Fuck Me, Nine Years Flies By!

Hello internet people! Going to give this shit another shot.

I am back and I have written a book and while I sit here drinking day wine for the foreseeable future, I need to do some shit to distract myself and to avoid sending any cringe-worthy emails to my agent or potential editors, demanding as to WHY THE FUCK THE BOOK HASN'T SOLD YET.

So yes, clearly, I am calm. I am calm, composed and collected and now, nine years on, back in my homeland of England living with a cat who actively has tried to kill me on several occasions. As a result, my days are spent avoiding the cat - who, despite being blind, has managed to accurately navigate itself around the house as it chases me like a demonic torpedo. No joke, the cat has actually scarred me for life on my feet and I will never be able to wear shoes that are open on the top of my feet without looking like I have been struck by lightning. It's also scraped at my wrists too so that's been a fun conversation starter with any new person that I meet when I feel the unsolicited need to clarify that I am not self-harming and am, in fact, a victim of the hell-goblin who resides in my house, shits in my kitchen, and can barely tolerate more than two seconds of interaction with a human before launching into a kamikaze attack. I can only hope that living in constant fear for my life is a solid character-builder.

But anyway, despite living with a furry satan, I am waiting for the sale of my book which, while I want it to be published, may directly result in my own demise due to the fact that I am an arsehole and have included not only my own most cringeworthy moments, but also the most cringeworthy moments of others. I have, of course, changed the names of the people involved, but I am pretty sure that my ex-boyfriend will be HIGHLY aware that he is the only person who has shat on my floor while dancing naked. As I am HIGHLY aware that he made me look him in the eye and promise that I would never utter that story to another living being, and that publishing a book that I hope to reach hundreds of thousands of people is somewhat the opposite of that. Somewhat.

So, anyway, while I avoid cat attacks and try to keep busy by avoiding harassing anyone who may be potentially responsible for my future career as a writer, I will endeavor to continue on my quest for cringe.

Your Dignity Will Take a Beating When You Are Tequila Tweeting!

GOD BLESS the noughties for the ever expanding platform it has provided us for total humiliation. Gone are the days when you can only wax lyrical about the flaws of your ex-boyfriend whilst dolefully nursing a bottle of Vodka infront of a paused rerun of Friends while your best friend kindly pretends to listen while texting a waiter she has a crush on.

NO. Why LIMIT the vastness of your alcohol-fuelled enlightenment to JUST plain old lifelong friend Lucy-from-London when you can BROADCAST these extremely moving, powerful, and lifechanging snippets of sage wisdom to the ENTIRE WORLD!

Why, wouldn't Great Aunt Anne who logs on to facebook after her 11am crumpet just LOVE to know the sexual shortcomings of your ex-boyfriend? And wouldn't your father just be so completely overjoyed to be alerted that you have given up on men and are advertising yourself as a guinea pig for lesbianism (incase you've just spent your adult life accidently chasing the wrong sex?)

I think that it is perfectly obvious that the noughties has taught us that YES, YES AND YES. Without a doubt, every little moment of Margherita Monday ("Going to Margherita Monday With the Girls!"..."At Margherita Monday With the Girls!"...."5 Margherita's Later and Still Going Strong With the Girls!..."Their izzznt anny tickeela in my MaRGRITA!"..."WHY R MEN SO SHIT?"..."BRIAN WHYYYY DONT YOU LOVVVEEE MEE") should, quite rightly, be recorded and published in a public forum.

God Bless Twitter. And God Bless Twitter TWOFOLD for allowing us to humiliate ourselves infront of complete strangers, celebrities, and world leaders. And, even better, for those of us who might recoil the next day at our tequila infused cyber escapades and actually try and remedy the situation...nice try ALCY! Twitter so helpfully sticks the dagger in "Delete this post? There is no UNDO"

Suck it up my depressed damsel-in-sick-mess. There is no undo. Hold your head high and embrace the fleeting moments of clarity you had the evening before. Maybe you were onto something in the first place*.

So, for some guidance on Tequila Tweeting, I have compiled a list of inspirational tweets. If you are going to do it, you may aswell do it right:

1. Try and remember the most embarassing and private thing your ex boyfriend told you and work it into a tweet. Casually. If he also has twitter- include him! Don't want him to miss out on the fun!

EG: Watching a tv show about herpes! Looks nasty! Never realized how traumatic that must have been for you @StudlyStewart

2. Why not try being completely inappropriate with a bloke you barely know, yet religiously stalk? Sexual advances via Twitter are SO irresistable! And not even remotely stalkerish/ scary/ mental patient!

EG: Planning my wedding with @hothenry! He hasn't proposed yet but the twinkle he had in his eye this morning when I saw him showering in his bathroom when I was casually straining my neck out of my parent's bedroom told me that a ring is IMMINENT!

3. Why not try and bitch about your work/work day/ boss/ desk buddy? They will totally take it as a joke. Sarcasm is best delivered via the internet.

EG: At work with @dulldiane, sorry I mean @dynamitediane! Just had a great meeting- noone knows I'm still drunk!

4. Find your exboyfriend's new girlfriend and offer her sage advice.

EG: Your boyfriend is the sweetest @babycakes69! Thanks for loaning me him last night! He's still in good working condition and his herpes has cleared up! hurrah!



*Probably not though. You alcoholic goon.

Subtle Butt to the Rescue!

We here at Life of Cringe (there are many of us) would like to express our sincerest gratitude to the ingenious makers of the amazingly-fun-to-say product "Subtle Butt"

First of all, this combination of words is like a trip to Disney Land for my mouth. Try it. "Subtle Butt" Say it. Embrace it. Waltz with it. "Subtle Butt". Just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?

Anyhoo, these ingenius little minxes have devised a product to ELIMINATE fart odor. Just pop it in your panties or drop it in your drawers and bam, Bob's your uncle.

I believe that I have already expressed my opinion on the topic of girl farts, so I shall not digress into that heated subject again.

However, as a generally quite pessimistic and skeptical English person, once the initial elation of the birth of such an ingenious, life-changing product had died down, I began to realize the flaws in the otherwise perfect shrine to anal hygiene.

So, to the makers of Subtle Butt, I have a few rather pressing questions.

1. Where do men who are more inclined to Boxers as their underwear of choice, attach Subtle Butt? Is there not a VERY REAL danger that, dangling free from the man's thighs, Subtle Butt might pop out and dispose itself very publicly. How would the said Boxer-wearing-gentleman explain this?

2. If one is on a date, and one's date goes well, and one happens to find oneself lacking clothing, how might one explain the little padded gadget to one's date? Because, lets face it, if you are a Subtle Butt user, one can assume that you are either:

a) Anally Retentive. Literally. And are so consumed by the horror of public farting that you spent Vodka money on it.

b) Have really disgusting and smelly farts and should probably die alone anyway.

3. If I buy several packs, can you cut me a deal? Like 3 for 2 or something? Help a sister out? This is like free publicity for you guys. I'm owed some Subtle Butt love.

CringeNation

As a native of the continent of Britain, I have a lot of pride. I love the Queen. I love Hugh Grant. I went to Hogwarts and count Harry Potter as one of my best mates. Britain is a great little slice of life.

However, when I am on a treadmill (rareity) in my adopted country of Colorado, USA, and I come across this picture (to clarify this is a bride and a groom) in the great publication that is US Weekly:

.......it is unsettling that my first thought was: "5 dollars says they're British"

And you know what? Hit the nail on the head. WELSH

THANK YOU FOR LETTING US DOWN WALES. We were JUST recovering from Katie Price, Bad Teeth, and Cricket. We were EMERGING VICTORIOUSLY to be alongside the more respectable countries of Middle Earth and Disneyland, and WALES just had to go and fuck it up for all of us. NO WONDER WE DIDN'T WIN THE EUROVISION SONG CONTEST.

Apparently, according to the Telegraph, the bride describes how: "The idea just came to me. . I knew that we would go as them because Keith looks just like Shrek. It was funny because when we said our vows Keith had these green ears sprouting from the top of his head."

The idea just came to you? Where you sipping tea with Mad Hatter and smoking opium with a Caterpillar? Was this before or after you slew Puff the Magic Dragon whilst riding a magical Unicorn to Never Never Land to rescue the Lost Boys?

We will NEVER live this down. I am SO UNHAPPY. Here I was thinking that nothing could be more cringe than Heidi and Spencer and that the US was a far more cringe nation. But then all I had to do was flip the page and BAM. Britain overtakes the US!!

US: 1, Britain: 0. Fairplay US Weekly, fairplay.

Cringe Applications: The Dangers of On-the-Go Technology

Alcohol + Technology is usually a pretty fatal combination. Like Heidi and Spencer, Bobbi and Whitney, or Beans and Rice. HOWEVER. Sometimes one does not even need the Alcohol in the Alcohol + Technology equation to embarrass oneself.

Coming from a lady who could embarrass herself in the most humble, modest environments with not even as much as a swab of medical alcohol to boost her confidence, this probably isn't saying very much.

However, I am convinced that Facebook's Iphone/Ipad/Tampax/Blackberry application was designed by an evil troll out on a mission to destroy the dignity of the world.

Take the application's little space bar at the top of the screen. The little space next to the little face above the status updates. Sure, it may faintly say "What's on your mind?" and vaguely imply that it is an area to express one's ideas concerning their new status updates, however I really do not believe that it is anywhere near as clear as it should be.

How many people, due to booze, being rushed, or absent-mindedly, have actually meant to search someone (stalking via phone is particularly bad - stalking with a purpose- nothing semi-casual about it) and then bloody well set that person's name as their status?

Some people don't even realize they have done this, and spend the entire day merrily fannying about whilst their boyfriend's ex-girlfriend's name sparkles in lights on their facebook page. Nice one, jackass.

I have had the misfortune to do this twice. The first time I was very drunk, and set a girl I barely spoke to in high school's name as my facebook status whilst searching for her to ask if I could run away to Denver and live with her for a week during a fight I was having with my mother.

I believe her name was my status for a solid evening before I woke up the next day, and promptly realized that I didn't have enough money to survive a week. Thus, I swiftly made amends with my mother, and quickly removed said random Denver ex-high school colleague girl's name as my Facebook status.

The other time was somewhat more traumatizing, as I set a person I had just concluded dating as my Facebook status. This mistake I realized immediately, and ran around like Jack Bauer on 24 trying to find a bloody computer that would turn on in less than 20 minutes. I had to remove it from both my status and my history, so my phone just would not do. After scrambling around my friend's apartment for 25 minutes, deleting my status, status history, and hysterically checking if any of his friends were online to witness my downfall, I collapsed in a heap of anxiety-ridden stress. I don't know if this has ever happened to any of you out there, but let me tell you, there is nothing more tense in life than exposing yourself as a crazed facebook stalker after a break up.

One time, however, Karma smiled on me when a guy I was dating set my name as their facebook status. This made me feel very smug and self-important and should happen more often. He was also an asshole so it made me feel extra smug and self-important when the knobhead left it up for a full 18 hours before swiftly deleting it (obviously never brought it up to me, hoped I did not know). This should happen more often and makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside when it does.

So basically, I'm beseeching all of you to exercise EXTREME caution when operating facebook applications on your phones. In fact, just to be safe, I'd recommend that facebook stalking be COMPLETELY limited to actual person-laptop interactions and that no-one attempt to stalk 'on-the-go' as this can be emotionally scarring if your fingers go awry. Tread carefully fellow facebook stalkers....

Cringe Girl Farts: An Open Letter to InfamousChris

Dear InfamousChris,

I noticed your tweet "Girl farts make me cringe. They're usually silent but deadly..." and I would like to take a pause from my busy and important life (hungover, in pyjamas) to try and help you understand the dilemma of girl farts.

Girl farting is often times rather traumatic. We have been trained from a young age to keep the volume at a minimal level. We are not supposed to fart. And if we do, it is expected that we emit puffs of Chanel No. 5 perfume that swirl and circulate through the air. I don't know about you, InfamousChris, but it is quite hard for my colon to recreate the odor of an infamous perfume, and sometimes my Chanel No.5 emissions are not quite as heavenly as I might wish them to be.

Picture this: InfamousChris. You are on a running machine, in a public gym. You need to fart. But you can't. It just isn't possible because you are sandwiched between two very good looking men who are running at equally impressive speeds. You urge your gas to crawl back into your stomach and perhaps wait for a better time to exit your body. But gas is often a tricky and disobedient bastard. It won't listen to you. It's leaving your body and it doesn't care about the consequences.

It slips out of your body, it is careful not to make a sound. But when it leaves, it emits a nuclear explosion of foul smelling particles. Everyone starts to sniff. Their faces become contorted. Even the sweaty woman on the spin bike on the other side of the gym has a look of disgust sweeping across her face. Everyone starts looking around for culprits. The smell lingers. You have only two options:

A) Pretend you have no sense of smell and continue reading last month's horoscopes in US Weekly

B) Mimic the faces of disgust surrounding you and pretend to look for imaginary guilty smelly fart person.

You must continue to do this until the odor has passed. This process can sometimes take up to 5 minutes. You have absolutely no chance of flirtation with either man on next door running machine. They know it's you, and they are disgusted. They will probably talk about it in the locker room when they shower.

So, InfamousChris. I hope that I have enlightened you on the many traumas that are faced by women in today's society. Sure, you might cringe. But every time you do, please look at the girl farter with compassion. It is only through acceptance that we will be able to lay the foundations of a more unified global community.

Sincerely,

Ambassador of Girl Farters Anonymous

Ageing Cringe = Fading Cringe

Our society is faced with many problems (recent BP oil spill, the war in Iraq, and Heidi Montag to name a few) but perhaps one which invades my trusted news sources (US Weekly, People, Grazia, Heat) the most is the morbid inevitability of AGEING. Floppy boobs, jiggly necks, sloppy cuslopuses, no fun.

However, after going to Sex and the City 2 last night, amid the entire population of Colorado housewives, I realized that ageing might not be too bad after all, and that despite all the propaganda and sag, there is one golden victory in the world of ageing: LESS CRINGE.

Why? Well for a start, most women over 50 just could not give a flying fudgesicle. They probably have a husband and kids, and have realized that after years of being stuck with Fatty McSourpuss and his shrieking banshee children, that cringe is the least of their worries. As a result, they have found that they can often egregiously cross cringe boundaries otherwise closed off to the rest of us. In fact, they are often admired for crossing this boundary and it makes them look fun, hip, and zany.

Things that Women Over 50 Can Do That I Can't:
1. Go to the Cinema in Pyjamas (specifically a robe and slippers)

Over 50's Housewives = Girl's Night Out!! Woo!! Look at those cougars go!

Me = What the fuck are you doing? It's 9.45pm - did you seriously just wake up? Sort your life out. You will never get a job.

2. Bring Bottles of Wine into the Cinema

Over 50's Housewives = Look at those wild little party animals go! Hope their husbands keep those little minxes on a tight leash. Wink, wink.

Me = You are a pathetic alcoholic. Get your life sorted out. You will never get a job. Even Lindsay Lohan wouldn't do that. Get out of my cinema and do not come back.

3. Sing Along to the Movie's Soundtrack While in the Cinema

Over 50's Housewives = Wow, she's still got it! She's so young at heart!

Me = Shut up. You are hurting my boyfriend's eardrums. You should be embarrassed that you know every word to Chakah Khan's "I'm Every Woman".

4. Sing "All My Single Ladies" Pantless at a Gay Wedding

Liza Minelli = Cheered, Adored, Applauded

Me = Mocked, Abhorred, Lauded. Probably blacklisted from all gay weddings and doomed to receive "are you wearing pants this time?" text messages every time I leave my house for a year.

.........Maybe ageing isn't so bad. I look forward to skipping into my 50's drunk, pantless, and singing.