This blog has now moved

This blog has now moved to www.blackjackenigma.co.uk

Full Circle

It’s not as if I’ve ever been good at this part. Every girl thinks that the next one that comes along could be her fairy tale. Everyone has their own personal brand of prince charming. Mine tends to come with baggage, and usually a whole load of issues in establishing what he wants, when he wants it and what his exact specifications will be. I can never figure it out, but that’s probably because he’s never quite got it down either.

We all play games with each other. I don’t care how many friends tell you to call off whatever lingering lust, infatuation, obsession or love affair you’re currently harbouring because “he/she’s playing you; messing with your head.” We all do it. Because you’ll resist texting him/her for 24 hours just to see if they’ll text you first; somehow that’s proof that they’re interested, and if they don’t, they can go to hell. At least, that’s what I say to myself, but I give in; I text and I chuck my heart and soul through the door after my words.

Is that a bad thing? I don’t think so. I’m currently learning that what some people think is an obvious hint at a particular course of action, others don’t see until it’s spelled out to them. And I’m not calling the latter stupid, and not just because I usually fall into that category. The truth is, you can have fun throwing around metaphors to give your message a tongue-in-cheek edge, but whereas one person might read it as a hint towards a future in your arms, you may have intended to wait and see if you end up gravitating anywhere near the arm vicinity first. But chucking your very being into that person’s world lets you learn exactly what you’re feelings are right from the start.

So you establish what you want. What happens if the other person establishes that you’re certainly not getting what you want yet, and that there’s a possibility that you might never get it at all? It takes a strong person to take a step back and say “Fine, let’s just see.” Which makes it slightly on the shocking side that someone so stubborn, and with a burgeoning power complex, managed to do it. But today I did. It’s time for me to truly acknowledge the beauty of being friends with someone before a romance begins to blossom. I’ve spent every relationship throwing myself into some kind of new world, new home. Each time it’s been one I’ve not been entirely comfortable with, although at the time I would never admit it. I’d just end up either throwing myself, or being thrown back out the window.

Perhaps the “not friends first” part is where I’ve gone so wrong in the past. Each time it’s been so intense, and everything has been so assumed. I realise now that the “we are aiming for a relationship” attitude actually just puts pressure on the both of you. You have to make it work, because you told everyone that’s exactly what you were looking to do. And when it doesn’t work, it doesn’t just fall apart; it goes catastrophically wrong. You hate each other, you never want to see each other again. You can’t be friends, because you never were in the first place.

I always used to think that people who were friends first would get bored very quickly in a relationship; that the thrill of skipping that step was that you were constantly learning more about each other. But it’s not like people ever stop learning about each other. Although you may think you know someone like the back of your hand, stick them in a tricky situation, and they won’t always react in the way that you think they will. These days, we live long enough that everyone can surprise us at least once.

So here comes something that, no matter how many times I say it to myself, always surprised me. Most people have no idea what they want. For someone who’s always known exactly what I’m looking for, it has continually shocked me that some people simply can’t answer the question. Instead of forcing them to decide, I guess it would be best to just squeeze their hand, flash a friendly smile, and be open to the idea that one day they might decide that the answer is you.

I realise that I’m kinda telling this story the wrong way around; letting you in on the epiphany I’ve just arrived at before revealing the path that lead me here, but somehow it feels appropriate. The previous chapters will appear here soon, I promise.

My (Dys)functional Family

I received one of the greatest phone calls the other day. My eldest brother texted me whilst I was work, just with the words “Can you text me when you’re free? X” Me, being the world’s biggest worrier, thought that something must be wrong. When Si called later on, I was a little confused by his first question; “What’s Bournemouth like, Gem?” Si needed a fresh start and a day later he handed in his notice at work and decided that he’s going to move down south in mid May to join me! I’m so excited!

Over the years, I’ve not seen as much of my big brother as I’d like. Technically, I’m one of five, although technically I’m not. I have a rather complicated family that has resulted in me having a twin brother, two half brothers and having adopted their half sister as my own. We are all so close, and yet there’s only one photo in existence of all five of us together, because we’re never in the same place at the same time.

The problem is me, Danny and Si, and we’ll admit it; because Adam and Steph still live at home. Si moved to the Lake District when he was 16 and two years later, Danny joined him. I then moved to Coventy, whilst studying at Warwick University. Then, when I was living in Leamington Spa in my third year, Si moved to the Cotswolds, just outside of Oxford and so we saw each other a lot. After Uni, I moved back to Manchester and then to Crewe, following jobs as I went. It’s only recently I’ve found out that, in the same week I moved to Bournemouth, Si journeyed back up North.

And he’s bored, just like I was in a small town with nothing to do. So he made the decision on the phone the other night. Soon I’ll be reunited with my big brother, and I can’t wait.

What I find really interesting, is how a family that only gets together very rarely, can share as much, if not more love, than families that live in each other’s pockets. I’ve seen families almost tear each other’s throats out, but mine never have, despite the fact that we don’t always call or text each other back. I don’t have the answer, but I’m intrigued to know – what do you think is at work here?

Join the conversation #The378Blog or @FieryRockets on Twitter.

Getting Back on the Road

Pre 16 Gem in Muted Colours

Everyone has THAT moment; the one where all of a sudden, everything changes. And it’s not because something different was forced upon you; it’s because you’ve had enough of the same old shite that you want to make sure every second from that moment forward is lived to its absolute fullest. Some people have multiple moments like this throughout their lives. Some people are in their 50s before it appears. For me, it first happened when I was 16, and all because a friend forgot my birthday.
It was one of those moments where you have no idea why you’re so upset, because the trigger seems so unbelievably childish and meaningless. It takes a little while for you to realise that that’s not actually the reason you’re crying; it’s just the thing that set you off.



Back in crazy clothes!

Whilst I was at Primary School, I was known for being the loud, bubbly and rather insane ginger girl. Teachers and students alike loved me for it. At that age, being rather random and confident with it is what makes you popular. But we were all a little crazy at my Primary School anyway – I think it was an entry requirement. So you can imagine my shock when, upon entry to High School, I realised that being who I’d been for the last 11 years was not going to make me revered.

I was bullied. Incessantly. Never mind being an oddball and a bit of a personality, I was ginger, smart and wore glasses too. Your classic geek. I was far too enthusiastic for my own good, as far as the cool kids were concerned. If I got the answer right, I was a swot. If I got it wrong, I was an idiot. I couldn’t win. So eventually, without realising it, I stopped putting my hand up altogether. I stopped being loud. I stopped joining in. I slowly retreated into my shell, without even thinking about it.


In London for the Bar MOCK Trial

And for some reason, on my 16th Birthday, someone completely forgetting it made me realise what I’d done.

You may say I lost everything, but I still had my bedazzler. And I had a lot of patches, shiny ones from M and J trimmings, so I wreaked havoc on some old denim and I did what any girl would do. I did it all over again.

Lady Gaga – “Marry the Night” Video

 

Sometimes I wish my story was as dramatic as Lady Gaga’s. But then I guess it is:

When I look back on my life, it’s not that I don’t want to see things exactly as they happened; it’s just that I prefer to remember them in an artistic way. And truthfully the lie of it all it much more honest because I invented it. I’m gonna be a star. You know why? Because I’ve got nothing left to loose.

Random Gem Returns!

Lady Gaga – “Marry the Night” Video

Returning to the stage

I picked myself up. I ran for the Student Management Committee. I joined the Bar MOCK Trial team. I forced myself to put my hand up. I answered every question with a tongue-in-cheek joke with my teachers. I made the yearbook. I went to Warwick University. I joined the Street Dance Team. I got through some epic auditions. I choreographed the Street Dance Team. I produced dance events. I was President of the Street Dance Team. I became a Producer. I became an Artist. I fell in love. 3 times. I loved, lost, laughed till it hurt and cried till I fell about laughing with all the friends I gained along the way. And I’ve hit a million brick walls, but fulfilled a million dreams and every single time I hear those bullying words at the back of my mind, I will admit that a part of me listens to them for just a little while. But then I’ll have THAT moment again; whether it’s being cheated on, or finding out later that you were, finding yourself staring down at an alcoholic other half or having your line manager and friend take you for dinner just to tell you to stop worrying about it all. I’ve been handed notebooks full of messages from inspired students and peers and I’ve jumped around my house and through the streets of Manchester when I’ve landed dream jobs. Each time something clicks. I tell those voices to fuck of once more, grab a pen, some paper, my ipod, my dance shoes and shove my heart strings back into place. I get back on the road. And I keep going.

Working on the Manchester International
Festival's "Music Boxes"

And throughout various blog entries here, I’m going to tell you exactly how I did it. Join the conversation - #The378Blog or @FieryRockets on Twitter.

"The Moment When" Tech Rehearsals

Technorati Verification: C6N6ZNW4DS8T



Now working for Pavilion Dance South West

Affairs of the Heart - A Night in A&E

The last thing you expect on a Sunday night after a day of coffee, house cleaning and blogging is to end up in A&E with mysterious chest pains… especially when you’re 23. To be completely honest, I’d experienced chest pains 6 months before and had called my dad, asking him to drive me 40 miles to the emergency doctor before being told by said doctor that nothing was wrong with me and that I should go back to sleep. I’d also had a few twinges in the last couple of weeks, but me, the workaholic with a fear of illness, chose to ignore them.

When I woke up on Sunday morning, they were there. As I tidied the flat, made some lentil dhal for dinner (which I didn’t completely devour as usual) and began to write that week’s 378 blog, the pains shifted across my chest. The scary thing was, they were mostly on the left side. The aches switched to twinges; mini heart attacks as far as my brain was concerned but, knowing me, I was just panicking and making things worse. So I packed up my laptop and walked through the rain into town, in search of a coffee and some wifi.

My ECG Results

Two soya hazelnut lattes and a minor disagreement with the internet connection later, and I ended up at the Pavilion Dance office, stealing my workplace’s internet and helping out on Front of House in return. Still in pain. After eating something, the twinges and aches subsided a little and I concluded that I was just being stupid.

But at 2am, as the pains got progressively worse and I could not sleep at all, I fumbled for my phone and stuck my symptoms into NHS Direct’s symptom checker. The message was plain, in huge red letters – CALL 999. Feeling my breathing lean slightly towards hyperventilation, I called NHS Direct and was told the same thing by their operators before being directed to a nurse. After 30mins and a million questions, the message was a little less urgent; call the emergency doctor. So I did. And she told me to call 999.

So at 2:45am on a Monday morning, I’m ringing my friend and work colleague, Cally, begging for her to pick up. Her phone is on silent, whilst I’m having a panic attack on the other end. By a stroke of luck, Cally had saved her fiancé’s number into my phone when her phone had died a few days prior. I rang Gus. The rather sleepy American picked up and I garbled some gobble-di-gook about how sorry I was and how I really needed Cally right now.

Cally was brilliant. In the calmest voice I’ve ever heard, she just said: “Sit down. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.” Sure enough, she was. I called the ambulance and she beat it to me. And while the paramedics stuck wires all over me, she packed a bag, managing to find both my contraceptive pill and my knicker drawer. Points to Cally for that one.

In the ambulance, the paramedics reassured me that I wasn’t having a heart attack; that my vital signs were currently fine, but that the only way to figure out what was happening to me was to go to hospital for a blood test. Cally triple checked that my front door was locked and jumped in.

I have to hand it to the A&E department at Bournemouth Royal – they are brilliant. Just minutes after I arrived I was having my second ECG and they checked my blood pressure (which they did every hour following).

Although still very uncomfortable, I don’t think you can help but people watch in a situation like that. The patient that arrived after me was a middle aged man who appeared to be extremely ill – I don’t think I’ll ever be able to describe his legs clearly; they were blotchy, and covered in dimples. It wasn’t long before those dimples were explained, as one of the nurses asked him what he had taken and he yelled “Heroin” before a range expletives and a stream of consciousness wondering why no one was giving him another hit.

Souvenir Hospital Bracelet!

He was abusive, and very rude to all of the staff. Yes, he was in pain, and they couldn’t give him anything for it because of what he’d taken (and of course a slight distrust as to whether he was telling the whole truth). It’s a whole other debate, I’m sure you’ll agree, but it brought a shocking truth home that taxpayers’ money goes to help out someone who chose to destroy themselves in that way. The drunken woman who fell out of bed next to him proved the point even further.

But what was really depressing, or more heart-wrenching, was the old lady who came in, also with chest pains. But unlike me, she was completely alone. Cally stayed by my side; awake, chatty and reassuring for the 5 hours I was in A&E. This lady had no one, from beginning to end. It’s the sad reality in our society these days that old people are abandoned by their families as useless or just too much hard work. With the heroin addict across from her, and the scary thoughts that chest pains bring to the average human being, this lady really could have done with someone familiar with her. I hope someone at least joined her after I was discharged.

My blood test came back fine, my blood sugar and blood pressure stayed within their normal limits. But just to be sure, the hospital decided to give me an X-ray so that they could see into my chest cavity. Again, all normal, but I was so appreciative of the efforts to find out what was wrong with me.

6 days later, I still have the pains in my chest and I’ve been advised to go to my GP to find other ways of figuring out what’s wrong. I confess, even after 6 months living in Bournemouth, I hadn’t quite got around to registering with a new doctor yet, but I was round there like a flash as soon as I’d caught up on lost sleep. After peeing in a pot and having some random machine take my height, weight, BMI and blood pressure (again!) I’m all signed up and hoping to see a doctor soon. We have a theory at work that it might be caused by anxiety – I’m far too much of a worrier and I stress myself out quite a lot. Then again, I have this weird theory that I wouldn’t be as good at my job if I didn’t. Most people think I’m wrong on that one!

Just goes to show though, how one hospital may fob you off as being dramatic, and another will do everything just to make damned sure you’re okay.

Love is Love. End Of.

This week, the House of Commons approved same sex marriage in the UK. It’s a long overdue move forward for many people – the unequal rights that people have suffered previously, based up their sexual orientation have long needed a shove in the other direction. Whilst this debate has really gotten into full swing over the last year or so, it’s really reminded me of some GIFs I saw a while back These GIFs showed Black segregation at its height in America and stated that in 50 years’ time those who were against Gay Marriage will look back and realise just how stupid they all were.

I’ve heard far too many arguments against Gay Marriage; ones that simply stem from homophobia – there are no well thought out arguments in sight. “It’s not natural” they say. Really? What could be more natural than following your earthly desires with someone you truly love and are dedicated to? And for that matter, what is wrong with two consenting adults engaging in intimate acts that are private… and whose business is it what they get up to?

I’d like to remind those blindly arguing against any kind of person not being able to marry any other kind of person, that heterosexual (and usually, but wrongly deemed “normal”) couples engage in acts of love which many others may not approve of (let’s just put 50 Shades of Grey on the table here) yet they are not outlawed. I use this extreme example to demonstrate just how silly all of this law business is. You will let a straight couple engage in anal fisting in the comfort on their own home but you will not let a man slip a ring on another man’s finger? Perspective people, please.

And let’s just have a look at that word “normal”. In the 21st Century, where everyone decides to conduct their relationships in whichever way they please, can someone honestly give me a dictionary definition of this concept? A “normal” relationship no longer exists. I’m not sure it ever did. Some of my friends have rules and regulations about how long they wait before sexual contact or how long you have to be together before you can say those 3 little words and truly mean them. I don’t, and some of my other friends don’t. Some go for certain guidelines and not for others, but they all behave and conduct their relationships in a way which works for them. That doesn’t mean one of us is wrong and the other isn’t – we’re all different, remember?

So let’s throw out this word “normal” and focus on what’s really at stake here, because those MPs who didn’t approve same sex marriage, who have probably never been through any stigma in their life, should not have the right to decide whether others can get married or not. The Same Sex Marriage debate has been going on for a long while now. It was first brought to my attention when Civil Partnerships came into existence in 2004. At the time, it was another huge step forward, but just the sheer fact that it was given a different name to that of heterosexual relationships, meant that from the start it was not about equality for everyone. It was about giving those of a different sexual orientation something similar; something that looked like marriage, but wasn’t. What rights were the same? Property rights, inheritance tax, social security, pensions, parental responsibilities, tenancy rights, full life insurance recognition and next of kin rights in hospitals. Sounds brilliant, right? But if the rights are the same, why call it something else? The difference of title, for me shows inherent prejudice, before anyone’s even started to discuss the matter.

Issues around sexuality have also arisen in the last few years with a significant increase in pop culture’s interest in the subject matter; with androgynous rockers going back to the likes of Placebo and their debut in 1996, and the release of chart topper “Nancy Boy” in 1998, allowing the lyrics “And it all breaks down to the role reversal” to grace the mainstream’s airwaves. Their 2000 single “Taste in Men” is a song which many sing along to; it’s one of those that you’ve heard around, you know all the words but you’re not sure where it’s from or who wrote it. And of course, those people singing along to the lyrics “change your style again” have no idea that the video depicts the feminine, bisexual vocalist Brian Molko conducting affairs with a man and a woman at the same time. Some of Placebo’s messages and images were more stark than others, but they certainly started to make a noise in the lats 90s and early 00s. Then along came a flurry of powerful female icons; Katy Perry not afraid to claim “I Kissed a Girl and I liked it” and finally this decade’s Gay Icon, Lady Gaga who’s thundering tune “Pokerface”, reportedly about a previous boyfriend being oblivious to her bisexuality, was the UK’s number one single for 3 weeks, staying in the chart for an incredible 66 weeks.

Despite the rush of musicians trying to break down barriers with regards to sexuality and equality since the 1970s and its glam rock era, Lady Gaga seems to have hit the chord in a very different way. She’s taken the world by storm, with the previously named “freaks” of the world becoming her army of “Little Monsters”, flaunting their sexual orientation, “gender bending” and flamboyant personalities, and rightly so. Of course, she’s been hit by the opposition numerous times though, but that hasn’t stopped her. A rather huge fan of Gaga’s, I remember seeing a video of hers a few years ago, in which a protester at one of her shows handed her a “Get Out of Hell Free Card” because he believed that was where she was heading. After a long search on YouTube, I’m pleased to say I managed to locate the original video, which you can watch below.

Although she’s been labelled as such, personally I don’t think “Gay Icon” is the right way to describe Lady Gaga. This inspirational woman is a Freedom Fighter, a missionary for equality, being brave and freedom of expression. And that’s what this is all about isn’t it? Freedom.

Doesn’t it strike anyone as slightly worrying that, after 7 of our recorded millennia, we’re still fighting amongst ourselves for freedom? I know that, despite this monumental occasion, homophobia won’t stop just yet, just as I refuse to say that racism no longer exists because the law says it shouldn’t. It does. Because at the end of the day, some people are just terrified of difference. Well I say embrace it.

I’m straight, (albeit with an acquired taste for feminine men) but I’ve spent many an hour rolling my eyes at people who told me I “looked like a lezza” when I used to have a Mohawk, and I’ve researched and written this particular blog entry to the stunning soundtrack of Brian Molko’s dulcet tones. So many people listen to Placebo’s lyrics and ask me what the hell he’s going on about. I know what he’s saying:

Love is love. End of.

Join the Conversation #The378Blog or @FieryRockets on Twitter.

Disclaimer: Please note, these views belong solely to me and I do not claim to represent the views of the gay community, merely to stand in support of their rights.

Life on a Tangent

Opinions. My life revolves around them. By day, I'm a Performing Arts Professional, and by night I'm the same, just with more sass. Ever since I was 11, I've always felt passionate about certain things, and expressed my right to say something about them. Now, 12 years later, and in the rather subjective world of the arts industry, I spend most of my days talking about opinions, whether they're mine, or those of another artist or audience member.

But my strong feelings about the state of this world stretch much further than the stage. Having long called myself a feminist, I recently read (albeit a little behind schedule) Caitlin Moran's How to be a Woman, and found myself enthralled at her discussions on women and our position in society, through her own life. Because, let's face it, no matter what you beleive in, your life will never follow that path to the letter. We're human, bound to stray and that's not a bad thing at all. When we stray, we learn. If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times, but no matter how many times you tell someone you care about not to do something, because you know how destructive it is, they will not listen until they've made the mistake on their own. It's the best way to learn.

I've learnt many a lesson this way. In fact, my life has taken a rather strange route to end up where I am now, and I'm sure it'll continue to do so. A friend of mine and I used to joke about how our lives were like the 378 bus that went through our home town - the bus took almost an hour to get to the next town, just 2 miles down the road, because it went down every single road in every single housing estate along the way. Life is very much like that - it goes off on a tangent and might then rejoin the original path a lot further down the line... or maybe not at all.

In her book, Caitlin Moran spoke of a guidebook to womanhood. A guidebook to life in general, for all sexes, genders and sexualities is certainly something that I hear many people crying out for. But there is no guidebook; just people sharing with others how they've managed it.

For everyone, there's that ideal life that you aim for, that ideal partner that you dream of, and in recent years we have been lulled into a state of mind that believes that those day dreams and fantasies are not just unachievable, but that they simply don't exist. I'd like to challenge that idea.

Yes, we all daydream and fantasise about things that seem far fetched in our hours spent communiting to work or on a long journey to visit friends. In my mind, I've had sordid love affairs with mulitple rock stars, performed with Lady Gaga and won Oscars plus a prestigious award that currently there's no call for. Harmless little day dreams they may seem, and you know you're just making it all up, but there's no hiding the fact that the minute you touch back down on earth you feel stripped of everything that was yours.

Forget the famous personalities though, the main part of the romantic and raunchy daydreams we all have, is that we truly feel loved and worshipped by someone we'd be willing to love and worship in return. And that's the part we're being told is unattainable. But it's not. I can't be the only person on the planet to have stared into a lover's eyes after reacquainting ourselves with each other following a long period of absence and felt like the world completely stopped. Yes, that moment comes and it goes and a few months later you may be screaming at each other down the phone and using the words "If you ever come near me again, I'll rip your f**king eyeballs out", but nevertheless, that moment occurred. And at 23, with every new relationship I have, I feel like I'm breaking new, more positive ground... and I have a lot of friends who feel the same way.

So let's hop on this new journey on the 378 and see what else we can discover along the way.

Join the conversation - #The378Blog or @FieryRockets on Twitter.