Sliding into my DMs like…

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Being a woman who has frolicked on the internet for an undisclosed number of years now, I have seen many a case of what the cool kids call “sliding into your DMs”.

For those not down with the lingo, this has nothing to do with pulling on a comfy pair of Doc Martens – but roughly translates as “someone randomly direct messaging you in the hope of getting into more than just your inbox.”

Personally, I’ve had a lot of these across my social media accounts and I’m not deluded enough to think it’s because men see my twitter or Facebook page and decide I’m an alluring enchantress. I would put money on almost all women who spend a fair amount of time on social media having received an unsolicited private message from a complete stranger at some point. A lot of men too. And about half the messages received are probably not even from real people but so-called ‘bots’ created in cyber space and sent out in their droves to steal your identity, or money, or soul.

Here’s a selection of  DMs I’ve actually received over the past couple of years:

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A story about a girl called Amy May

NB. The below was originally written in March 2016 for the The Listserve. Just wanted to also record it here, as future posts may refer to Amy and the Amy May Trust.

I’m going to tell you a story, about a young woman named Amy May.

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You won’t understand how important it is that you read her story, unless you actually read it. But it’s a story that desperately needs to be known.

This is what happened.

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Is this thing still on?

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Well, it’s been a while. Four and a half years, to be exact.

When I first started this blog, I was fresh out of university, working my first ever journalism job in Derbyshire and writing under the pseudonym notontheguestlist. And things have changed a bit since then, as you’d expect them to over a decade.

A decade. Blimey.

So, I’m now a 30-something (who just about makes the dreaded Millennial bracket) living in London and working in television and have somehow today found myself tinkering with my WordPress account, changing the look of this blog and deciding to attempt to breathe some new life into it.

So why have I decided to come back after a five year silence, this time without the anonymity and at a time when everything anyone says online is more open to scrutiny and criticism than ever?

Well, first of all, it’s not as though I’m Logan Paul. Thank god. And I like making people laugh, which is something I’ve been told I used to achieve here. Plus, it’s become apparent over the last few years that I have a thick skin when it comes to the internet – which is lucky because I’m rather prone to making a bit of a tit of myself on it.

Let me give you just a couple of examples.

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Did things get really crap, or did I just get old?

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I had a rather epic gym session this morning. And I’m not talking about the usual brand of epic. In case you’re wondering what that is, it basically involves:

a) Making it through the door (doesn’t matter how little exercise I do once there, you definitely lose weight just from “going” to the gym, right?)

b) And staying for more than 20 minutes without:

i) falling off treadmill

ii) having internal meltdown at sight of lycra-clad 100 pound nymphettes

Continue reading “Did things get really crap, or did I just get old?”

Being a girl is hard

Call me Captain Obvious, but I really have only recently realised that being a girl is bloody hard work.

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I’m not even referring to anything to do with periods, childbirth, body image or wage inequality. Na. Forget all the bleeding and hormones and cushiony bits of our bodies and the fact that we still live in a world where a female CEO gives us an involuntary jab of the warm and fuzzies because one of our kind has been ‘given a chance’.

Actually, my issue with being a girl is trying to bloody look like one.

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“It’s ok, I’m on holiday!”

This morning I woke up, padded to the kitchen and put the kettle on for my morning cup of tea.  Nothing very unusual there, compared to the average morning.

Except, I then ate a … I’m not quite sure what it was, actually. All I know it was made out of pastry, sugar, chocolate and deliciousness. A big yard of sickly, chocolatey deliciousness. And it was so good I promptly put another in the microwave and gobbled up its molten, toxic stickiness. Then an hour later I snarfed down a few handfuls of Cheetos. Then later I lunched on a large, rubbery hotdog in white French bread followed by more bread covered in pate. Then more Cheetos. And now I’m writing this, drinking a beer, feeling bloated and thinking about starting on some chocolate.

Now I promise, this is a bit unusual for me, because I do try (and there is a lot of emphasis on the word try) to eat healthily. I generally snack on fruit, eat salads for lunch and eat bread, pasta and other carbs as little as I can. I also usually like my food fresh and containing vegetables.

So why the sudden overdose of crap today? Well, I am on the third day of Being On Holiday. And, although I don’t usually look as fit as the girl on the left of the picture above,  I am starting to feel like I vaguely resemble the ladies on the right.

Continue reading ““It’s ok, I’m on holiday!””