The Joy of Money

Currently, money is the bane of my life. Like most happy-go-lucky 20-somethings that yearn to live the full yuppie lifestyle, luxuriating in all of the wonders that such a cosmopolitan city like London has to offer, I'm realising that generating the bank balance to match all of those decadent dining experiences and sipping the freshly-made cocktails, is an abuse on my bank balance and one that, realistically, I can't afford.
Put simply, I'm shitting out money faster than I earn it, but am refusing to admit that Aldi would be a better shopping option for me right now rather than the Sainsbury's down the road. (Don't worry, I'm not so disillusioned to think I could ever afford to shop at Waitrose dharling.)

Admittedly June and July have been the most expensive months of my life since records began. I say records, because I do actually have to keep track of everything I spend and earn now (but mostly spend), otherwise my accountant finds it very difficult to help me dodge any unnecessary tax...which is all legal tax dodging I should note, just in case David Cameron reads this and tries to “out” me, I better clarify that I do pay all the tax I should, so there!

I say all tax; that is apart from the bill I got through the other day, which is still outstanding. I won't say how much I owe for someone else's blunder as they miscalculated my tax whilst in previous employment, but lets just say it's not come at a great time. Getting hit with a tax bill when you're self-employed and earning tuppence to start with and not being the sensible money type to 'put a bit away' to cover you when you're tax bill comes through, makes an already tight month, even tighter... and is quite stupid of me.

Having said that I don't do myself any favours, as I was more than happy the other day to continue living it up and joyously waxed a tenner in the arcade at Brighton Pier on a spiffing day out. Spending money on such frivolities seems simply wondrous at the time; ah the nostalgia of the 2p slot machines, the eagerness to bash the mice on the head with the mallet to win a meagre seven tickets that you can exchange for nought and in the back of your mind you know you could have spent that £1 play on buying a plastic yo-yo from the corner shop. Honestly, though, the satisfaction would not have been the same.

It's true that the love/hate relationship with money drives me mental and I even know what I should be spending my money on, I just can't bring myself to do it. Having so little of it means that when I do get a bit, spending it in the pub or trips out seems much more fun. Is this how alcoholic bums become alcoholic bums? Possibly being flat broke and only having enough money for one can of Special Brew is easier living than having just enough for drinks money, but not quite enough that you can really have a good time because you know there are bills to be paid and groceries to be bought?

I blame the ideology of “being sensible” for ruining the joy of money.

On that note though, I'm in no way saying being an alcoholic bum is a nicer way to live, possibly just easier, simpler. As George Orwell admitted when he gave up his humble livings to write Down and Out in Paris and London, “Within certain limits, it is actually true that the less money you have, the less you worry.” He has a point, because you can't worry about it.

Either that, or my other reasoning is being so filthy rich that money isn't a problem. Bring on the millionaire suitors Jeeves...!

MISSING: The month of June. Blogger goes blank, but alcohol is not to blame

Do you ever have periods of time in your life when you can't remember what the hell happened, how you got to where you are and where the time went? I liked to think I wouldn't start loosing recollections of such lengthy periods of my life until I was quite a bit older, maybe somewhere in my 50's, but it seems that a mental deficiency to recall actions and events between the end of May and throughout June have set in at the tender age of 25. Unfortunately I can't even claim that I was on the piss being a boozy journo stereotype either.

Here is some of what happened in May through to the end of June that now all feels a bit surreal, and, like, if I was to put it all in writing I don't think it would seem possible that it all fitted into four weeks...

I moved house - a pretty fucking major event really.

I went to Chelsea Flower Show - for the first time ever and chatted to Ricky Gervais, Cerys Matthews and met two of the, er, celebrities (?) from Made In Chelsea and annoyingly thought they were really nice. The plants were pretty too.

Got impetigo - no pic for this. It wasn't pretty. Only got it because of the stress of moving. Stupid moving.

Had my feature published in the July issue of Cosmopolitan magazine. The most exciting day of the month.


Image: by Wench

Partied until 6am (-4 hours) at my boyfriend's housewarming, which was the latest I'd stayed up in aaaaages!
Made soup for the first time in my life, ever.

Then at the end of the month I had a bit of a regression to childhood as I met Thomas the Tank Engine, not for the first time either (we go waaaay back).

Hopefully our next blog encounter will be less of a catch up and more of a natter, because quite honestly I've missed talking to you!

RoseC -x-

 

5 sure fire ways to murder your libido

Because usually I really like sex, but here are my fail-safe anti-sex tips on how to really make sure you don't want 'it'...

1. Move house...two months before the Olympics
As if having to pack up all of your shit, find a 'reliable' man with a van and coordinate your moving out date with four other people, while coughing up the pittance of money you earn to spend on a deposit and a two months rent upfront, but still try to deceive the estate agent that yes, you can afford this house, isn't stressful enough [breathe] you also have to move just before the Olympics because the landlord has now decided he wants his house back. This inevitably makes house hunting nigh-on impossible and doubly stressful. Forced to replace porn watching time with gazing at Gumtree for five hours and trying to call and converse with 80 estate agents within a day, is enough to drive anyones mojo away.

2. Work all day in a sex shop
Don't get me wrong, it's a lot of fun selling vibrators to unsuspecting customers ('unsuspecting' because they only came into 'browse'. I rarely let 'browsers' leave empty-handed), but really, there is too much of a good thing. After a 12 hour shift, the last sound I want to hear is the low murmur of a buzzing contraption. Simply fuck off and get that dual motored, multi-speed with 5 extra pulse functions, G-Spot vibe away from me.

3. Cut yourself shaving
I won't go into details, but "ow", and a bit sore. Does anyone know a good waxer?

4. Be a fun sponge
Due to moving house and working 12 hour shifts, allow yourself to be grumpy. Refuse to do anything more than sit on the sofa and drink red wine, then moan at your boyfriend when he suggests playing Xbox, going to catch up with friends, play golf, or even go for a nice walk. Put your foot down out right and say in your best huffy voice, "No." Guaranteed to kill not just yours, but his libido too.

5. Watch 'Lee Nelson's Really Good Show'...or whatever the fuck it's called
Never have I seen such pointless drivel on the TV - apart from Made In Chelsea - that has actually made me want to write to the BBC and demand back the portion of my licence fee that went towards paying for such utter shite. After listening to half an hour of his shit chav-like chat, you end up going to bed despairing at what the world has come to and it would be impossible to have sex even if you'd taken a bottle of Viagra because you simply loose hope for the human race and therefore any notions of wanting to procreate, or rehearse in the practise of, are totally lost.

RoseC -x-

Subs, sex and money

I've been feeling a little bit stale the last few days. Of course, I'm not suggesting in a physical sense, it's not like I've stopped showering and left my hair to go lank or other parts of my body to go crusty - gross, sorry. In the writing stakes though, I just feel like I've come to a bit of a stand still.

After the pressure, adrenaline and all round fun and excitement of writing up my Big Commission and submitting it, then writing another (apparently) stellar feature for Adventure Bike Rider magazine last week, I now feel a little lost and in limbo. Currently there's nothing else major lined up and that makes me a little apprehensive. I need to get my teeth into something else HUGE.

Freelancing is sort of strange in that way, because when you get a gig it's all like, "Hurrah, this is ace, I've got a job for at least a month. Something to keep me really busy," and you know you've worked so hard to get the commission in the first place that it gives you a real high when you get the go ahead.

A month later, once is all done, written and submitted, then you find yourself back at square one facing exactly the same battles. It's this area of being self-employed that I sometimes find the hardest - staying that motivated and dedicated all of the time and I have days where I'm like, 'Ahh fuck it. Can a story just land in my lap today please so I at least earn something?' That rarely happens though.

There has been one little project that I edited together and worked on for the Vibrations Direct blog: an interview with a male submissive. It was really interesting to talk to him, like this is a guy that literally dedicates his whole being to his female dominant. He's not one of those chaps that pops off to a Mistress on the sly from his vanilla wife for a little bit of slap and tickle, he literally lives in service to her all of the time. Puts my sub tendencies into pitiful perspective. The interview is here if you'd like to take a mo to read it. http://www.vibrationsdirect.co.uk/blogs/blog

The rest of this week will be dedicated to getting my second big commission. I've got a few ideas to write up and pitch, then fingers crossed at least one of them will get the go ahead.

I think I'm feeling particular pressure because I have to move house in a months time. Inevitably this means finding money for a deposit, another months rent plus paying the rent on the place I'm already in, agency fees and then the overall cost of the house I'm moving to is really pushing my budget to the maximum. To say I'm shitting it and a little bit nervous about making ends meet is an understatement!

That's not to say it's not do-able (hello Mr Estate Agent if you ever find this before we sign the contracts). It just means I need to get my head down and really start pushing myself, even more than I am doing. If my fella heard me say that he'd probably ask, "How?" as he thinks I work hard enough already, bless. There's always more that can be done though and it's that extra bit more that I need to do.

*Sigh* I wish earning money as a writer was easier sometimes, at least for the next month or two.

Cheers,
RoseC (soon to be writing whore as will take commissions on anything!) -x-    

Just a love machine

We sell a great number of amazing, titillating, vibrating, sexy, powerful and alluring toys in the sex shop I work in. There is literally a huge number of gadgets and lingerie to satisfy on offer, but for some people this just isn't enough. Some people see past the designer dildos, the multi-speed vibrators and instead make it their sole purpose to come into the shop and use The Love Machine.

It looks a little bit like this.

The one in the shop doesn't look quite as modern as this, I couldn't actually find the one we have on google images. Testament perhaps as to how old it might be. That's by-the-by though, the point is that people - ok, mainly men - walk into the shop specifically to use this contraption to get their 'love' or 'sex' rating thinking that it tells them the truth. If they hit a 10, they're assured they're gonna get laid that day, or if they get a two or three they claim they don't understand, ask me to explain and then throw an explicit or two at the machine when they believe it's just told them they don't have a hope in hell of pulling because they're 'a wet fish'.

I first spotted this phenomenon when an Asian chap brought an older gentleman friend of his into the store. They spoke for a moment in a language I didn't understand, but by the tone you could infer he was saying something along the lines of: "You put 20p in there, put your finger on there and it tells you how sexy you are and if you're going to get your end away."

"Really?" asks the older chap sceptically.

"Absolutely, just do it, here give me 20p," inserts into slot and forces his friends finger onto the metal pad.

At the point the machine kicks in and makes some god-awful noises that you only hear at gyppo carnivals just before the rides are about to start. It lasts about a minute. The whole time the gent stands frozen, his finger on the pad, not sure what the funny, little pink machine is going to do next.

"OOOOHHHHHH, AAAAHHHHH! 10! YOU GOT 10," (I assume) the younger man declares excitedly, obviously happy that his friend will be getting his leg over that evening. The older man casually shrugs his shoulders as if he knew this already. What a playa.

This must bode well for the younger man, who takes his turn next. Clearly the love machine is on fire today and everyone will be having sex. Hell, London may even become one big orgy before sunset.

Sadly, it's not to be. The younger chap only scored a five. Head down, disappointed, he probably won't even make it off the bench. They promptly leave the store.

People who like to play this game often get agitated if they don't have any 20p's and ask you to change a pounds worth. We're not allowed to do this. Upon telling them we're often met with disgust that we've now scuppered their chance to get jiggy.

Well, actually, no we haven't. It's a fucking game, it's not real. It goes on pulse rate, it's ridiculous. It's about as accurate as a mood ring telling you you're suicidal even though you feel like a ray of sunshine. If you really want something satisfying then why not take the time to look at, or even buy, some of the actual, good sex toys that we sell. Stick your dick in that and I promise it'll be a lot more satisfying than discovering a lie from the love machine!

Thankfully, most people that play in groups realise it's a gimmick, a bit of fun. The false hope is supposed to be laughed at as your nerdy friend scores a nine or 10, but the stud gets a meagre three.

I once told a man that it wasn't real...well he did ask!

Venturing in with two other male friends they were dressed smart, nice cologne and clearly about to hit the town. Up they step to the machine, two of them with serious looks on their faces as their sex fate was about to be decided. The third chap, who must have had a bit more going on upstairs, turned to me and asked, "Is this actually real? Or is it a toy?"

"It's just a toy sir, a bit of fun." We both laughed, but I could tell he died a bit inside at the disappointment as the laughing stopped and he relayed my message to his friends. I felt like I'd killed some sort of mythical sex fairy.

They left, and I only hope they managed to roger some girls just to prove how wrong the love machine was and they didn't need it's backing to get a shag.

To a point, I guess it's a confidence booster for some chaps, if they know they've got a 10 behind them. So for all it's fault and intimidating noises, long live the falsity of The Love Machine. 

A big ball of sunshine and happiness...

Today I am feeling fucked off.

There are several reasons for this, some I may go into and some I definitely won't. Lets tackle the obvious one first: the weather is really fucking nice and I'm stuck indoors writing, or trying to write, but I'm being thwarted at every turn and nothing seems to be coming together for me today. If ever there was a worse example of pathetic fallacy, then today would be it because my mood is fucking hideous, but it's such a glorious and beautiful day outside.

Bastard weather.

Another reason for my bad mood is that I'm uncharacteristically feeling like a complete soppy fucker and really missing The Boyf. He's been staying at mine for the last three weeks, but he "moved out" on Sunday. He's found a house now, so the pressure is off a little, but he has to help arrange viewings for his old place down in Kent. Do I feel as if I've been dropped like a cold bag of sick?...Of course not...

I thought I'd be all happy having my own space back, but instead I feel a bit shit that he's not around in the evenings and as much as I hated him waking me up because I was snoring, I quite miss having him in bed. Mostly I miss him cooking for me though. I've to reacquaint myself with how a saucepan works as well as how to navigate around Tesco for the food shopping. Well, it's just been so long since I've had to do it...

Talking of space, the final 'mini rant' I'm going to have is about the fact that I may have to move house. The landlord has decided to put the rent up and there's no way I can justify paying more than I do for my box of a room. Moving house is a ball ache - hunting for a house is even more so. Especially as we're in the run up to the Olympics. I can't even begin to tell you how many adverts on Gumtree are advertising properties at disgusting prices just because the Olympics are on for two weeks of the fucking year. Fuck that.

Overall I think today is a complete write-off. Not what I had in mind at all as I was so productive on Monday and yesterday I had a really good day in the sex shop; I managed to sell one of the most expensive toys in the cabinet!

Go me!

RoseC -x- 

The weather's shit, but I'm happy!

Everything's been a bit topsy turvy lately, with so much going on that if I was to go into it all then it would bore you stupid. Instead I've decided to do a chart-style run down of my most favourite things to have happened over the last...hm, how far should I go back? Right, ok lets say, the last two weeks. I think that's sufficient enough time to fit in all the major dramas. I guess if it's a chart it should start with the least amazing of all the amazing things I'm about to tell you, right?

In at FIVE
The bf is currently living with me. For all of this week he's staying with me in my little room in my, not so little, house with me and housemates. He started his new job in the City, but hasn't found anywhere to live yet so is crashing at mine. There's several reasons why this is good: first it's so nice to have him around for a long time after having been a 'weekend arrangement' for the last year and a half; I haven't had to cook a meal since last Friday because he enjoys cooking and has done it all; he made the most awesome chocolate cake on Monday that makes me want to say he can stay forever...and I won't even care if I get fat(ter).

At number FOUR
I received a copy of Adventure Bike Rider magazine last week with my feature in it. It's all motorbike related facts and stats that will literally BLOW YOUR MIND! Granted, I'm not the most savvy motorbike, er, person, but what puts this on my hit list is how cool it was to see my work and name in actual print again. Been a while since that happened so it's quite novel really.

New at THREE
As I've not been earning quite enough from my writing endeavours I've picked up a part time job...in a sex shop!!! Fuck it's awesome. I literally couldn't be happier working there. I get to give people advice on sex toys, and lube, and corsets, and, and, and...ah it's just fab. The other day I sold a vibrator to a customer that had never used toys before. Most awesome and there are some really interesting characters that come in there. There was me thinking you only met oddballs and interesting folk through bar work, well no way. Can't wait for my next shift...oh yeah, I don't have to, it's tomorrow. YAY!

Straight in at TWO
As if I needed any more confirmation that my life was turning into that of fictional wannabe writer Daisy Steiner, which I mentioned in my last post here, not a week after posting that did I meet the actual actress, Jessica Hynes, who played her. I did a total, utter geek out and gushed about how much I loved Spaced. She was cool with it though and she initiated actual, physical touching when she placed her hand on my shoulder first. In between dithering I'm not sure what I said to her. I know I did manage to refrain from telling her my life is that of Daisy's as I didn't want to totally freak her out. Honestly made my week, which is why it's so high up on the list.

The big one at number ONE
If you haven't heard already, and the only way you'll have missed this is if you don't pay enough attention to me on Twitter of FB, I got my first commission from Cosmopolitan magazine. HURRAH! I pitched my little heart out to them and they've decided to run with one of my ideas in an upcoming issue. So massively excited for what it'll do for my profile (and my bank balance). Obviously I can't say much, but rest assured, it's on my favourite subject: sex.

Aahh so overall a good couple of weeks. I have loads more in the pipeline that I'm working on and excited about. Declaring myself as self-employed to HM Revenue and Customs today wasn't one of them. Form filling is not my forte!

Until next time and thank ye for reading.
RoseC -x-