Why Unrequited Love is Bullsh*t and The Key to Pulling Yourself 2geva

  I’ve been thinking a lot about unrequited love recently. Mainly because I’m watching Orange Is The New Black and there seems to be a big reoccurring theme throughout, albeit mostly gurl on gurl. But whether gurl on gurl or boy on boy or boy on girl on boy, it’s surprising how much people are confused of unrequited love and what it actually is. Unrequited attraction.

Unrequited love in itself is actually a big fat oxymoron because love is what is felt when the attraction is mutal, reciprocated, given back. No? Instead of thinking and feeling: I love you, you make me happy and I want to make you happy too. Instead you feel: I love you and I am angry that you don’t want to love me back.

We are kidded by teen rom coms that show girl meets boy, boy rejects girl, girl has transformation and suddenly boy falls in love with girl. Or boy meets girl, girl treats boy as friend, boy shows he’s a man, girl falls for boy. Unfortunately, a lot of people, though it is fairly obviously false, take this advice when they feel they want to win the affections of somebody that really, if they’re not loving you back, you’re probably wasting your time on.

But I’m not totally slating rom coms, because 10 Things I hate About You certainly taught us to change for yourself and yourself only. Julia Stiles became less of a hard pan faced bitch in order to swoon Heath Ledger, he himself didn’t change all too much because let’s face it HE WERE PERFECTION. But then you got stuff like Zack Morris just getting his act together and growing up a bit to get jiggy with Kelly, and then there’s Cluless’ Cher who just lowered her high standards and opted for incest (Hey if a 25 yr old Paul Rudd was your stepbrother you would too).

But yeah the underlying message in my garble is that basically, if you have an unrequited attraction to someone, the key to getting over them or indeed, under them, is self improvement. Take that time to have a step back and reassess what you want a person to see in YOU.

If that means you want to build your self confidence, go join a club, learn a new skill. If you want to lose weight to feel more confident in your body, join a gym, go for a run or a join a sports team. Chances are the time you take out to really look at yourself, you’ll discover/rediscover what you love about yourself. And as cliché as it sounds, when you find out what you love about yourself, it makes it a whole lot easier for someone to see that about you and love you too.

Or if that soppy advice is just too impossible to read from all the cringing, if you try and better yourself for your own satisfaction, you’ll probably find that the bitch be pining and you be dining on all the other pussy anyways. See, I told you too much Orange Is The New Black. Also how much do you love that someone out there actually made the above photo. All soppy credit entirely to them, wherever you are you romantic soul.

What are British values? Hating ruddy everyone that’s what.

With all this talk about British Values being introduced to schools and whether or not being proud of being British should be encouraged in schools, it got me thinking. Us ‘Brits’ hate everyone really don’t we? Whether we’re British Christians, British Muslims, British Chavs, British horse riding rah-rahs, each and everyone one of us just kind of hates everyone else really don’t we? It’s just the British way.

Take the workplace for example, the home of friends, enemies and frenemies. Awkward kitchen chit chat, the say nothing but nod meetings and the awkward “Oh my god it’s you! I’m with my partner in a restaurant, outside of work hours, and you’re here with yours, you MUST (not) join us!” But you bear it, you have to, you have to be British about it. You have to swallow your pride and grin wide. Because the best part of being British is instead of expressing our feelings in an honest, truthful, admirable and beneficial-for-the-future-and-both-parties-well-being; we just avoid, ignore and wait for it to all go away until we can bitch about it over a luvly jubbly glass o’vino at the end of t’day.

And then there’s our friendship groups. At the end of the day, not everyone is liked equally in a friendship group, this sometimes results in someone leaving the group, being forced out of the group or the group dividing. Without sounding too much like coming straight from Cosmo, the ‘cliques’ in your high school friendship group may well have transpired to your adult circle of friends; with the only difference being, you’re now too incredibly British to do anything about it. Instead you’ll do the high pitched ‘Hiiiii’ if you’re a girl, or the clasped arm embrace with no eye contact if you’re a guy. Either way, there’s still always that member of any friendship group who you can’t get rid of due to your politeness and lack of constructive confrontational prowess. Never mind ey? You can just sit there instead praying the zip on that dress they’re trying on won’t go up or that you beat them 7-0 on FIFA.

Infuriatingly there’s that family member who you don’t want to but are obliged to invite to every family gathering. You begged your parents to not invite them to your 18th/21st/30th but they still insisted that they must come as ‘they’re family’. Well I’m sorry but you’re just not going to stand for that this time. This year you’re 35 and you are old enough now not to invite Uncle Jim to the party for fear that he will try and recreate the splits he did in the middle of the function room dance floor at your 30th. But then you hear that Uncle Jim hasn’t been too well recently since Auntie Sheila left him in January. You feel sorry for him and he is family after all. Guess you’ll just try and ‘forget’ to invite him to your 40th. Yeah, that’s what you’ll do.

And then there’s just generally being quintessentially Londonish . Which we just can’t possibly put in the same category as being British. It’s a whole different quota of hatred. Instead of concealing that hatred instead it’s either filtered through fake smiles, shoulder barges or full on YOU’RE NOT MY MOTHER…YES I AM blow-outs on Regent’s Canal at 3.30am in the morning (no I am not joking, I now sleep with earplugs in). If you’re from London, as soon as you leave, you’ll act all coy and bumbling British again, but whilst you reside in London, you live by the rules of dog eat dog and you don’t even for a second think about giving up your chew.

I took the quiz on The Guardian, How British Are You? and got: Excellent. Thanks to your comprehensive obliviousness and disregard for others, you’re very British. Which, naturally being British, I think is bloody well preposterous and completely not true in any sense of the fashion, rilly it’s naht.

Take the quiz for yourself and see how ruddy bloody British you are!

My Guide to: The 15 minutes to get to work CHALLENJ

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You’re doing your 2nd coat of mascara cos you’re going for drinks after work tonight, and you spot the clock. It’s 8.45am and you literally have 15 minutes to get to work and you’ve spent the last 10 engrossed in watching 90210 on Netflix for the umpteenth time (I just can’t figure out why Liam goes for that squirt Annie over HOT Naomi either)! You have approximately T minus 15 minus and counting to be sat at your desk and you still have to make your lunch and humour the homeless man you have an awkward chat with every day when he’s slumped against the door of your building with a can of special brew, but not today. You will not stop to chat today or give him 20p towards his next 40 pack, but you will use that 20p to fun treating yourself to lunch you ‘forgot’.

So here we are, and boy are some of us there more than we’d like (damn Netflix!) We are at the gates of what can also be described as The 15 minutes to get to work CHALLENJ, with a J for extra encouragement.

5 Minutes to the station

Best Scenario

There’s a bus outside, yes it will cost £1.45 for a 0.45 second journey but walking that could cost you 8 precious minutes. Oh and there’s no traffic (unlikely).

Worst Scenario-

No Bus/ Too much traffic/ No nearby children’s tri-scooters to steal- you now have no choice but to walk (not run, nobody runs, not cool). But don’t worry, you jumped on the bandwagon and have got your New Balance trainers on, so you should be able to make it in no time.

5 Minutes to Top Up Oyster and get on the tube

Problem: Of course you have to top up when you’re in rush. Solution: See previous post ‘Things Londoner’s do not give a f*ck about’ and PUSH TO THE FRONT GODAMMIT YOU’RE LATE

5-10 Minutes ride on the tube (Sorry this really doesn’t apply if you live out of zone 3, I’ve never been there).

Get off and walk the 100 metres to the glorious front doors of the office. You have made it, you are a champion.

So of course, it’s actually nearer 9.15am, and even then you’re perspiring so much that you might actually just pretend that it was raining outside in one of those freak 2 minute storm,s but you’re here right?

You cannot get to work in 15 minutes

Hell I can only get to work in 15 minutes because a) I am lucky to live walking distance from my office and b) I do this ‘weird and highly unattractive borderline should-be-sectioned hopskiprun/crazy wave at cars to stop’ thing, almost always nearly getting flattened.

The moral of the story kids, is don’t be frigging late for work. Do you want that promotion? Do you want your idea to be heard? Do you want to keep your job longer than probation? Then don’t be late. There are plenty of graduates who would kill you and every other applicant for your job, so don’t abuse that fact. Sure everyone is allowed a late day every once in a while, sometimes it really isn’t your morning. But get there to greet your boss in the morning. Be that smiley face (fake or genuine you decide) sat at your desk when they walk in. And for god sake, if you are late for work, at least huff and puff like TFL/tube suicide/broken ankle really slowed you down this morning otherwise you would have been on time, early even, otherwise you really are late.

(also, isn’t the above just one of your favourite stock images ever?)

Things that Londoner’s don’t give a f*ck about

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I mean I think it’s fairly obvious that you only need to be in London 5 minutes or so, to realise that actually, none of them give a f*ck. They don’t give a f*ck about stealing the taxi someone else just hailed down, or pushing in front of 5 other people in the queue for the oyster machines or even the fact that a pram is stranded in the middle of the road and the number 73 bus is hurtling towards it… Okay perhaps an exaggeration but basically what I’m trying to say is that Londoner’s don’t give a f*ck about their surroundings as long as they get from A to B; and they certainly do not give a f*ck about you. And being from the North, where everyone gives a f*ck about everything as obsessive gossip and catastrophic news ‘MAN STEALS £3 BACON’ (Actual Lancaster Guardian headline Sept 2013) I have taken to noticing many things around the capital that Londoner’s seemingly do not give one single flying f*ck about. And I think I’m starting to like it.

 

Things that Londoner’s don’t give a f*ck about #1 – Christmas Trees

 

Now I may be starting with a weird one, but it’s something that as someone who already can’t understand the waste disposal system here in the capital, dumping Christmas Trees in particular, really grinds my gears. I first came across what I can only describe as a ‘discarded funeral’ in mid-January on the way to work. Stepping over the slightly browning carcass, I completely understand that some people simply ignore the bad luck curse of January 6th, it is a superstition after all, but I swear to God when I saw a Christmas tree on the curb at the beginning of May I nearly lost my shit in the street. MAY. A good FIVE months after Christmas.

 

If the first tree I had seen way back in January was a discarded funeral, then this was a forgotten cremation. “What would the neighbours think?” Northerners such as myself cry, “-throwing out a Christmas tree, in May?” But thing is, the neighbours thought nothing. Nothing. People were just going about their days like this was normal. But I for one, could just not believe my eyes. So there I was stood on Liverpool Road in Islington, in 5 inch heels, borderline late for work, taking a picture of a decaying Christmas tree, because I for one, do give a f*ck. But I don’t know if I should?

 

Things that Londoner’s don’t give a f*ck about #2 – Being friendly on Public Transport

 

A glance you’re a perv, a stare you’re a psycho. Since getting on my first tube journey aged 14, I’ve understood the public politics of ‘hear no evil, see no evil, speak not at all’. And if I’m honest, I don’t find it that weird. Up North, if you get on a bus at 8am, there’ll be a range of people who get on the bus after you that will most probably say ‘Hellooo’ (Oldham accent usage there for authentic Northern effect) as they walk past to another seat. You get on a train and you’ll find your seat and complain to the person next to you that you almost missed the train or moan about something else that unites you both against Northern Rail. But in London, you never hear ‘Oh god, that bloody carriage door nearly lobbed my ear off’, or even an ‘excuse me’ that isn’t mumbled beyond comprehension.

 

Truth is, no one speaks on the tube, cos no one really wants to be there. I get that. It’s hot and sweaty, and you know you’ve got 10 stops to go and you’re not sure if you’ll pass out from the heat before then, but perhaps a little conversation could lighten the situation? Heck, you could even make a new friend. But that’s the thing isn’t it? You never hear someone say ‘Oh we just got chatting on the tube’. And rightly so, because you will be suffocated at some point, you will get pushed into crevices which you’re not sure are entirely safe, you will get accidentally sat on and will feel like you’re the only person who is considerate of others around you who seemingly don’t give a f*ck.

 

Things that Londoner’s don’t give a f*ck about #3 – Getting Mugged

 

Now this may seem controversial, because of course people whether from the North, South, East or West don’t want to be mugged, the only difference is that Londoner’s don’t give a f*ck about going through the situations where a mugging might arise. Growing up in suburban Manchester I had to wear several oaths to my mum that I wouldn’t walk back through the passage despite it shelling 10 minutes off the journey of the long way round, but now, I seek short cuts, passageways, ginnels and any other form of shady, slimy and most possibly muggy zones, because you know why? It’s Thursday, I’ve been working hard all week, I had to go out for work drinks tonight even though I hadn’t planned to and I just want to get home the quickest way possible and yes I could walk the long way back from the bus stop to avoid possible mugging, but you know what? I’m tired and I don’t give a f*ck.