tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75674444455795583922011-08-02T21:42:32.324+01:00Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16516594424100594787noreply@blogger.comBlogger181100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567444445579558392.post-33528505471679427212009-09-16T13:08:00.003+01:002009-09-16T13:35:39.364+01:00

So. As discussed in my previous entry, the State of Adulthood is proving frustratingly elusive at the moment. This ongoing quest for the dubious Holy Grail represented by Grown-up-hood is not helped by the presence - in what feels like every area of my life - of men whose behaviour can only be described as dickish in the extreme.In other words, feel free to read this as a kind of open letter to

Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16516594424100594787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567444445579558392.post-39490272351029275222009-09-14T15:26:00.002+01:002009-09-14T15:37:47.735+01:00

Today is one of those days in which I seem to be failing spectacularly at adulthood. Not failing in an inconsequential, hilarious way but failing in big, scary, one-step-from the gutter type ways. The first thing I miss on these days is living with my friends and not my boyfriend, who is ridiculously successful at everything he puts his mind to. He cannot sympathize with failure and is so

Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16516594424100594787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567444445579558392.post-73963480230628208572009-09-14T15:22:00.001+01:002009-09-14T15:26:38.674+01:00

www.thefword.org.uk/features/2009/09/feminism_and_th

Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16516594424100594787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567444445579558392.post-78388148921382808202009-07-20T22:39:00.003+01:002009-08-02T14:07:23.468+01:00

The Lad This familiar temping character is impossible to ignore; he flaunts his disdain for the job at every opportunity, and so rarely lasts beyond the first three weeks. The Lad in any of his various incarnations can be recognised by the stock anecdotes which his conversation consists of. These will invariably fall into the categories of: Drunken Banter, Drunken Exploits, Drunken

Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16516594424100594787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567444445579558392.post-435280308441440342009-07-13T20:12:00.003+01:002009-07-16T21:26:57.650+01:00

Every temp who has worked on several different placements will remember the moment that realisation hit. Not so much the revelation that training will always be patchy at best, supervision limited, and the rights of the temp worker non-existent - although these are indeed truths about employment universally acknowledged - but rather the realisation that across each separate placement - albeit in

Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16516594424100594787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567444445579558392.post-17799986498366825382009-07-09T22:33:00.004+01:002009-07-13T20:11:37.196+01:00

Tomorrow will be my first Dress-down Friday as a working woman. When I was unemployed I felt as if each cumulative day saw the erosion of a tiny bit more of my self-esteem. Logically, I knew blah blah blah recession, everyone in the same boat yada yada yada. Not my fault my graduation coincided with such a shitty economic period. Yet each morning it was as if the squidgy mozzerella ball of my

Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16516594424100594787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567444445579558392.post-50199951084538789142009-02-10T23:51:00.003Z2009-02-11T00:01:51.636Z

You think the Daily Mail can't get any more misogynistic or idiotic. And then you read this.http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1140543Riddled with logical fallacies, sweeping generalisations and jaw-droppingly sexist assumptions, this article takes the Mail's non-existent standards and drags them through the proverbial gutter.GRRRRRRRR.

Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16516594424100594787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567444445579558392.post-23519557032825941192009-02-09T21:13:00.002Z2009-02-09T22:17:31.963Z

Last night: 1. Alec informed me I had painted my nails all wrong, and did I know I was meant to push the cuticles back first?2. He went on a sex strike. Yes, you read that right. Let's just say I had a little yeast infection last week which the correct pharmeceuticals have now taken care of, but before I ventured to the chemists I experimented with a little home remedy (thanks

Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16516594424100594787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567444445579558392.post-18072208729666792292009-02-08T16:45:00.002Z2009-02-08T17:07:40.437Z

I have never liked my eyebrows. I inherited my dad's predilection towards eyebrows which insist on colonising not just the brow area but the entire forehead, ridge of the nose and a goodly portion of the eyelids. The hairs are coarse and black and sprout in no discernible order or shape. In their natural shape they do not so much frame my face as dominate it, exhuding a dark and forbidding menace

Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16516594424100594787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567444445579558392.post-76202688675695232652008-12-17T01:50:00.002Z2008-12-17T01:53:54.368Z

I am an emotional person. I'm a sucker for that cleansed feeling you get after a good hard crying session, the kind where you can hardly breathe and reams of snot stream from your nose. Sometimes I muse fondly that this intimate acquaintance with my own emotions should qualify me as a superior kind of confidante, the ideal shoulder for my friends to cry on. But it doesn't really work like that.I

Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16516594424100594787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567444445579558392.post-53068775334576939522008-12-13T22:06:00.005Z2008-12-14T22:21:09.598Z

I have bad days and good days. This is true of everyone but what we think of as a bad day might be different.A bad day for me can only be described in terms borrowed from science fiction. Waking up on a bad day is like lurching into a different world, one with a hostile atmosphere. The air is difficult to breathe. Familiar shapes appear distorted. Everything is tinged darker, everyone seems

Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16516594424100594787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567444445579558392.post-85404969142887185102008-12-13T14:12:00.005Z2008-12-13T20:25:15.235Z

By the author of The Virgin Suicides, this novel deals with the Stephanides family, their move from Greece to America, and the descent down the family tree of the mutated gene which results in the narrator being born an intersex child. (One with ambiguous genitalia.)It is an epic book, which aims to present a sweeping picture of not only one family's history but also of contemporary American

Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16516594424100594787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567444445579558392.post-51551439011708810232008-12-12T12:44:00.006Z2008-12-12T13:39:28.113Z

I need to talk to you about my relationship with boots. I don't know what's going on with us. (We'd be an 'it's complicated' on facebook). Everyone thinks we're so right for each other, but I'm still not convinced. Sometimes, I look at boots, and I just think, what is wrong with you? Sure, you might call no heel sensible but I call it boring. This might sound harsh, but there's just no sex appeal

Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16516594424100594787noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567444445579558392.post-21797769976258250672008-12-11T18:59:00.010Z2008-12-11T22:01:29.615Z

Full disclosure: I do not have many close male friends. To be exact, I have two. (Three if you count my boyfriend! But I'm guessing the whole sexy times part disqualifies him, yes?) Once, I had another good male friend but then I ruined it by gunning for sexy times. (Pre-boyfriend era.) (Also: eww, why do I keep saying sexy times?)The absence of testosteronally blessed figures in my life doesn't

Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16516594424100594787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567444445579558392.post-63357501513495875622008-12-04T16:45:00.002Z2008-12-04T16:51:41.007Z

Overheard today:1st Guy - " So do you think you'll, like, hang out with her again?"2nd Guy: "Nah, I mean, when she said that one thing she just sounded so much like my mum..."

Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16516594424100594787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567444445579558392.post-28514907496328211182008-12-02T21:47:00.003Z2008-12-02T22:54:42.447Z

Yesterday was a day which seemed designed to demonstrate in a myriad of increasingly humiliating ways why I shouldn't be allowed to leave the house, ever.After waking up at eleven and having my customary two hour breakfast in bed (fifteen minutes to eat my toast, 1 hour 45 to drink my coffee) (mornings make me grumpy, so I think it's important to delay getting up for as long as humanly possible

Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16516594424100594787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567444445579558392.post-62780649487806914232008-11-27T23:32:00.003Z2008-12-12T12:42:10.141Z

***Disclaimer: This post may not be suitable for parents or siblings. Proceed at your own risk!***Umm....One of list of side effects in birth control packet:your breasts may feel tender, painful or they may get slightly larger OR OOZE A LITTLE MILK.I was not warned of this. Seriously, people? THIS HAPPENS? To the childless? Wow. (And by the way guys, the correct response when your girlfriend

Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16516594424100594787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567444445579558392.post-6582504710289855192008-11-26T00:10:00.002Z2008-11-26T00:26:43.244Z

Last night my friend Will went on a date. This was a Major Event in my life for several reasons, none of which remotely justify the amount of squeeing that went on in our flat before he left to go on said date, and all of which are incredibly selfish.Reason the first: Dating is just not a very Scottish thing. As a nation, we tend not to have the necessary finesse to

Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16516594424100594787noreply@blogger.com0