I fucking love the idea of matchy matchy dressing with my boyfriend. In fact it’s something I try to trick him into doing regularly, but he’s yet to fall for it and was rather annoyed with me when we left his house last weekend in almost matching scarves. I, conversely, punched the air with glee.

Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t want us to look like creepy twins, or like that couple who wear one red one green Converse each that Alexander Fury keeps seeing in Tesco, but there’s something fun and ridiculous about being part of a secret gang of sorts who wear the same clothes and do the same shit. I love secret gangs: I used to wish when I didn’t have anyone to ride my bike with that I could get a whole gang of friends and dress them up in leather jackets, then we’d ride around and maybe find a secret island like in Swallows and Amazons, and hang out there for the afternoon. Come on! Who doesn’t want a secret gang? Handshakes and haircuts, secret words and songs, imagine it!

If you think about it being in a relationship with someone is a bit like being in a secret gang as long as you do it right. The best things about secret gangs are how everything cool you do is exclusive and under wraps. So if you and your boyfriend call each other pet names, or have private jokes, it becomes 100000000% less cool and fun when you say them in front of people. This goes double for dressing up. While Halloween is the one day of the year this advice/rule/whatever can take a hike, I want you first to look at Dough Reinhardt’s face and think twice before you dress as the tooth fairy and a… ummm…. depressed molar?

I find that most people and pets find being dressed up like an amusing toy incredibly humiliating no matter how much I’m, er I mean, you’re enjoying it which is a damned shame. Although, duh, your boyfriend isn’t a toy some days it would really be a lot better if he just let you do his mascara, draw a glitter lightning bolt on his face, and squeeze into some co-ordinating platforms, because then the two of you could act out some sweet as fuck Bay City Rollers videos. Or you could wear matching suits and pretend to be city boys. Or put on wigs and pretend to be Lady Gaga and her reflection. The possibilities are ENDLESS.

Just remember the secret gang’s rule: keep it indoors, because then no-one can laugh at you.

Pictures from Fuck Yeah Cute, I Love Pugs, and Jezebel

Although at one point 2009 seemed like the year that would never end, the last month especially, the finish line is finally in sight so I thought I would make a list of some pertinent things I learned this year. When I say pertinent I mean, ‘really obvious things that most people have probably figured out by now, but that surprised me, and which I still frequently forget’.

1. If the thought of going out with a particular person makes you have a panic attack, then don’t do it.
In January I rang Alex hyperventilating and crying because I was “going to have to be Conor’s girlfriend even though he’s mad and twitchy and has horrible teeth that look like the Berlin Wall”. He patiently explained that I didn’t have to be anyone’s girlfriend if I didn’t want to, and then hung up to watch Hollyoaks.

2. You are (probably) not going to die alone with cats.
And even if you did cats are pretty cool and can do awesome stuff like eat with a fork or chase a laser for hours, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

3. Don’t exchange numbers with someone the morning after if you have no intention of contacting them again.
This is less something I learned, and more something I wish everyone else would learn: If you do give your number over then prepare to be contacted, and either have the balls to say “I’m a prick who gave you my number because I thought it was ‘what you do’ and didn’t want to upset you because I can’t handle emotions.” or arrange a date and see if the other person is any cop.

4. Pretending to like things that you actually hate is pointless.
See: politics, Belgian cinema, thrash metal, Nietzsche, and kale.

5. Although drinking can help you talk to new people, being trashed only helps you pull douchebags.
Because once you’re so wasted you want to dance on a pool table the only man who’s in any state to cope with you is one who’s been drinking since yesterday afternoon.

I learned some other things too obviously (like where Minehead is, the best way to cook salmon, and how to network a printer) but they’re less relevant to this blog… anyway, I hope you all have a wonderful New Year’s Eve, and that whoever you snog at midnight is a keeper, or at least a good kisser.

Ace photo of Takashi Murakami and Kirsten Dunst taken from their video Akihabara Majokko Princess for Pop Life: Art in a Material World

When looking for books to review I realised that The Rules, a seminal moment in dating book history, had passed me by. Initially I was reluctant to spend my hard earned cash on what I guessed (rightly) was a misogynistic piece of crap and then I discovered Book Mooch. Now, due to the generosity of some wonderful women, my bedside table holds Women Who Love Too Much, He’s Just Not That Into You, and, of course, The Rules. Oh and Real Life Crime Scene Investigation which is nowhere near as good as its title suggests.

The Rules’ premise is that if you act stuck up and too busy to hang out you’ll seem mysterious which will mean that the excitement of getting to know you will drive men crazy. Though there is precisely no concrete evidence, not even good old malleable statistics, or even a half-cooked pseudo-scientific study, to back up that this passive aggressive behaviour works, the authors get creative: “No-one knows seems to remember exactly how The Rules got started, but we think they began circa 1917 with Melanie’s grandmother who made men wait nervously in her parent’s parlour in a small suburb of Michigan.” It’s hard to believe that they have the gall to fob us off with the old ‘my friend told me that her grandmother told her’ line as I believe that’s how holocaust deniers got started.

Annoyingly after reading this stupid book I’ve become plagued by the feeling that I’ve been doing everything wrong. When I told Alexander J. Fury this he decided we needed to come up with our own set of rules, which I am now attempting to follow.

Teh Rulez

1. Do not get wasted on a first date/meeting.
Since I cut back on my drinking I have been wasted twice. Admittedly each of these times resulted in pulling but neither was dignified or merited a second ‘date’ (FYI I’m interpreting the word ‘date’ loosely). However getting tipsy is requisite unless it’s Monday afternoon or something.

2. No sleeping together on a first date.
Kissing is fine though, obviously. Alex says: “You should sit down, and kiss, and talk about life and stuff. If you sit down blood will rush to your brains and he’ll remember you more.”  While this is obviously the ranting of a madman, and I do not believe that sex on a first date is wrong, I was given the caveat that “Sex on a second date is ok.” so I caved.

3. Get his number, suggest hanging out, then go home.
These rules get squished together because they should happen in quick succession. I have a terrible habit of meeting people and not getting their numbers, or doing so then texting things like “I just saw [insert celeb we talked about] on the bus!” which can garner no response other than “Cool!”. As for going home first this is a slightly Rules-esque thing, which will apparently stop me hanging around like a bad smell.

4. You must exchange a minimum of 5 texts before the second date.
How you arrange a date in less than 5 texts is beyond me, however if you manage it this apparently means he is not bothered about you. Alex also thinks that waiting more than four hours to reply to a message implies I am not interested. As it took me two days to reply to the last text message I got from an eligible boy I will keep this in mind (he didn’t text back, surprisingly).

5. Don’t try and be ‘normal’.
Every boy I crush out on gets treated to ‘normal Vanessa’. The Vanessa who doesn’t blather about boys and supermarkets and cars and that guy in Deptford town centre who wears a wedding dress and has a shopping trolley full of paper apples and pears. Instead they get a strange semi-mute person who pretends to like D.A.F and shopping for shoes until I crack and scream “As your maker I command you!” and they think I’m crazy and don’t call again. It seems that the boys I mess around with, not caring whether I look funny or cool, are the ones who either crush out on me or become my best friends.

So there we have them: the most moronic dating rules I have ever clapped eyes on. Does anyone else want to join me in this restrictive and possibly futile rules based adventure? Didn’t think so. Sigh. Maybe I’ll just follow Alexyss K Tylor’s advice instead. She seems to know what she’s talking about, right?

Collage by Dash Snow.

In the first of what will hopefully be many videos my lovely lovely best friend Alexander Fury and I consider the question “Why Am I Single?” That refers to me, sadly, as he has an equally lovely boyfriend. Bastard.
FYI, the choice of such a flowery name for this show will become clear within seconds. Enjoy!

The Heart Has Its Reasons – Episode 1 from Vanessa Danger-Rampling on Vimeo.