Cupid or Cats is one year old today*

This blog is one year old today! I just want to say a massive thank you and give an awkward arm punch to all of my wonderful followers, commenters and likers for sharing this weird and wacky journey with me.

I decided that for my blogaversary, I would do a blog Q&A, with myself…because, well you already know weird is how I roll.

Hey Jane.

Hey, Janey. Wait, am I Jane or Janey?

It doesn’t matter. Man, you’re annoying sometimes.

Ditto, bitch.

Well, we’d better get started. Why did you begin blogging?

It was actually my boyfriend’s idea. I was always either ranting or making silly jokes, and he felt that a receptive audience would be a lot better than just him and our cat. My cat thinks I’m s**t, by the way.
Anyway, I was going through a tough time and I thought it would be a great way of expressing myself.

Does your blog have a niche or a theme? Because it seems random as hell.

Originally, I had intended it to be a relationship blog but then my brain got in the way (wearing a bikini and being all distracting) and was like “no Jane, talk about farts, talk about owls…” so yeah, that idea quickly went out the window (along with my dignity).
Now, I just write whatever makes me smile. Essentially, I just want blogging to make me happy. I’m selfish like that.

You’re a teacher. Why don’t you blog about that?

Occasionally, I’ll mention it. It is a big part of who I am, but this was intended as an escape from all of that. I love my job, I do. And I try to be fun in class and have a laugh with my students, but obviously I have to be professional. Here I can just be whatever I want, including a ballerina. *does awkward arabesque*
I know that if I had a proper niche, I would have more followers but I never began this to gain thousands of followers; I did this for stress release.

Why the name Cupid or Cats?

I don’t know. I really don’t. It just came into my head. I think it was because, like I said, it was supposed to be a relationship blog. And I thought I want people in relationships (who’ve been hit by Cupid’s arrow) and single people (erm, I don’t know what to say without offending anyone so here’s a picture of a happy kitten:)


…to read my blog. By the way, I once had, like, five cats so what do I know?
And anyway, if I keep blowing foghorns in my boyfriend’s ears, this is what will happen to me:


Smooth Jane. Really smooth. So, be honest, what do you like best and
least about blogging?

Best: The people. Really.
I have met funny, kind, intelligent, insightful, loving, cheeky and generally BRILLIANT people here. It’s great, because we are all united in our desire to say something relevant and to listen to others.
I can’t really believe how nice anyone is. Or how engaged people are. We have lots of fun on here.

Worst: Ugh. That’s tough. Sometimes I read blogs that are just amazing and I know I’ll never measure up. But then I look at owl memes and I feel okay.
Also, keeping up with all the blogs I follow can be difficult and I don’t want anyone to think that I don’t value what they do. I try my best. I get a little paranoid that people will think I’m a selfish blogger, but really I make as best an attempt as I can to catch up with all of you. I reply to virtually every single comment I receive because I appreciate them so much. And also, because they’re always great and make me smile.
Something happened lately that has upset me a little, but I’m not going to discuss it here (sorry). It just made me realise that there definitely are downsides to this blogging malarkey.
But the pros definitely outweigh the cons.

How do most people find your blog?

Through Google searches about farting. No joke.

That’s weird. So, how does your boyfriend feel about all of this?

He doesn’t really care either way because he’s so busy with his PhD. He does like what I write whenever he happens to read my posts, though.
Sometimes he even laughs.

Does anyone else know about your blog?

Yes, I drunkenly confessed to a friend but I doubt she reads it much. She’s cool though, I trust her and I don’t mind her reading it at all.
I also think I told my best friend but she didn’t really say anything at all.
There is no way I would tell anyone else, though. My family would not be impressed (they’re great, but very private) and I would be really paranoid I’ve written something negative about someone that would cause offense, so I won’t be sharing this blog with anyone else in my personal life.

Why the picture of yourself then?

I think the chances of someone that I know stumbling across my blog are very small. I probably will change it, but I’m lazy.
I like that my readers can put a face to my blog, even if I do look super-bitchy in my gravatar. M to the e-ow.

What do you think is wrong with your blog?

Nothing, of course.

Jane, stop being an ass.

Okay, I was kidding. I thought you of all people would know that.
I have no grand plan or scheme, I don’t edit my posts, I write exclusively on my phone, I post too much…okay, now everyone is just going to unfollow me. Thanks, Jane. (Little do they know, every time someone unfollows me, a dolphin cries.)

So Jane, how’s your Mom heh heh heh…

What are you talking about? She’s your Mom too, smartass.

Oh yeah. That’s embarrassing. . So what do you think the future holds for your blog?

I don’t know. I want to tidy it up a little and maybe include some features.
If I ever get to 1000 followers, and that’s a big if, I’m going to do something really really special. It’ll probably be a while before that happens but let’s just say, it going to involve me, wine, maybe some karaoke and a camera. Oh yeah.

That should class up the place a bit Jane..


So, that’s a whole year guys. Here’s to a whole bunch more.

*Technically, it’s tomorrow. But the idea was born on the fifth and….look over there…*runs*

Weird Search Terms

Ding ding, we have a winner! The weirdest search engine phrase that has ever been used to find my blog is in and it’s a beauty:

How do I stop farting on Heinz Baked Beans?

I really hope this person found the answer to their frankly bewildering question when they visited my blog. If they did not, I will now answer this question as best I can. Firstly, perhaps you should stop farting on the beans and direct your blusters else where. Also, are you farting on the beans and then eating them? Because if so, ew that’s disgusting, and secondly, maybe the beans have something to do with your excessive flatulence?

I hope I have helped you in your search for an answer to this…problem, oh weird weird stranger of the internet.

Farting in front of your partner… deal breaker?

Yes, I’m a grown-up and I’m writing a blog entry about farting. Well, to be more specific, farting in front of your significant other. But before you decide that this is too immature even for an Adam Sandler film, just bear with me.

Recently, a friend of mine got engaged to her boyfriend of three years. When we went out for celebratory drinks, she motioned for me to come closer. She drunkenly whispered in my ear “I farted in front of my fiancĂ© for the first time today.” I was completely astounded. How in the blue blazes did they get to engagement stage without overcoming this vital stage in a relationship? Oh, so you don’t think it’s important? Okay. Imagine you’re in a room full of ten people. Now ask yourself “what’s the most embarrassing thing that could happen to me in their company?” Behind crapping your pants (sorry), projectile vomiting or everyone finding your Barry Manilow CD collection, farting probably ranks pretty high. Because it’s still taboo. Even though EVERYONE does it, we still find it embarrassing. So when you’re in a relationship, the first fart is one of those milestones you inevitably will face. Little did I know; what I began, my boyfriend won’t cease.

He’s going to kill me for this. Not literally kill me, of course. But he will yell at me like I just trampled his “Murder, She Wrote” DVD collection in six inch stilettos. The way I look at it though, if he doesn’t want me writing about his farting then why does he take such pleasure in it? Why? I’m asking you, universe!
I’m going to get this out of the way good and early because I’m not a hypocrite. I fart. The girls are nodding in solidarity. The men are shaking their heads and closing their eyes slowly in sheer disbelief. A girl… farting. It’s just… it’s not right guys, is it? Except that yes, it actually is. Firstly, I assure you that we’re anatomically and biologically quite similar to you (minus the genitals of course). Girls’ insides are not composed of Care Bears and rainbows, but gas producing organs just like you guys! The HORROR! So yes, occasionally, I fart. As does everyone else. Next time you get stuck talking to some sanctimonious snob at a dinner party, think to yourself: ‘he/she farts.’ Nothing will make them more human.

Anyway, the start of a relationship is fraught with nerves. “Will he think it’s cute or insanely weird that I still have teddy bears?” “When will it be acceptable to actually finish a giant steak in front of him?” “Will he break up with me when he sees how Norman Bates I get during my period?” Etc etc. The worst of these, and I’m sure many of you will agree, is the first fart. I assume since my boyfriend is attracted to women, he is attracted to femininity. I don’t really believe in gender roles. I think guys/girls should be able to do what the hell they want without worrying about being labeled as “blokey” if you’re a girl or “sissy” if you’re a boy but that’s for another day.
The thing is though that when you’re with someone, and especially at first, you do what you can to keep their attraction to you alive. Farting in front of your boyfriend is probably not top of most women’s list of seduction tips. But I knew it had to happen at some stage. I was tired of leaving the room. I was sick of holding it in. So one day I tried to do the mature thing and I brought it up.
‘I think we should talk about farting. I fart. You fart. We need to just get that out there and be comfortable about it.’ He clearly wasn’t ready yet. His response? ‘I don’t fart.’ Of course, I knew this was a lie. It turned out actually to be on a par with “I did not have sexual intercourse with that woman.” But because he seemed genuinely embarrassed, I left him alone. That didn’t stop me from breaking the ice (and some wind, hey-oh!!). I started farting in front of him. Not a lot, mind you. Now I know you’ll just think I’m trying to regain some of the dignity that I have inevitably lost in this piece, but I don’t fart that much. To be fair, my only comparison is Jack and I’m sure he’s broken world records at this stage. But it was enough of an amount to relieve me of any embarrassment. I soon got used to it. His reaction? He found it mildly amusing and profoundly disturbing. But whatever.

So, one day we’re in my Dad’s house cleaning out my closet (in a literal sense, not a metaphorical Eminem sense) and PARP (I will kindly take onomatopoeic suggestions) he let one rip! Now, instead of owning up he tried to pass it off as the floorboards creaking but I could tell by the mildly relieved look on his face that he had cut the cheese. And that was it. His first fart. It was beautiful in a way. But what was to follow, I just had no way of preparing for it. I knew that he was now okay to fart in front of me and I imagined it would be a still fairly rare occurrence. Sweet Heinz Baked Beans, was I wrong. The last nine years have been a symphony of blusters and smells so otherworldly that Heston Blumenthal will probably be in touch any day to fashion some kind of edible slurry pit from them. The aim of this is not to embarrass him (and if it is, does that make me bad?) but simply to wonder why the hell men love farting so much? I mean, I created a monster. He went from shy and unassuming to downright aggressive with his farting. I have been shushed in mid-sentence because “THIS IS GOING TO BE A GOOD ONE!” I have been subjected to countless guerrilla Dutch Ovens. He has tried to fart on my head. He farts down the phone. He wafts them towards me in the car and holds the electric window button so I can’t be relived of the hideous odour. Maybe it’s punishment for my naivety in assuming that farting in front of each other could bring us closer together. Instead, when I’m out grocery shopping, I actively avoid beetroot. He eats it on purpose. We’re still together. That’s love.

*picture from