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I want to learn not to worry about love...

"I have learned not to worry about love, but to honor its coming with all my heart."

                                                                                         ~Alice Walker

I think I have spent my entire life worrying about love.

Wondering when it will find me, if it would find me, and if I were even worthy of it.

I spent a better part of my teens wanting boys to love me, even though they weren't capable of it. (Or were busy loving somebody else...) When I finally did find some one I thought loved me, I was sure that was it. I would never have to have my heart broken again.

However, my heart did break again. Over and over. It broke when I found out this boy didn't really love me. But it broke even further when I found out I did not love myself. The pain of not loving yourself is and will always be greater than any man breaking your heart - as chances are, you broke it long before he did.

I sat for months in two different rooms. I went from shop to shop in my car. I went to work. I watched the sunrise and sunset from the windows of that coffee shop. I watched the moonrise outside the same coffee shop, through the smoke from my cigarette, and the cigarettes from a group of people I pretended were my friends.

While I did all this, I worried about love. I worried about why it felt like my family didn't love me. I worried about why I didn't love me. I even worried that my dog didn't love me. ("WHY? WHY don't you like the sweater I bought you? It was TWENTY DOLLARS. Chihuahuas love sweaters! What is WRONG with YOU?")

Slowly but surely, I stopped worrying about everyone else so much, and I just thought about myself.

I watched Sex and the City in my pajamas. I went to the same bookstore night after night. My sister played me Jack Johnson in her car while we snuck out and went to In 'n Out burger because we didn't like the dinner our step dad made that night.

I cried listening to Fiona Apple. I screamed Since You Been Gone at the top of my lungs while flying down the freeway.

I figured out I could write.

Somewhere between all this self discovery, I met a man who made me feel like the most interesting person in the world. I would spend the next three months telling stories about myself, reading stories about him, and realizing that maybe, just maybe I could love both myself and someone else at the same time.

Maybe, just maybe, I would be loved for the first time.

We spent our winter on opposite ends of the world, tucked in whatever empty, frozen corners we could find, talking until the wee hours of the morning.

We spent our spring, in love, and on opposite ends of the world. Both continuing to learn to love again, and learning how to love ourselves.

By the time we were finally under one roof, under one blanket, I knew love.

But knowing love doesn't mean I stopped worrying about it. I worried about the lost love of toxic friends, the love I never had from toxic parents, and still fought to fully love myself.

Somewhere along the way, all this worrying caused me to build up my own little shield. A shield that helped me fight the outside world. All the people who wanted a piece without wanting to give anything in return. I fought and I fought and then one day, I realized I was starting to fight the people who were on my team.

I got so concerned with protecting my heart that I forgot that I didn't need to protect it from you.

I was busy declaring to the world that if you don't love me enough you will never get in, that there were moments where I didn't let you in. I was hard, when I only needed to be soft. I was defensive, when there was no attack. I was tough when I could have been gentle.

And I worried about love when it was all around me.

There are people in my life who will never love me like I need them to. And that's okay.

I want to learn not to worry about love. I want to learn that just because one man did not love me the right way, it doesn't mean that you will stop loving me the right way.

I will stop worrying about love. I will honor it's coming. I will honor you, and all of the love that's on it's way.

What every teen (or 38-year-old) should know before losing their virginity

There are a lot of things that I'm sure we all wish we had known before losing our virginities.

(Ya know, like, the other person's name, for instance.)

Sex is on every single teenagers' mind all the time. It's true. Is this due to puberty? Yes. Is this even more due to the fact that we treat The Sex like the biggest taboo there ever was and avoid speaking of it to teens like the plague?

Yesssss.

I wasn't sat down and given a blunt,"This is where babies come from." discussion when I was younger. I learned most of what I know from my friends, Redbook, Webster's Dictionary, YM, and the Daniel Steel novels we stole from my best friend's mom. ("OH MY GOD!! It goes where?! What do they mean by 'milky man juice'?? EWWW!!!!")

Thankfully, I'm a little smarter than the average bear. By the time I lost my virginity, I thought I knew everything there was to know, because hell, what else do you need to know about sex besides how not to get pregnant?

Because there are things they just don't cover in Sex Ed...because porn shouldn't be a substitute teacher for our sons, and because Cosmopolitan is full of shit, here are some things that every teen should know before having sex:

• Even you if have "lost" your hymen from vigorous horse back riding, dry humping, or any other sports, your first few times will hurt like a bitch. You'll lay there thinking "Why the hell do people do this for fun?" but trust me, it gets better.

• Penises and vaginas can be very alarming to look at if you've never seen one before. However, you should be able to look at your partners' "special no-no private parts" with the lights on without dying of embarrassment. You will not be blindfolded during this event. (Unless you're into that sort of thing...)  This is not pin the tail on the donkey.  It must almost be said that your partners' genitals will not look nearly as tight/shaven/long/sparkling as they do in porn, which brings us to this:

• REAL SEX IS NOT LIKE PORN. Sure, maybe once you actually figure out how to have sex or make your girlfriend orgasm, things will get a bit kinky, but most certainly not during your first few trials.

• Girls - if the idea of masturbation, and, like, touching yourself down there, freaks out you out, you're not ready to have sex yet. Plain and simple. Before you have sex, you should know how you like to be touched. If you've never made yourself orgasm, how are you supposed to help out some fumbling young man? It's not their job to magically know what you like it. However...

• Boys, you must know where and what the clitoris is before you ever even consider having sex. You must know what it is, and how it works. Granted, your partner should be able to help you and tell you how to touch her, but if you don't even know where it is, chances are you won't be having sex again for a very long time.

• Girls - if you are not comfortable looking at your vagina in the mirror, or didn't even know you could see your vagina in a mirror, you probably shouldn't be having sex. If you're uncomfortable looking at yourself, how the hell do you expect to be comfortable with some cute boy wanting to look at it?

• I whole heartedly believe you should be in a relationship when losing your virginity. Why? Because it's a sensitive situation and you should experience it with someone you trust/love/ care for/ /know the name of. Your experiences losing your virginity have a pretty big impact on how you will view sex, so why not do it with someone who actually respects what a big deal this is for you, instead of some asshole guy in a band you met on Myspace who you've known for three weeks.

• It's okay to tell your partner that they're not "doing it right". It's okay to say, "Yeah...that's not my clitoris." or "Honey, I know it's called 'spanking the monkey', but you don't actually have to spank it. That just hurts." On the same token, it's not okay to grab hold of a girls ears to help "direct her" to where you'd like her to go.

• If you're a girl, you should not only be able to look at a penis without crying/laughing, but be able to SAY penis without giggling. Alternatively, boys, you should be able to call a  "vagina" by it's real name, not "pussy", "punani", "pink taco", if you think you're mature enough to have sex with an actual woman, instead of just that fold in your duvet.
  

• Girls - do not be prejudiced against someone's penis if it is or isn't circumcised. I assure you, they work the same way. Don't let one episode of Sex and the City  cause you to discriminate against (around) 80% of the penises in the UK - I'm sure there are some nice boys attached to those things.

• If you plan on losing your virginity with scented candles, rose petals, and a string quartet playing whilst you're sprawled out on your pink canopy bed wearing Victoria's Secret, you're more than likely putting far too much pressure on you and your partner. Candles, flowers, and Luther Vandross are all very nice, but sex should be spontaneous, not planned out like your fucking wedding. That's the beauty of condoms and The Pill...they're mobile! Think of organized sex being the same as playing the hostesss of a big party: you'll be so stressed out from trying to spell your names in rose petals and concentrating on making sure I Will Always Love You is playing when he enters you for the first time, that you won't be able to actually enjoy what the hell is going on. Lay back and enjoy the (pants) party.
  

If there is anything else you would like to add this, please let me know!

Also, if you'd like me to sit down and talk to your kids about sex, I'd totally be okay with that. Just as long as you're okay with me bringng your 15-year-old daughter a Rampant Rabbit and 'gina mirror.

Aloha, mahalo, and YOU SHUT UP INFINITY!!!

Hello everyone!  So many things have been going on, I've just now had the time to sit down and pour over all of  our photos from Hawaii. We woke up last Sunday at 4am, and we didn't get back to London until about 12 on Monday afternoon.

We were up for about 31 hours. We went to Starbucks in Honolulu, Los Angeles, Surbiton, and Kingston all in one day. Can anyone else say that? NO I DON'T THINK SO. WE WIN.

Now that my extreme jet lag has subsided a bit (I fell asleep in a pub and on a train this week) I can now write about the glory that was Hawaii. And by "glory" I mean "the fun bits we had in between fighting with my family".

I love my family to tiny smitherines, but anyone who has gone on a family "vacation", you know what I mean. (And you also understand the sobbing on a beach and screaming NEVER AGAIN!!! I HATE YOU!! Right? Anyone?)

Highlights from Hawaii:

• Heathrow Airport: We're hardcore jet setters and had enough air miles to upgrade from Economy to FIRST FUCKING CLASS on our next flight from SF to Honolulu flight. We sob tears of arrogant joy

• Somewhere over Greenland: I have the aisle seat at the anus of the plane. (That's how far back I am.) There's a nifty spot right next to my seat where the airplane door is. People like to congregate there when I'm trying to sleep. They open the window on the door, flood the entire plane with light and screech in possibly the most irritating accent I've ever heard about the "TINY ISLANDS" down below. For an hour. Then, some man decides to stand right next to my seat and stretch his legs. He ferociously marches in place yelling about the dangers of DEEP VEIN THROMBOSIS. I prop my "Fuck off" sleeping mask on my forehead and plan their deaths. (And drink wine.)

• San Fransciso International Airport: Our flight from London was late. We had 25 minutes to get our luggage, go through customs, go through security, and basically run across the entire fucking SF airport. I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not exactly a runner. On the verge of my untimely death, we make it with 10 minutes to spare. I contemplate doing a Endzone dance on the front counter, but realize I'm too tired. Mr.Front Desk tells us they gave away our first class tickets because he didn't think we would make it in time. "My! You're fast runners! Gosh. We're sorry about that." I spontaneously combust.

• Kualoa Ranch, Oahu: Look desperately around for Lost filming locations so I can find Jack. Find Kualoa Ranch, they tell me they have a tour with Lost filming locations. I crap my pants. So, we go on the tour. Basically, we spent $20 to see a log used in Jurassic Park, a WWII bunker that "Matthew Fox opened once", a hill where Hurley played golf, and a giant footprint from Godzilla. This all took place in a hundred year old school bus that bounced around so hard I was afraid my boobs were going to fall off. (The left one did. We glued it back on, though.)

• Shark's Cove, North Shore: Snorkelled with FISH! Considering fish sort of freak me out, I was a wee bit nervous.However, the fish were actually quite welcoming. One offered me tea. I saw numerous of fish shitting in the water, and from then on noticed the copious amount of fish shit in water. I try really hard to not let this bother me yet suddenly start gagging every time I get water in my mouth. See an eel with mean looking face. Cut myself on coral and become seriously concerned that sharks will be able to smell me.

 

• The Sheraton, Waikiki: We have an ocean front room on the 24th floor. I have a pina colada and watch sea turtles pop up their little, wrinkly heads for air. We then lay out and work on our pasty, English tans. A guy from the Sheraton stands over me with a mister and asks if I'd like an "ice cold spritz of water?" We, again, shed tears or arrogant joy. "Where the fuck are we?"

• Luau, The Royal Hawaiian, Waikiki: Develop crush on hot (female) hula dancer. Get leid. Get involved in shouting match between my mother and greasy Jersey Girl at the luau's buffet. Some immature words were exchanged, my mom then told her she didn't have any manners, to which she replied:

Jersey Girl: "Yeah? Well if I have a problem with someone I JUST KICK THEIR ASS. (She's 5'2, perhaps 270lbs.)

Mom: OH yeah. I'm really afraid that you're going to kick my ass AT A LUAU. (5'8, has a lot of pent up rage.)

JG: Oh. YOU SHOULD BE. (Adds sixth drumstick to her plate.)

Mom: "Don't worry. I'M NOT."

Me: "Shut up." (That'll show her. Biotch.)

JG: "No, YOU SHUT UP."

Me. "Uh...no you shut up." (Are you kidding?)

JG: "NO. YOU SHUT UP."

Me: "...You shut up INFINITY." (HAH! I can't believe I just said that!!)

JG: "Yeah? Well WHY DON'T YOU WEAR A LITTLE BRIGHTER LIPSTICK?"

Me: "Oh. GOOD ONE.'

Downtown Waikiki: We go drunk, late night shopping at tourist shops, Billabong, and The Stupid Factory at 10:30 at night! (Anyone from England will know why this is so exciting.) I buy a mousepad, a pair of jammies that say "Shake your Coconuts!", a big shawl, peanut butter M&Ms and Ritz Cheese Crackers. I am happy.

 

Kailua, Waikiki, Honolulu, North Shore, Haleiwa, Starbucks, the Taco Bell parking lot, our rental car: Fighting with my family!

"Well, what do YOU want to do then?"
"I don't know! I'm just saying I don't want to do that?!"
"Well if you don't know what you want to do then why do you have a problem with what we're doing?!"
"I DIDN'T SAY THAT!'
"GOD WHY ARE YOU SUCH A BITCH?"
"ME? Why are YOU such a bitch?!!"
"OH MY GOD I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS!?!"
"SO WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO THEN?"
"I DON'T KNOOOOOOOOOOW!"

Plane ride from Honolulu to Los Angeles: First-Fucking-Class. Let me tell you about First Class. There was a phone. We got table cloths and cloth napkins. Iain drank about 4 mimosas - for free! We got A FUCKING OMLETTE for breakfast. And it was GOOD. They serve you beverages in real glasses! And the best part? I could actually fucking sleep.

Plane ride from Los Angeles to Heathrow: Back to Ec-o-fucking-nomy class. We're in the bowels of the plane, again. The bitchy flight attendant calls me "Young Lady" and skipped us when giving out drinks/lunch/pretzels THREE different times. My elbow got hit with the food cart 5 different times. The big ass lady next to Iain had to keep getting up to go to the bathroom, each time bringing  a travel sized jar of VASELINE with her. Hemroids? Ashy knees? Dry labia? I DON'T KNOW.

We did have a wonderful trip. We got tanned. Despite the fighting, I got to give my Step Dad shit, take shots of Patrone with my mom, and laugh so hard at my sister I thought I would pee my pants. Moments I wouldn't trade for anything. (Except maybe the chance to fly First Class FOREVER.)

On the Sunday we flew back, my interview in The Observer Woman ran. I'm scanning that shit in as we speak, and I'll have a post on that coming up soon. Oh god, do I have a lot to say about that.