Mitchell's Mustard Blog

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.

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June 30, 2014

No one seems to write letters any more . .

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 10:34 am

For you . .

Love, the word itself, seems too short, too minuscule, to explain its true meaning. The way this single word holds you in an alien state, a whirlwind of emotion, hand in hand with the silence of a lonesome night. Big enough to take over one’s existence, yet small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. Your biggest strength, your weakest attribute, the most powerful weapon. I’d pick you up from your dusty knees, but only to ground you when you’re too high. Knowing that a personal goal comes in the form of this word, a sucker for a happy ending. Boy meets girl, boy loves girl, hand in hand, till the last light. Sunsets into full moons, morning rain to afternoon sun. Imprints on pillows and messages on mirrors, they’re not a myth, not just a scene from a movie, they’re a life experience that comes with a choice. A choice to let go, understand, to appreciate those little things we seem to neglect. I’m lucky enough to have an existence around you, but fall short as you’re not here to fulfill my existence. At times we all bend, we buckle, but we smile, and we all live to fight the good fight for another dawn. All I’m trying to say is, you make it easier, tougher, seem longer, feel shorter, more colourful, yet still black and white.
And after all, after all of this. . . . I love you.
But you will never know, my darlin’, because the words themselves couldn’t hold the weight that you deserve, unspeakable.

Me

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.

May 15, 2014

To Whom it May Concern

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 6:54 pm

To whom it may concern,

To gain, to love, to change, and to lose,
It’s what I do.

I crave your attention to cure my loneliness,
to fill the gaping hole that resides in my chest,
a decision made on impulse,
rather than a future to invest,
a hand to hold, but I don’t love you,
I shrug and confess.

I become tired of being grounded,
so I unwrap myself from your arms,
saying things that pierce your skin,
punch drunk from your angry palms,
selfish greed floats to the surface,
swallowing my good intentions and charms.

I will hurt you, its nothing personal,
to crave a love, It’s not intentional,
to gain, to love, to change, and to lose,
It’s what I do.

A restlessness that will always prevail,
love that mimics the weather,
I smiled, and nodded along,
but it was only you who said forever,
I hold my head high as I bleed from the inside,
when did together really mean together?

The grass will never be greener,
on the other side it’s just the same,
it starts with a similar breathtaking feeling,
but it just ends as a different face and name,
I’m sorry to cause confusion,
but I’m still glad you came.

I will hurt you, its nothing personal,
to crave a love, It’s not intentional,
to gain, to love, to change, and to lose,
It’s what I do.

I’m sorry, its nothing personal,
I did crave your love, but not any more
to gain, to love, to change, and to lose,
It’s what I do.

June 26, 2012

Two’s a relationship but this threesome was cheating . .

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 5:16 pm

Receiving a thud of realisation should be a life changing moment, lying on a mattress with two naked women is never a good time for a life changing moment unless it’s your first threesome.

‘Now this shit is going to change my life’ he thought to himself.

Staring up at a ceiling he didn’t recognise. His mind replaying intimate moments shared with his girlfriend. The room was so quiet he could just make out his girlfriends voice in his head, ‘I love you’ she whispered.  He could hear her but the truth was she didn’t actually know where he was right now, she never knew because she trusted him. A trust that’s wasted and never mentioned. He missed her, for the first time in months he missed her.

“I need to get out of here” he pulled the sheets from his body which in turn uncovered the two women.

Hours ago he couldn’t wait to see the pair of them in their pure beauty but at that moment it just pulled his cheating ways to the surface.

“Where you going?” questioned the blonde one.

At that moment he couldn’t remember their names which made him feel worse, he must have known their names at some point because what would he have called them hours ago. Right now they weren’t on the tip of his tongue like they were before; he felt guilty which is a foreign feeling to him. An impatient thought concluded that he will name them the blonde one and the brunette one, weighing up the situation it didn’t really fucking matter and those names will have to do for now. He remembered meeting them at a hen party, it wasn’t until back at this house much later in the evening that he realised the party was actually for one of the women he went home with, which one that was soon to be wed he couldn’t quite be sure.

Picking up a woman on her hen night would be something only heard in stories and rumours from heroes of men in bars, he’d tell his friends he felt proud of this conquest but deep down he had this burning feeling which he believed to be guilt. Having never felt guilt quite like this before he was quite unsure what to do with it and hoped it would pass before long just like that of his hangover.

“I’ve got to go, I need to get home” he said while coming to terms with his surroundings.

“Are you ok?” the blonde one muttered with slight concern in her voice,

“You’re not going to tell anyone about last night are you?” stirred the brunette one.

“No, I just need my own bed” he lied.

It had now become obvious that it was the brunettes’ hen party the evening before.

He got up and soon realised he was on a mattress on the floor of a living room, looking around the room there was nothing obvious to which woman the living room belonged. No pictures of people on the bland magnolia walls, no sign of other life in the close quarters that he found himself in. Rather than ask any questions and give them the opportunity to notice ha had no fucking clue where he was he stumbled across the living room straight through the door into the kitchen. Picking up what he believed to be his packet of cigarettes from the side, they could have been any ones but no one else was there to argue their case.  Sliding one out of the packet and placing it between his lips without thought as he seemed to be in autopilot whilst he planned an escape route. The kitchen opened up to the right, a work surface the shape of a horse shoe shadowed by head height cupboards that only took a break for the window above the sink. Next to him a breakfast bar that was built onto the work surface which housed stools, he was glad he noticed this before he moved or he would have stubbed his toe on a hidden stool leg. He stood by the French doors on the left side of the kitchen in his boxers with an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth; he could see the disgust look on his girlfriends face if she were ever to see a picture of him now. The beautiful morning sun was shining through the window onto his feet, he loved his girlfriend and he knew he needed to make more of an effort in telling her. Confused by this sudden overwhelming guilt he wasn’t quite sure what to do next; he fumbled between empty beer bottles and cigarette packets on the breakfast table for a lighter trying not to make too much noise before one of the women came to check on him. The only two things he knew for sure right now where that he had just had a threesome with a woman who’s on the path to marriage and that he needed to see his girlfriend. First things first he needed to get out of this house.

“Great . . . chalk that up as another reason to why I’m going to hell” he muttered to himself whilst shaking his head.

The smoke rolled down into his lungs like lava, the first cigarette after a night out always made him feel a little sick. A couple of minutes had passed full of thought, he dropped the end of his cigarette into a half drank can of beer because there was no ashtray in sight.

“Right . . . let’s get the fuck out of here” he said to himself as a little motivation.

He crept back into the living room; both women seemed to have fallen back asleep. To the right of the room was a small two-seater sofa in an alcove over shadowed by stairs, at the far end of the room under a window was another two-seater sofa. To the left was a fireplace and next to him was a TV unit that stretched the full length of the wall, he found it strange there were no pictures up or any other signs that life did indeed float in and out of this room. His jeans were folded over the arm of the sofa in the alcove along with his t-shirt, picking them up he made his way back into the kitchen so he could get dressed without waking the proof of his regret in the living room. Picking up the packet of cigarettes and lighter from the breakfast table he slid them into his pocket, he pulled his phone out of his other pocket and noticed he had three missed calls from the girlfriend. Panic and guilt crashed over him like a wave, ‘perhaps she knows where I am’ he thought to himself. He needed to snap out of this trance because staring at his phone wasn’t going to get him out of this house. Creeping back into the living room he couldn’t see his shoes and socks, checking by both sofas and the other side of the mattress there was no sign of them. Toying with the idea of just leaving without them he thought of one more place to check, by the front door. He headed towards the door which was next to the sofa at the base of the stairs, slowly pulling the handle down trying not to wake the women behind him it squeaked and the door opened towards him. He stepped through and turned to close the door behind him, with a bolt of shock he suddenly noticed the brunette woman was sat up staring at him. For a split second he thought about saying something but with the look on her face he chose not to and just closed the door which broke their eye contact. The front door was next to him in this crowded little box room filled with coats and shoes; he saw his shoes straight away but no socks. ‘Fuck this’ he thought as he made the decision to leave the socks behind whilst slipping his shoes on. Pulling the latch down on the lock of the front door it swung open and the warm breeze soaked into his lungs and through his hair, first problem done.

He walked down the road for a couple of minutes before ringing a taxi; he didn’t think it was wise to wait outside the house he had just escaped from. Pulling his phone from his pocket he stared at the screen thinking what he was going to say, he dialled her number.

“Hey . . . where are you? I’ve been trying to get hold of you.” She said when she answered.

“Hey . . . I’m sorry. I got a little drunk last night and crashed with a mate.”

“I’ve been worried about you, are you ok?” she said sounding concerned.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. I’ll be home soon; I’m just waiting for a taxi.”

“Ok, I’ll stay in bed and wait for you. I love you” she said with a giggle.

“I love you too” he replied, he really did.

She trusted him and always would, every time he knew he never deserved her.

Sitting on a wall waiting for his taxi he pulled a cigarette from the packet, put it in his mouth. He lit it and lent back, his guilt floated away with the smoke as he sat there and started to laugh to himself.

‘That was a close one’ he thought.

May 6, 2012

He said, She said

Filed under: Just a Thought — Tags: , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 4:53 pm

There comes a time when her smile won’t be enough,

Apologise don’t hold any weight,

Too many times he’s been left in the cold,

Maybe this time she was just a little too late.

Feeling no hand of reassurance,

Only the frustration of doubt,

He knew she had the best intentions,

But only she knew the amount.

Burns on his knuckles from the torch he held,

Held only in her direction,

Her smiles that masked the truth,

In hiding with her deepest contemplation.

 

She never knew, never understood, only because she didn’t stop to listen.

He never got it, never got her, always felt like something was missing.

She never opened up, never let go, his thoughts of walking the other way.

A second chance is never off the cards, if only one wished for the other to stay.

 

February 8, 2012

I Will Never Forget . . . .

Filed under: Random — Tags: , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 5:44 pm

I stumble through doorways into rooms filled with more unrecognisable faces, not surprising really as they were all friends of hers. I’ve seen a lot of drugs in my time but this party seemed to hold a huge amount that could have been the source of  an overdose for any inexperienced person. I loved the music that was bounced from wall to wall, that’s one good thing I took from the night. Everywhere I looked there were people, five people sitting on a two seat sofas, people cross-legged on the floor in corners, people sitting on tables and window sills, people trying to pass each other in the space left in the room. They all had the same expression, smile on the face but no thought at all. Tables laced with cocaine, rolled up bank notes and the occasional McDonalds straw from those who were skint. Everyone wanted to share their wealth but always expected something in return, watching young skint smack heads sniffing around the table for anything left over once the group had moved on. The more I watched this the less I wanted to claim my place at the table. Re rolling a £20 note in my fingers again and again just staring at the hounds around the glass table, something was stirring my addiction. My feet felt heavy but something dragged me from the room, paranoia made it as if the music was turned off as they all watched me creep out of the room with a firm grip on my £20 straw. They were all too busy and hammered to notice I had moved. In the hallway it seemed to be a more relaxed environment, this was where they must have come to chill out but the more people who needed a moment away meant that this room was slowly becoming as busy as all the others. I need to find her, not because I missed her it was more craving comfort of seeing a face I recognised. Again I found myself squeezing through rooms of people I didn’t know, the less I wanted to get high the more uncomfortable I became.

I found her after a while standing in one of the many overcrowded rooms, the look on her face was one I will remember as she looked lost and out of depth . She would never admit it to save face but in the years I’d seen her high tonight she looked troubled. I caught her eye and I hinted to us leaving, as I walked towards her she looked confused and her facial expression reminded me of a child that didn’t understand. As I stepped closer she seemed to lose her balance, in slow motion I watched her fall to her knees as people around her moved out of her way. I managed to catch her head before it hit the floor, people moved but they all still held the expression of a smile with no thought. A couple of people panicked like I did and one ran off to get some water. I sat there with all sorts of questions running through my head, what had she taken? What can I do? Someone around us passed me the glass of water so I sat her up to try get her to drink. She was sick into the glass as I held it to her mouth, it was lime green in colour and when that mixed with the water it reminded me of a lava lamp. She had taken something that disagreed with her; part of me wished I had got high when I had the chance. I’m sitting on the floor in the middle of a crowded room surrounded by strangers with a half conscious girl in my lap and people just worked their way around us like it was a normal part of the evening, what could I do? I thought of ringing for an ambulance but the last thing anyone under this roof wanted was one of the emergency services knocking on the door. I thought through my options and rang a taxi, no one seemed to notice or care that this was happening. On my way out carrying this girl in my arms I was stopped by a bloke who I thought was going to ask if he could help but instead he asked me if I had a lighter.

I climbed into the taxi carrying the girl and the taxi driver refused to have her in the car, I don’t know why he changed his mind but he looked me in the face and saw something. By this time she was trying to talk but making no sense, I was terrified of what was to come. The ride home seemed to go so quickly, I remember getting in to the cab and I was looking down and talking to her as she lay across the seat with her head on my lap and then within minutes we were outside my house. I paid the taxi driver and thanked him as I climbed out of the car with the girl in my arms. In the house we were in the warmth, I laid her down on my bed and made sure she wasn’t in the position to swallow her tongue. I sat next to her all night twitching at every noise or movement she made, every change in her breathing pattern had me on edge. As the night went on she made less movement, fewer changes in her breathing and I started to fall asleep in fear of what the morning may bring.

I stirred in the morning with the sun light bursting through the gaps in the curtains; suddenly all of what happened the night before came rushing back to me. I panicked for a second and looked around but to my relief she was sat up and looking at me.

“Rough night was it? You look like shit.” She said.

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