Mirror mirror on the wall...

As I sit here waiting for my friend to arrive to commence preparations for our night out tonight... I'm reminiscing on how the 'getting ready' routine has changed over the years...

It used to be a simple case of Sunbed + All Saints T Shirt + visit to the dealer of the moment = night out ready!

"I'm gonna do cardio for stress relief" my friend BBM's me this morning
"Be careful with Cardio", I respond "I'm only gonna do a little bit, I need to pump my chest and flatten my tummy."

This one night out actually took an entire day of preparation, not including the gym time that we put in by default anyway... I remember only one year ago I wore sweat pants to University Challenge (quite possibly the biggest event on the circuit calendar). So what has changed!? Is it the cruel sand passage of time?
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Do you got game?

"Pats, are you gonna listen though?"  I already know the answer as I'm saying it through the 'phone.

Of course I'm speaking to Phil again, the same Phil that has just severed ties with his other half in a messy, messy divorce that includes an apartment along with the obvious bathroom, DVD, and kitchen collections - and then there's the bloody cat to think about...

"Yeah Pats, please intervene, I will listen!"  He exclaims in our usual deadpan style of communication.  I know he wont listen, and I know I'll only partially intervene with my usual It'll never work line - and the reason for this is simple - I know the game.

Now it's usually unthinkable to admit that 'The Game' exists but I think it's time we blow this one wide open to save Phil's bastard kitten and any future bastard kittens that will become the product of a broken home. 

"So what's gonna happen with the cat?"

"Well I've told him that he can have him if he wants him but if not I'm happy to take it."

See a few months before, I'd noticed a facebook status appear on the boyfriends page saying he was looking for a name for the damn thing (ironically, my choice of Sasha was taken up, ironically named after Sasha Fierce - Beyonce's alter ego!)  now I can say now that I saw where this was going straight away...

"A cat?"

"Yeah, we just got one."  that's it, no excitement or enthusiasm.  None.

Now i'm known to be quite cynical, but in this case I think I'm on the ball.  see the boyfriend is playing the 'entrapment' game and my dear old best friend is playing the 'getting' game.  My Patsy loves cats, and loves the ideal of domesticity that they emobody within the house - so the idea of having the beautiful 2 bed, 2 bath apartment with the boyfriend and the kitten to complete the picture is appealing to both my friend and the boyfriend - but for very different reasons.

Lets break it down, my friend is (perhaps not consciously) playing the 'getting game' - he's going for the ideal of what one should 'typically' have at a certain age...  and the boyfriend is going for it all because it makes him feel secure, because the tenancy agreement, the cat, the responsibilities are all ties to the relationship, like a teenage girl that gets pregnant to keep a man around.

"We're special," another phone call this time, and Phil is revealing his lastest nugget of enlightenment to me, "We're here to share our personalities and get out there - it's rude not to!"

Now, it's important to note that The Game doesn't just relate to the boyfriend, Both Phil and I have worked our way to the tops of our respective careers over the last two years, each landing, excelling and moving on from three positions within an 18 month period where most people would take give to ten years of personal development and objective setting. 

So while Phil navigates his messy divorce and deals with the division of the assets - I'm wondering, aside from the Kitten.... who else are our games affecting, and does anyone ever really get what they want?

Is it good to talk?

So I find myself in a little bit of a situation at the moment that is a little alien to me... Despite having an exceedingly verbal and profoundly articulate life I found myself unable to speak about something.

I wont go into detail about the subject matter, but needless to say it was somewhat personal.

There are things in life that we find so easy to discuss; for example, other people's lives (that often don't concern us in any way), issues at work, what's hot and what's not on TV, The X Factor or what not... However, the mechanics of our own personal relations remain taboo in this somewhat excessively communicative world in which we now live.

Should we feel bad about telling our friend that we think they're getting a little chubby, or that their latest choice in haircut is an absolute disaster or that their personal hygiene is becoming a little questionable of late... My own personal belief is that, no, we certainly should not but the fact remains that these conversations are difficult nonetheless - and often its easier to paper over it and avoid it all together

Despite all of this knowledge I would never apply this theory in my work life because I know that it would damage my professional relationships and would, therefore, have a detrimental effect on my well-being. I don't, however, factor this into my personal relationships because there is so much emotional baggage.

My conundrum is this... Are there some things that one really should put into a little box and lock away into that special corner of the mind or should we spill and deal with the fallout!?

Love Kills Slowly

It was the theme of the holiday...

My best friend and I were going on holiday the next day, we spotted this Ed Hardy bag that my best friends boyfriend had got whilst out shopping with this incredibly busy 'Love Kills Slowly' logo on and we both immediately jumped on board...

WAIT! I should fill you in a lil' more on the situation at hand!

Phil is my best friend in the whole, wide world. We share a connection that just doesn't exist between very many gay men. Like lobsters we're navigating the cruel and somewhat terrifying deep waters of gay life - claw in claw hanging on for dear life!

"Pats, this bag is really understated!" I declare whilst hooking into the hollow of my arm in the style of a liverpool socialite.

Patsy is what we call one another... it had started the previous year in Paris - but that's a whole other story... lets stick to this little one for now!

"Pats!" Phil responded, whilst laid out on the bed like a hollywood diva "that logo is my next tattoo". I should probably say that this whole dialogue is taking place whilst Phils boyfriend is on the floor in the same room packing Phils case for our 'mates holiday' on which he was not invited and has been expressly told he is, in fact, forbidden from attending!

This continued for some time, with Phil barking little instructions about wanting this cream or that cream to his boyfriend who is completely oblivious to the fact that he is being completely mugged off... Phil can be such a diva sometimes...

Since the holiday, Phil has ended things with said boyfriend (which will no doubt lead to many more blogs on here) but it really got me to thinking.... we are conditioned to believe that to have another person in our lives in an intimate way somehow 'completes' us. My question is does love complete us, or, does it in fact kill us slowly?