A wife is for life, and not just for christmas- or other periods of time where extra body heat would be considered as useful.

http://www.afterdarknetwork.co.uk/component/content/article/34-featired-articles/663-a-wifey-is-for-life-not-just-christmas

Check me out, all cool and on another website and stuff. Yeaahh.

Uuhhhmmmmm yeeaaaahhhhhhhh....

1- We live in a world, so saturated by negative media as well as real life villains, that I have totally convinced myself that the lollipop man who works outside my nieces school is a paedophile.

2- My friend Rhian has a terrible problem with punctuality's which is causing me to consider anti-depressants.

3- Love is not a second hand emotion, it's not an emotion full stop. It just doesn't exist. Lust, oh yes, wonderful, momentary, all consuming lust, is what we misunderstand as love. Relationships thrive on the need for companionship, the fear of being alone, and generally fitting in with social stereotypes. Everyday, I am faced with evidence which totally agrees with my theory, so SAY NUFFIN'.

4- In my last therapy session, my therapist and I run out of things to say, and filled in the awkward silence by responding to each other with 'hhmmmss', one after the other, for nearly a whole minute, until we both fell about laughing- this must mean I'm normal again.

5- People are weird, and hard to please.

6- My niece and nephew are fucking amazing.

7- I would like to marry Stephen Fry.

8- Earl Grey tea is the best.

9- Mulberry's new Ava collection is second best.

10- I-CAN'T-WAIT-FOR-FRIDGE-TO-RE-OPEN

(an afterthought...)

11- If I have to walk past his block again, I will actually scream.

12- Fridge was LIVE, definitely worth being toasted in with champagne, also worth missing a weekend in Paris (yeeaahh, you read right.)

13- I hate twitter. (Follow me www.twitter.com/cleopatracastro)

SOUL DESTRUCTION

Upon the instruction of my father I have made an appointment at The Job Centre, it warrants capitals, like Prison or Hell. Papa wants me to claim Job Seekers Allowance, which works out at under £50 a week. I have just graduated from University with a mediocre degree, the call of lunches, dinners, and parties, seemed greater than that of lectures. The current economic climate teamed with said mediocre degree means that, if I want A CAREER, rather than a job, then months of unpaid work and shameless grovelling must ensue before I get ANYWHERE.

The Job Centre is grey. Much like the attitudes of the workers. The carpets are grey, the tables are grey, the seats are grey, the sofa's are grey, grey, grey, grey. It is a very grey affair. The only other visible colour are little flashes of blue, as though mirroring the moods of the 'job seekers'.

I am greeted at the door by a little man that looks so much like a mole in glasses I have to physically hold my breath and think about famine and the latest Shia law to stop myself from laughing. Mole man shows me to a desk, behind it sits the fattest man I've ever seen, who looks like a walrus in a very tight shirt. I reason that I'm actually at the zoo and get on with it.

Walrus man drones on, talking fast, and accepting my silence as acknowledgment- years of listening to Twista didn't prepare me for this man-marine-mammal and his maniacal speaking speed. He takes some photocopies of my passport, letters from the student loans company and a couple of bank statements, he then gives me a booklet and asks me to read and sign (every page), which I do while he attempts to make a few jokes, which I mostly ignore, until I look up at him and realise that it really isn't often that an animal tells me knock knock jokes, so I should appreciate it while it lasts.

The little mole man scuttles forward and asks me to go and sit in another section and wait for part two- he then frowns at his colleague as though he often tries to move to benefit claiming ladies with his wide repertoire of shit jokes.

So I find a seat, nobody to my left and nobody to my right- for about a second. A man slopes over who is clearly not seeking a job and is in actual fact seeking shelter, he attempts to suck up the warmth coming from my body and then sits, stares, and promptly falls asleep. The seat to my left is then taken by a man, who sits tapping his feet, tapping his fingers, and potentially tapping his veins ready for his next fix.

There is something so sad about this place, whether it be just this job centre, or all of them I couldn't say. Hopelessness hangs in the air, like Christmas decorations, still adorning your front room in May. By this point I am stressed as hell, I have a physio appointment at 1.30pm, at a hospital which is 4o minutes away from my current location. Its 12.20pm, and I am about to turn into one of the job centre mass who shout about waiting lines, and wastes of time, whilst highlighting the fact that they have very busy lives, and can't hang around here all day- obviously when they get seated to sign on one reverts back to 'yes, yes, free all day everyday, of course I tell potential employers this.'

The closest desk to my current seat has a man sitting behind it, who GENUINELY looks like a leopard but if I touch anymore on the animal thing I think you might stop reading this, so I'll leave it there. He is talking to a woman, who is presentable, well spoken and definitely ten years older than him. He is speaking to her in an angry and condescending tone, apparently she hasn't signed up to the NVQ course he had most recently advised her about. His tone is harsh, way harsh actually, and I assume he realised this because he suddenly switched it to intensive flirtation. I was shocked at the change, the woman on the other hand took it in her stride. I felt embarrassed being sat so close to them, but I then realised her giggles would have been heard from a bus stop in Peckham, so I needn't worry.

I look around and everyone looks sad, and I wonder why, at it's most basic level JSA is free money. On a deeper level though, it is admitting that you are unemployed, you can't get a job, you are in a 'desperate' situation, you are one of these benefit claiming state thieves who The Sun writes about so regularly, with the disdain I can imagine the Queen Mother would show at the idea of being taken to Bagel King for dinner. If I was a conspiracy theorist, (which I'm not, not really anyway, way-too-lazy) I'd say that, in order to keep one in their rightful place, jobless, living on benefits and never amounting to much more than that then job centre is the perfect place to send them. It's set out as something you almost should be ashamed of, the staff don't celebrate the skills of the job seekers, don't go over cv's, don't give you goals, or hope or anything other than £50 a week actually. To continue to claim you have to go back every two weeks and prove that you have done three things in the last fortnight to aid getting a job. THREE FUCKING THINGS. If you only do six things a month to aid you getting work, you definitely don't want a job.

Aside from my inner musings, there is a man at the desk to my right. He is wearing a suit, and carrying a briefcase. He is probably about thirty, and he talks excitedly, hopefully, desperately- the suit stands as a visual confirmation that he WANTS THIS. The man behind the desk, who looks like Ronnie's baby father on Eastenders, and doesn't look like an animal (hooray!!...Zoo keeper perhaps?) is suggesting he claim JSA, while he's looking for work- I don't want it, he says, I just want help to find another job. I nearly die on the spot. I love him. Lol.

I have to leave, its all taking too long, and the physio charges if you don't turn up- I tell mole man I'll be back tomorrow morning at 9am.

So its, tomorrow, well today, but tomorrow, if you're reading about yesterday- its 9am- I'm at the door, trying to navigate my way in to the office, but am being stopped at the door by the 'meet and greet' guy, who I originally mistook as jovial, turns out, after fifteen minute's observation, he's just a bit crazy (In this fifteen minutes he's asked to look at my blackberry and iPod three times, each time being carted away by someone with an apologetic look on their face).

I'm sitting, waiting, I've been here an hour, seems they are doing some staff training this morning so the wait will be longer than yesterday's- I don't mind though, I came prepared- today, I came dressed in grey.

I can't sleep. I think I have a very mild addiction to sleeping pills because when I don't take them I toss and turn endlessly. Tonight is one of those nights, although my mind is more restless than my body. 

I'm not sure whether it's the endless hours spent in therapy, discussing every single relationship I have ever had in embarrassing detail or The Sex & The City marathon I'm going through at the moment, induced by my latest fashion faux pas, a leg cast, set in place to heal my broken ankle (stiletto's, champagne and Stephanie- lets so not go there.) but for some reason I am obsessed by the idea of relationships. 

I'm 23, I'm single- apparently I'm a mess. 

This raises a few questions in my mind- like the age old 'why is a single woman a mess, but a single man having the time of his life?'. 

Why am I, an intelligent, articulate and beautiful young lady, validated by my relationship status?

Why does an unwillingness to settle for just any man put us women into a bad light? 

I try to be independent, and I try even harder to be happy with this independence- but I'm made to question how genuine my happiness is every day. My mother, my friends, both girls and boys put it on me at any given opportunity, and then there are old friends, who we only see sporadically, but who's opening question is always the same- 'How's your love life darling?'.

I say fine, and it is, but when I explain that fine for me means 'single and fabulous', they look at me with so much pity and belittling understanding that I could take off one of my fabulous shoes and hit them with it. (Shoes that I bought myself by the way...) 

I am cautious, and so I should be- how many of my friends in relationship bliss actually ever feel that blissful? Why hasn't he called? Why doesn't he like this dress? Why haven't we had sex in two months? Why, why, why?

Personally I couldn't care less why, and that is because the only person I need worry about is me. 

I don't claim it to be a bed of roses, God knows that life with a broken ankle would be less excruciatingly boring if I had a significant other- but if the only time I want a boyfriend is when I've broken a bone then I think I'm pretty much out of it. 

Ciao! x

He opens the champagne, pours it into two glasses, previously chilled. 

I sit nervous, tapping my foot, surveying a relationship I thought had been killed.

Wondering what subject we will dance around next, parties or fashion?

He takes me to his room, shows me his new shoes, seemingly his only real passion.

New accessories on his dresser and a heated marble floor in his en-suite, 

I sit on his bed, noticing the new 300 count Egyptian cotton sheets.

I have butterfly's in my stomach, and wish I could sip my drink more slowly, 

I'm wearing the best dress I own, I bought a new clutch bag especially.

Yet I still feel under dressed, wishing I'd had my hair blow dried, 

Wishing I hadn't had my nails painted this colour, and wishing I could hide.

We walk back to the kitchen, more alcohol, liquid lunches are the thing you know?

It matters little that he saw me pop my medication fifteen minutes ago.

Lunch is light, of course, a salad and another glass of champagne. 

I wonder what I'm selling and why I'm on this campaign. 

It's time to leave, he calls me a cab, 

Hands me a wad of cash which I place in my new handbag.

A kiss on the cheek, and a tear forms, 

My mask is slipping, its time to be gone. 

'Bye Dad, thanks for having me'.

'My pleasure darling, I'll stay in touch'- we'll see. 

THE FOUR TYPES OF MEN- that I know anywayyyyyy.

Co-dizzle in chief recently posted a 'note' on facebook about the 'Four Types of Women'- I feel compelled to in turn describe the varying types of men- (why??!!!- because the moment took me...) 

I won't suggest that these are the only types of men in existence- BUT I'm sure if you had so squeeze yourself into one of them, you'd manage.

And so to business...

Mr 'Watcha Know About SWAGGER SWAGGER'- 

Those who know me KNOW who I might be referring to; 

He is arrogant, rude, rarely genuine, cheats, lies, is never on time, lives by the rule that 'one rule for 'us', is altogether another for him', and so on and so forth. Unfortunately for all of his victims he is handsome, imploringly sexy, and more charming than any prince in any fairytale and is able to use these talents to entrap even the most savy of females. We will all meet one at some point, everyone will warn us to stay away, to be smart etc... and it is up to us to decide whether the exciting ride is worth the emotional and LONG come down that follows the end of this 'relationship'. 

Mr 'Sensitive Manipulator'- 

This man has the potential to be more dangerous than Mr. Swagger Swagger because no one suspects him of his manipulation, he is sweet, kind, liked by all, quiet and funny and doesn't launch his attack until you have finally convinced yourself that maybe 'the nice guy' has finally come along. He always gestured towards what you could have, always insinuated love, pretended you two were on the same page BUT when its crunch time- he still has a girl, he's not ready to commit, it's too complicated- THE LIST OF EXCUSES IS L.O.N.G. 

This man is insecure, and wants to be liked by everyone- without necessarily giving much back. He'll live a life of regrets, because, REALLY, he is not a bad guy- he just doesn't really know another way to live. 

Mr 'Genuinely, Actually, Really NICE'- 

Ladies, ladies, WHAT IS WRONG WITH US??- we have all encountered him and we have all (well, mostly..) let him go- I say let him, more like we've run in the opposite direction. 

He is honest and open and when he meets the right girl he is on it and right there whenever she calls. 

He doesn't play games and is not scared of the word commitment- which is odd because in return us girls tend to become infatuated with anything that ISN'T serious. 

He is the man that that we'll regret, miss and long for- but by the time we get there he'll be LONG GONE. (Catch him while you can.........) 

Mr 'Playboi Attributes'

Hmmm, now this one is a straight up player- he is very open about his motives and doesn't fuck around- which is refreshing. 

He'll take your number and when he calls his lyrics are more on the wave lenght of 'my bedroom or yours?'. If you are that type of girl then this could be a very 'loving' relationship. 

His honesty is appreciated and only a stupid girl will get involved with him hoping to change him- He just ain't ready to settle down ladies, take the hint- he might never be....

I think that is fairly accurate account, unfortunately an altogether negative one, which is why I'm joining a convent, thanks. 

ALTHOUGH- hopefully, for the sake of man kind, they will ALL grow out of IT, and when they do might just become perfect husband material. Be patient girls. 

<3

All she wanna talk about is partying and fashion.....

SO! 

Back from the dead and ready to start next week with a fresh outlook. 

Watch This Space Kids.

Its going to be a shocker. 

<3