The Geisler

Hello loyal readers/bored people, I was not actually planning to write another blog post but as the prophetic Messiah that I am, it has come to me in a dream. I wouldn't want to piss off the big girl upstairs by ignoring her wishes - so here we go! I'm sure you've all heard the absolutely stunning news that our fair city is being put on the naughty step once again and now we are forced to see virtually no-one but our parents, lest risk frozen nipples in visiting our friends outdoors. If I didn't know any better, I'd be quite sure that Sadiq Khan had been put up to this by a committee of Jewish mothers, but I digress. For many of us, the first real lockdown was spent living with our partners - a government enforced Love Island 'test' if you will. Of course benefitting by the fact that should your head be turned, there's really fuck all else to go.  So many of my friends have enlightened me to the many pleasures of being locked in with a person who they on

My boyfriend and I love a row. Really, we do. We say things after a big fight like "I hate fighting with you babe" and "ugh I know me too let's never fight again" but really we both get an endorphin hit out of it which frankly I've never got from any spin class. Maybe if the seats didn't give the after-feel of a smear test...but I digress. Typically what happens is one of us has had a bad day (him, I have lovely days) or one of us just wants attention (me, he's emotionally stable). We pick something fun to fight about like me throwing my clothes on the floor Art Attack style or him pretending to listen to me with the Rocky soundtrack playing in his head. The best part is, it always escalates and I get to use some of my best swear words and he get's to say things like "call me a shitdick one more time and we're gonna have a problem." It's awesome. No matter how bad the fight gets, it's always okay in the end because

Hey guys, I hope everyone is keeping safe. Usually my excuse for forgetting to blog is because I'm too busy, but unless you count making pina coladas and having staring competitions with my cat - then right now is not a busy moment. (yes, he wins every time) Since the news came out about us all being in lock-down; I have taken this opportunity to be mature, adaptable and calm. For anyone who knows me, you'll be aware of what this really looks like. I went full psycho. One could only liken it to the reaction of a telenovella star discovering that her husband has been cheating on her with her sister. First came the tears, then the screaming, then of course the denial, bargaining and all other stages of  grief. Acceptance took it's sweet time, but came in the form of realising that Amazon Prime is still a thing. If I can still have eyelash enhancing serums that don't work, I still have my liberty. Before you all decide I'm a complete monster, it's

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My mother is a very paradoxical person. She considers herself religious, traditional and quite conservative. I consider sending her to rehab if I find another mini bottle of Grey Goose in her Prada bag. I mean...at least she's got style. The woman goes to synagogue as often as possible...but never without a boat sized hat and enough cleavage to distract the whole congregation. Why am I talking about my mother outside of my therapists office you might ask? Well it's because of her polarizing ways that I got thinking. We were watching Sex And The City the other night and she said "I don't understand how they can have sex without someone they're in love with?" You would've thought she was familiar with the premise by now, seeing as it isn't called 'Commited Marital Union And The Suburb'...but I digress. I explained to her that women enjoy sex without commitment just as much as men do. She looked at me startled as if I'd told her that wo

I am a terrible listener. Seriously, if you were to ask me what most of my friends do for a living I'd be at a loss. So much so that I've had to resort to stalking them on LinkedIn under the table while they talk to me about work. Not only this but I also tried to feed my friend pad thai the other day...only to discover she's allergic to peanuts. This is all well and good except I've known her nearly 10 years and we used to live together. So you get my gist. The only time I really do listen is when someone has a problem. As soon as anyone needs a problem solving I magically shake off my dazed look, stop thinking about when I'm next washing my hair (Saturday) and go into full Dr Phil mode. I'd say this spans back to 10 year old me reading hundreds of issues of Cosmopolitan with Q&As like "my boyfriend won't engage in roleplay, what should I do?" I was very smug knowing that my boyfriend was actually in the school play with me so we were

I’ve worked in North London my whole life. Well, not as a child but believe me I was working the play date scene of North London back then too. It’s fair to say I had a pretty great gig going. I would roll out of bed and get straight into my car that was strategically parked as close to my front door as possible before setting off a burglar alarm.  Oh and that car, it was a company perk. A white Audi perk with leather seats and a sound system to really feel Beyoncé’s motives as she sang ‘I could get another you in a minute, matter of fact he’ll be here in a minute.’ Yes you could hun I fully back you. So I would get to work and park in my lovely designated space that’s been patiently waiting for me all night and walk the 30 seconds to work. Fitbit goals, I know. Now don’t get me wrong, I did still manage to get out and about on the urban streets of St John’s Wood. Sometimes I would meet a dog, maybe two on a good day. Other times I’d see my best friend’s Dad who

Picture the scene, it's 2000 and I'm sitting in the kitchen in my Princess Jasmine pyjamas and eating Heinz cream of tomato soup with buttered challah. It's half term, and I'm bored. "Muuuuuummmmm" I crone "I don't have anything to do. I want to see my friends. Where's the class list?"  Just like that, my Mum pulls the holy 'class list' from the study with the house lines of all my classmates printed like she's my PR agent with her Rolodex.  And that was it.  Back then all you had to do was phone up your mate's houseline, use your 'polite phone voice' to say 'Hello Mrs Jacobson, is Tash there please?' and you had plans.  Just like that, you were standing in Blockbusters with your friend picking between Miss Congeniality and Meet The Parents, absolutely tits deep in Butterkist popcorn. My lord how things have changed. In the shortest of flashes; social arrangements went from this to c

Hello friends, fans and hate-reading enemies, I'm back! Much like other beloved icons such as Britney Spears, The Spice Girls and Madonna I have decided to make a comeback after literally no demand whatsoever. Unfortunately this has not come after a residency in Vegas - my residence is still at my parents house where I can't use the washing machine. Besides, there's equally as many alcoholics and circus freaks here. So why has it taken me so long to revisit this blog? Well, fear mostly. Have you ever wondered why it is that children walk around with far more cuts and bruises than the rest of us? It's not just because they're tiny idiots, or because they get monkey-bars instead of awkward coffee machine small talk at their break times. It's because they are fearless. It seems that as we get older, we start irrationally fearing things we wouldn't second guess as a child. When you're a kid and you want to do something, you just do it. As a growi