Mitchell's Mustard Blog

July 30, 2015

The Gentleman Section – Words

Filed under: The Gentleman Section — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 11:10 am

Words. Words are just fucking words that fill the silence unless it’s complemented with actions. Hand in hand like that of your childhood sweetheart, from the early age you need to understand that words can make you, and break you. Your words don’t always work out. People in your life rely on the actions that fulfil that verbal contract. That word, promise, it’s old and overused by too many. Washed, worn, and reused until it’s tainted and tatty. Don’t promise something unless you are committed to fulfilling it.
Be a man of your word, a man of honor and trust. Don’t use your words to get you out of a tight spot, use your words so that you never know where the tight spot may be. When you tell people what you think they want to hear, the only person you’re kidding in the room is yourself. To sell yourself out like that, no one will trust you if you can’t trust yourself to say what you think. As I said, words are just the façade. You have to be able to back it up, live it, believe in it.
Telling the truth may hurt, cause issues, but in the long run after the burn has subsided respect will always shine through. In no way am I saying you should just tell everyone one around you your opinion, that’s a whole different bag of ‘Fuck yous’. People don’t need to be told they’re fat, ugly, or boring . . don’t be rude! When it comes to having your opinion in a discussion that involves you, hold your own, but don’t be disrespectful. We all have different beliefs, visions, and feelings. A gentleman can always agree to disagree and move on.
Don’t raise your voice with stern words, stay calm or you’ll say something you’ll later regret. We’re all guilty of raising our voice when we’re passionate about something, but save it for the good passion, the ones that are followed by a high five or your very own victory dance . . . don’t deny it, we’ve all got one.
Words are just fucking words, or they could be something that people will rely on. It’s your choice.

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May 5, 2015

On the pull like a plastic gangster

Michael_Carroll_210230a

Picture this – My partner and myself are just stepping out of our local supermarket with the evenings to-and-fro ideal dinner ingredients, bags in the basket of the city bikes, just about to peddle off home when a couple of plastic gangsters walk past. One of them spots my partner as she’s positioning her sunglasses, ready to peddle. Suddenly, his slumped hooded head, foot dragging, intimidating stare characteristics all changed. The transformation happened in a blink of an eye. He stopped in his tracks, and everyone else’s tracks I might add, his pigeon chest was puffed out and became more apparent through (what could have been) his Kappa plastic coated jacket. His facial expression went from one of intimidation to what could have been uncomfort? His chin held high, sucking the inside of his cheek like he was practising his finale at a local parks gurning competition. There could have even been a grunt thrown in there as well, but I couldn’t hear it over my chuckling. First thing to remember from this situation, people. don’t laugh at plastic gangsters, they don’t like it. Anyway, within a split second, he had become what I can only describe as a infantile testosterone filled chimp with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on my partner. As he stood there, working on his best ‘come to bed/I’m not sure if I’ve shit myself’ eyes, a kind of pouty-gurn-like facial expression, an arched back so that his groin was at the forefront of his existence. To him, he looked like he had game. To all the passers by, he looked like he was having a stroke, but no one wanted to ask if he was okay just in case it was a scam and would end up with their wallet suddenly missing. After all the effort he had made for her, to look like someone had placed a cattle prod up his sheriffs badge, after all that . . She hadn’t even noticed this whole transformation happening in front of our eyes. Whilst cycling, she was intrigued as to why I was giggling to myself, so I explained all on our peddle home.
Lesson to be learnt by this, if you think you have game, that probably means you haven’t!! It’s been a few years since the caveman pulling technique worked, I’m not sure the opposite sex are keen on being dragged anywhere by their hair anymore. If you want to catch someone’s attention, talk to them. Don’t stand there trying your best rejected boy band pose, it doesn’t work, you must have seen Zoolander, right?

April 18, 2015

We can’t afford to live like David Gandy

Filed under: My Work — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 5:28 pm

David_Gandy_by_Conor_Clinch_(2013)_-_cropped

In this day and age, for some unknown reason, most articles in which you read about mens fashion, health, and lifestyle expect us all to have unlimited funds from that rumored tree in the garden, and a constant day off from the sometimes overbearing rat race. I know we’d all love to live a lifestyle similar to Harvey Specter, you’d be crazy not to. But let’s be realistic here. Being a man of 32 years old, I’m one of few in a position of having very little depending on me. Most men at my age, shared with their partner, have a family to feed, bills to pay, larger financial expectations to fulfill. So it’s rare that today, a modern man like yourself, will flick through this months must have gentleman’s magazine and decide to treat yourself to this new seasons blazer that will cost the equivalent to your next months rent. Or maybe your new born baby can go without nappies for a week so you can pick up a pair of socks that apparently best compliment your new Italian leather loafers which last month put you in debt with your utility bills? What I’m asking is, because most of us live a realistic lifestyle, does that mean we can’t be seen as fashionable? If we can’t afford the luxuries of their advice does that mean we will struggle to look after our appearance? Do we have to follow the guidelines of these so called gentleman gurus that lead us to the temptation of being broke yet looking good with it? Of course not!
If you’re not bothered by the label that’s sewn into the garment then you’ll be just fine, sometimes people are more worried about the brand they wear than how the actual item looks. There’s an old and wise saying ‘Money can buy you a suit, but it can’t buy you taste’. We all know that person, whilst out for a pint, they tell you the brand and cost of every item they’re wearing. A man with taste doesn’t need to talk about what he’s wearing, where it’s from, or how much it cost. He’ll let his outfit do the talking.
What I’m trying to say is, don’t be fooled into thinking that the glossy dream on the pages of an over priced magazine are the instructions to a modern day gentleman. You don’t need to spend your annual income just to look good. The sooner we realise that we can’t afford to live a David Gandy lifestyle, the sooner we’ll be comfortable in our own style. Just remember, he gets paid to look that good! We all have our own style, we’re all that little bit different, roll with it.
Whatever you do, don’t let your baby go without nappies, if you do then that’s a clear sign that you have an issue that needs addressing and your dress sense is the least of your worries.

February 4, 2015

The Grand Misconception.

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 5:49 pm

Ladies, there is, and probably always will be an unwritten rule – a man never chooses a woman, he can only show you that his interest and availability is there, and as much as most of us men would hate to admit it, the decision generally falls onto your lap. But with that, that doesn’t mean that the effort should only lay claim to the male. We all know that the instruction manual for the opposite sex will never be published in our lifetime, if I took a guess, the author is probably battling their sixth divorce and feeling quite like a fraud.
There is a grand misconception that us men do not discuss our likes, wants, and dislikes between each other, well, we do. Whether it’s in the gym changing room, the pub, or even a chance meeting in the magazine aisle in Tesco. We talk about you. From the women that have crossed our path, or the ones that are yet to do so. I’m not talking about the childlike ‘I’d do her!’ comment from the prepubescent jock, I mean the conversations that happen between like minded, early thirty somethings that have slayed their man mountain ego through their twenties and have come out the other side as a gent.
I thought I’d take this opportunity to give you a heads up, I’m not taking sides, I’m not selling out, just giving you something to think about.

We’re not as shallow as you think we are. Bold statement, I know. Nothing ever just comes down to looks. Yes, the way you look will always be our first impression, but if we’ve made that effort to open a conversation with you, that means we want to know who you are. Please don’t ever think that the way you look on that particular evening holds precedence over confidence and the ability to hold a good conversation. It’s always nice to have someone attractive on your arm but if your social skills are as strong as a chocolate teapot . . you’ll only ever be an attractive someone on the arm, nothing more. We want to be able to take you to a friend’s wedding and be in sound mind that if we nip to the mens room, or the bar, we don’t have to rush back to our ‘rabbit in headlights’ plus one.
If we’re dating you, amongst other things, we’re attracted to the way you look, so easy on the make up please, love. We all love a woman who takes care of her appearance, but there is a thick line between looking good, and looking like Boy George, yet you sometimes still try to cross it. Waking up next to your natural self, shows that you are confident around us, your confidence gives us confidence. . . . We want to get to know all of you, and we won’t judge. Please don’t misconstrue the point I’m trying to make, I’m not saying don’t wear any make up, as I said before, we all love a woman who takes care of her appearance. I’m saying, the less make up, the better. And don’t be coy about us seeing you without.
A high majority of us men find women that train attractive, whether you’re the woman in the gym on the cross trainer in the morning, or out pounding the pavement at night. Yes, you might be all red faced and sweaty, to us, we see the confidence, the discipline, the motivation to get up and make that personal effort to better yourself, or to keep in shape. This shows us that you are willing to go out and put effort behind making a difference, and while having that attitude with training, in most cases means that you also have that attitude with all aspects of your life. Next time he asks you to train together, run together, go to a class together, don’t over think it. Just do it. He’s not going to think about your level of fitness, whether you look red and out of breath. He just wants to share that motivation with you.
If you’re on a night out with the girls, on a work lunch, or just popping to the shops, and you see someone who interests you, don’t wait for them to come and chat you up, act on it. There’s a chance they haven’t spotted you so don’t automatically think they’re not interested. That confidence will speak volumes. We are the same as you, we all fear rejection, we all have our own insecurities, and because of this we all have missed opportunities. The fact that you have approached us is attractive in itself. The idea that a woman should never approach a man is outdated. Also, if you are approached by someone and you’re not interested, don’t be a dick about it. Just think of the courage that person has had to build just to come over and talk. Put yourself in their shoes. Being polite costs you nothing.

Above all, just be yourself. You don’t want someone to fall for the person you’re trying to be. We’re pretty simple beings, be honest, be open, and if you have any sense . . never sleep on an argument, a man full of doubts is a dangerous man.

January 30, 2015

Strokes of a Paintbrush. .

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 2:30 pm

Her hand gently traced the muscles of his back as they lay there entwined, her face buried into his shoulder, she gently laced his neck with her lips, working her way around the lower line of his beard, she had grown quite fond of the feeling of his beard on her skin, like strokes of a paintbrush. They both lay silently, knowing that any one word could end this embrace, clouded by the thought that they both shouldn’t be where they are, but that made it more appealing, they had started something they couldn’t end. The attraction bore deep in them both.
His eyes outlining the intricate details of the tattoos that coloured her skin, stroking the line work on her arm, making sure he didn’t colour outside the lines. Her naked torso pulled him in closer, nuzzling in for warmth and attention, she started to work her fingers through the hair on the back of his head, gently tugging, the one thing she knew would get her the attention she craved. Her nails slowly leaving lines on the skin of his side, a remnant of where she had been, and where she would return. Pulling her foot up against the bottom of his, a way of pulling him in closer, close enough to compliment the way she felt. Craning her neck, she reached up and gently nibbled his lower lip. He pulled her small frame onto his. As she perched on top of him, he lined her spine with his fingers to make her back arch and her skin prickle. Reaching up and tugged on the back of her hair, pulling her back down to his level, she dug her nails into his tattooed chest, pushing back to feel engrossed in that moment of pain as she let out a little moan. . . .

. . . . The alarm broke the silence in the room, the moment was extinguished as he opened his eyes, only to once again stare at the emptiness of the pillow beside him, a reminder that he was still alone.

January 28, 2015

Am I Manly Enough?

Filed under: Just a Thought — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 6:16 pm

Am I manly enough? This question has been on my mind in recent months, in this modern day, what falls under the category of a manly man? And does it really matter?

I was born in the early 80’s, experienced many things I shouldn’t have in the 90’s, when television, rock music, and drugs were better, not forgetting, back then, a man was manly.
From an early age, I had never been interested in tinkering around with an engine, building things just to destroy them once finished. I never had the aggressive devil may care attitude. I was always more worried about the people around me, kept myself to myself, I had no intention of being the toughest person in the room, I still don’t. I like to think of myself as a modern gentleman, which I’m quite happy with, but does this cause me to be less manly? Is the definition of a manly man becoming extinct?

Growing up side by side with my brother, who in my eyes is a manly man, a mechanic by trade, married with four beautiful children. Nothing seems to phase him, from one issue to another, I’ve only ever seen anger, I can’t actually think of a time I’ve seen him worried or scared, in the 32 years I’ve been blessed to know him, I’ve only seen him cry once. Everything about him is manly, his posture, the way he communicates, his appearance.
Where as I’m on the other end of the scale, I’m the creative type, the thinker. I’m in touch with my emotions, but don’t let this deceive you into thinking that I’m the kind of person who will cry at the end of an Eastenders Christmas special. When I say I’m in touch with my emotions, I mean that I have no problem feeling worried, loved, fear, or sadness. I don’t always express it well, but I will sometimes let that emotion engulf my existence for a while rather than sweep it under the carpet for a rainy day.
I take care in my appearance, I would rather think about what I’m going to wear before I get dressed, rather than just throw on the nearest t-shirt after sniffing the armpits. I use skin products, I moisturise, exfoliate, because I believe the older I get, I should look after my skin. I have no issue with going clothes shopping, whether for myself or with a girlfriend, I’m completely comfortable in that environment due to it being part of my profession. Having quite a few female friends means that I find myself in a lot of female company, which in turn gives me confidence around women. I don’t have aggressive mannerisms, and I’m comfortable with that, but I’m not in fear of being aggressive if I need to. I find beauty in the simple things around me rather than be oblivious to them but that comes with having a creative mind.

Does a woman prefer a manly man, or a modern gentleman? Do women occasionally want to see the emotional side to their partner? And does it lead to more trust or less attraction?

I’m not your average manly man, but does this make me any less of a man, or does it just mean I’m a modern gentleman?

September 17, 2014

To Beard or not to Beard, that is the Question

Filed under: My Work — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 11:56 am

Hi all my lovely followers . . .

As well as posting on here from time to time, I’ve started to guest post on a fellow Mens lifestyle WordPress blog, I haven’t yet worked out how I can link the two so please follow the link below and enjoy . .

To beard or not to beard, that is the question . .

http://carlackerley.wordpress.com/2014/09/11/to-beard-or-not-to-beard-that-is-the-question/

Please leave a comment, let us know what you think, criticism will only make us stronger.

June 1, 2014

In Bloom

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 4:16 pm

As his heart started to bloom, he was always fond of her company. she sat opposite him, across the pub garden table. Her smile paving his next thought, enticing him down the old dusty road of love. Her sunglasses hindering his ability to view her true intentions. he couldn’t read her, but he could feel her, under his skin, gnawing at his bones. She will probably chew him up and spit him out, he was sure of this. But this didn’t change the rhythm in his chest, the bloom of his heart.
The day was warming up, the rays of sunshine curved around her form, as if they were in fear of disturbing such beauty. Like the sun, she became an eyesore if you were to stare for long. Her imperfections complimented her radiance. She started to laugh, a laugh that held his attention yet also caused him to want to drift off, grab the sound by the tail and let it drag him into the future, a sound he wanted in his life.
She is everything that he had never looked for before, an unlikely surprise, a pleasant outcome to being proved wrong, wrong for all these years while looking in the other direction.
He wasn’t looking forward to her departure, the goodbyes. He was comfortable where he sat, he had all he needed, but the goodbyes were inevitable. whether it was for a day, a week, or even months. He embraced these moments with her, he longed for them. He felt encased in the now, the moments where she sat opposite him, smiled, laughed, and whipped his life out from under his feet. He was punch drunk, his heart in full bloom. He didn’t need to say goodbye just yet.

June 23, 2012

Pain and Pride

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 12:44 pm

“I do love you, but. . . .” she stuttered,

That’s how the conversation started in the corner of the coffee shop, the modern chrome and pine interior started to close around him, strangling him with invisible ties.

“But what?” he replied choking on the lump in his throat.

“I’ve fallen for someone else . . . I’m sorry” she started to sob.

“What . . . ?” he stared at her trying to digest what was just said.

She pulled her hands from the table and placed them on her lap and her eyes followed.

“That’s all you’re going to say?” he said through his gritted teeth raising his hands in the air.

Everything in the room had disappeared; all he could see was her. She looked uncomfortable, probably because he was making a scene in a public place.

“What the fuck are you crying for?” he said whilst failing to hold back his frustration.

“God . . . You can be a real dick sometimes you know that?” she spat with venom.

The room was spinning; he felt the heat prickle up his face.

“I’m better than this” he lied whilst standing up.

Feeling punch drunk he headed for the door, his jaw feeling stiff and his eyes feeling as they could roll into the top of his head. The cold air slapped him in the face as he opened the door, he looked back at the table because he still cared but the girl sitting there wasn’t the one he loved.

His paranoia started to play games; everyone around him in the street was looking and laughing at him. His vision blurred and his mouth dry, his senses felt heightened but reluctant to work. Feeling as if he had left all of his pride at the table he started to cry, a crushing cry that should never be seen by a dry eye.

 

Days passed, weeks had passed. Days and weeks filled with self loathing, self-pity, self-pride and then the strength to build new foundations. Days and weeks of text messages written but never sent, over the weeks the feeling to communicate slowly starting to subside. The pictures became unworthy of their frames, the memories becoming lost behind the shadows of the new. She was never forgotten she just became unimportant, that’s what time does.

 

I miss you x’ . . . . He couldn’t actually remember the last time he had seen her name on his iPhone. For weeks he had prayed, wished and cried to receive a message from her but now he hated her name, he hated the thought of her thinking of him but he couldn’t help but wonder how she is, what she wants.

‘What do you want?’ he replied a couple of days later. He never understood why people play games by text, not replying for two days etc but in this occasion she could wait.

‘Can I be honest with you x?’ her reply causing him frustration.

‘What do you want?’ he replied with hope that he’ll get a straight answer this time.

‘Meet me in our coffee shop at 5pm, I hope your curiosity will steer you x’ as much as he hated the thought of seeing her, this invite made his heart jump.

 

Stepping over the threshold of the coffee shop he realised that he hadn’t stepped foot in since they had parted ways, the place looked different, it looked old and just a memory. On a summers day the interior felt over cast, still built of pine and chrome but looked worn and rustic which surely wasn’t what they were going for. As much as he hated the thought of caring about her, he showed up and that must have said something. She was sat in the corner toying with her cup with both hands; she looked up as the door closed and gave a nervous wired smile. She looked tired, worn and unloved. The deep dark rings under her eyes told tales of the lack of sleep, a substantial weight loss seen in her face and chest.

“Hi, you look good” she said as he made his way over to the table. To repay the compliment would have been polite but he didn’t want to lie, she looked unwell.

“Hi” he said as he took a seat opposite her.

“I’m glad you came” she said with a cracked smile, it wasn’t the smile he used to love.

“So . . . what’s up?”  He half heartedly asked,

“I’ve missed you, I wanted to see you”

He sat and stared at her, not sure what to think or feel. Part of him wanted to reach across the table and touch her hand, see if she still felt like the women he once loved.

“I thought you’d be pleased to see me?” she said to break the silence.

“What do you want?” he replied. Images of holding her, kissing her again in his head swirling with mixed emotions.

“I just thought we could spend some time together?” She reached across the table for his hand.

“Why am I here?” not sure whether that question was better directed at her or himself whilst he pulled his hand away from hers.

She started to sob, closing her body language to protect the weak spots. He wanted to lean forward to hold her and tell her that things will work, they’ll be ok but he sat back in his chair with his arms crossed. He still loved her; he still pined for her touch. He knew that being with her would make him happy again, the happy that he enjoyed and the happy that he hadn’t felt for a while. He missed that feeling, he missed her. He could feel his armour slip, his pride seep away like a sand castle in the wind, grain by grain she had him. But that’s when she said it . . .

“He cheated on me” the muffled voice came from behind the hands covering her face.

“What . . . what did you just say?” he hoped his ears deceived him.

“He cheated on me; I’ve made such a mistake. I know you would have never done that to me, you loved me.” She sobbed whilst removing her hands to try and keep eye contact.

“So wait a minute . . . he cheats on you and you think that I’ll come down here and comfort you, everything will go back to how it was?” his pride took over, he felt stupid. His anger came to the surface and she started to sob again, probably because he was making a scene in a public place.

“You always loved me no matter what” she said wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

“Right . . . I really want you to listen to what I’m going to say, I don’t want there to be any miss interpretation . . . . . Fuck you!” as he stood the sound of his chair legs dragging on the floor shattered his heart.

“Wait . . . please” she pleaded.

He stopped and turned his head to look at her over his shoulder.

“I’m pregnant” she looked defeated and tired as the words slipped from her mouth.

“I’m sorry” is all he could muster.

Feeling punch drunk he headed for the door, his jaw feeling stiff and his eyes feeling as they could roll into the top of his head. The cold air slapped him in the face as he opened the door, he looked back at the table because he still cared but the girl sitting there wasn’t the one he loved. Once again he cried a crushing cry that should never be seen by a dry eye.

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