more kindness to others, especially the homeless.
4) Stop getting into debates with people. It only gets you feeling wound up and upset.