Ah, on call week. Where I sit watching Disney films, Netflix and play with the cats, while eating ready meals because they’re the only thing I can cook and inhale fast enough in-between calls. Also, when I write, rant and smoke too much.
I’ve been working on the science of ‘True Loves Kiss’, which deserves the capitals, because I think it may actually be scientifically possible. No, don’t laugh, hear me out. So the Disney and fairy-tale logic is that True Loves Kiss is the most powerful magic of all, can break any spell and is the sign of true love, shockingly, with a name like True Loves Kiss. Yes, I’m capitalising, because I can. The sense of smell is one of the most powerful memory pokers we have. I mean if you’re trying to do an exam, chew gum or have something you can take to the exam while you’re studying. Use different smells for each subject, the scent is more likely to trigger memories of your late night cramming sessions. Scientists aren’t 100% sure of why this is, it’s probably to do with neurons and cave man throw-backs or something. I have a vest here that I relocated from my boyfriend (it’s ok, he knows I stole…uh, relocated, it!) When he’s not here, it helps as a comfort thing, his cologne and natural scent is something that is just nice to have around. They say that the smell of someone can often lead people to fall in love or want to mate (depending on which route you want to go down), that the scent of someone can draw you in before even seeing them or hearing their thoughts. When you care for someone, that smell of them can trigger memories of laughter, falling asleep next to them (a big deal for me, as my sleep pattern is utterly buggered most of the time!) or waking up next to them. So I’m thinking that the smell of them, when they’re close enough to kiss you could be the thing that triggers the brain and makes you realise they’re there. This could be worth exploring in coma patients.
So there you have it, I have scientifically explained True Loves Kiss. Sort of.
Geek chic. What used to describe someone who was a bit, or a massive, geek but who also, for some reason, was preoccupied with what other people thought of their appearance. Yep, that’s me too. I will confess to being a geek. I like comics, I love graphic novels, I like science and Disney and all these other things that used to get me beaten up or bullied in school. By, by the way, the very people who are now running round shouting about how they love Star Wars (Oh, my god, I love Luke Skyrunner, and Darth Winder, yeah, those people.)I will admit that I’m not the greatest fan of Star Wars, so sue me, but at least I don’t try and pretend I’m a fan. The people who now know about Deadpool, only know about Deadpool because Ryan Reynolds made him mainstream. I was introduced to Deadpool in my early twenties (Thank you Brady!), thankfully after I had left school, so I didn’t hand the knuckle-dragging mouth-breathers anything else to attack me with. I settled, about 8 years ago that he was going to be tattooed on me, because he is the ultimate anti-hero. Broken and destroyed, driven mad (or possibly mad in the first place) determined to win, to never lose and to make his own sound-effects. I picked the perfect spot out on my leg, then the joyful day. The movie was finally being made, and it was beautiful. I was there on opening day and then again a week later. I loved it, I preordered the blu-ray. Then the unthinkable. People who had previously outed me as a nerd, a loser, a geek and a weirdo were telling me how great Deadpool was. They would sneer down their badly pierced noses and point their hideously over-manicured nails at my Qwertee shirts and lounge pants and tell me that I just didn’t know how cool Deadpool was. I would listen politely, as I was dragged up to do, then wait for their badly pronounced or spelled diatribe to end, then ask them a simple question. “What is Deadpool’s real name?” They would splutter and whinge, then invariably walk away or try to pour their drink on me. So I would sit with my fellow geeks and smile inside, enjoying the memory of random comics, the copulating chocolate people Delirium leaves on her plate.
But now, years on, Geek Chic seems to have become a way to sell t-shirts, jackets or anything else to people who think D&D is a sex position. I will admit, I never really got D&D, but I will admit my love of Zombiecide (admittedly, only played it once!), White wolf and LARP. Though, I don’t get the chance to play any of them as much as I want to. But the love resides.
No, deep breaths. Calm down. I’m proud to be a geek, but don’t try to tell me that because I need glasses for vision correction that I would look great in horn-rimmeds or that I look like a proper geek, so cool.
I don’t wear glasses to be cool, I wear them because I can’t see anything beyond 2 feet without them. Seriously, I can’t even see my feet. Well, I can’t see my feet if I stand up straight anyway, but you get the idea.
Right, I feel a little lighter, now I’m going to carry on writing my book, watching The Birdcage followed by more Disney films and watching the cats do catty things!