BE MY GUIDE.
Sometimes, people say camiknickers, I’ve got a problem and I reply tell me about it, precious and they relate the sordid details of a romantic issue and I solve it for them. True story. My philanthropy knows no bounds, so for the poor people currently unfortunate enough to have never met me in Real Life, I’ve decided to offer this service to strangers on the internet. That’s you, folks.
Is your relationship FAIL? Would you like some help? Tell me about it via a comment on this very page, and I’ll help you like you wouldn’t believe. I think these Wrongs are clear testament to my level 7 love skills, so don’t be concerned about receiving a shit or inexplicable response that edges you further into misery. That won’t happen.
[I reserve the right to edit comments on a whim.]
I am generally shit. In your opinion, what can I do to get rid of the shittiness, and be less shit?
♪♫ You are beautiful, no matter what they say. Words can’t bring you down, oh no. ♪♫
You could try writing a series of shameful stories about all the things that make you shit and sit back, aghast, as thousands of people read them. I can guarantee this will help you feel less shit. Also, you could try to stop being shit.
Dearest Cam,
despite somehow procuring for myself a lovely trouser, I still don’t feel normal, like a human. I feel pretend, like a playdough sausage person. I can do the voice and the actions, but the other stuff (like small talk, personal space and not hating every other person) is an issue. If trouser didn’t fix me, what will?
Also, in a sort of cheeky two-for-one side issue, I am seemingly uncontrollably obsessed with geeks. How do I stop this before my days are spent entirely of watching LPs and going to comic shops?
Yours despairingly,
The Biscuit.
Dear Biscuit,
Your lovely trouser won’t fix you, because there’s probably nothing to be fixed. Small talk is not necessarily a good thing. Personal space is to be cherished. Some people deserve hatred.
I like geeks. In fact, I have a badge that says “I ♥ GEEKS”, but I never wear it because I am too old to wear badges. Give in to the obsession. If it ends in tears, DNA testing and binbags, tell them it’s my fault.
xoxo
Thanks Cam!
I’m off to join a L4D messageboard and watch the rest of a Super Mario walkthrough. I feel appeased.
xoxoxoxoxoxo
Oh, this is simply far too golden an opportunity to pass up.
Standard story so far: Met foxy girl at work. Well, when I say “met”, I really mean: “saw from afar and admired her hair-style and poise, then spent several weeks Facebook-stalking her to the extent of 300+ photos filed away in the aptly named “[similar to the author of Peter Pan] stalking” folder on my PeeSee.”
The one time I shared a lift with her on my own, my brain told me to be witty, urbane, charming and to make an effort to be less boring than usual but my mouth began machine-gunning a fevered quasi-rap talking about the weather, while my armpits dewed over double-quick.
I’ve seen her all 3 days this week by sheer chance whilst outside the office and have failed to acknowledge her existence – either so that I can follow her and watch her bum as she walks away or out of not wanting to come across too creepily, although I *do* have a great opening (she lives in the area that I am contemplating moving to) gambit that doesn’t involve precipitation at all this time.
So, Jim, can you fix it for me plz?
Next time you see her, invite her for a coffee. Mention that you might be moving to her area. Say you’d really appreciate a chat about that.
Of course, if you only know where she lives via the gift of One-Way Networking, don’t mention that. Also, don’t mention storing those pictures of her on your hard drive, and keep very, very quiet about the frenzied masturbation over same.
Try not to stub out a cigarette on her leg. winks etc. xx
That was pretty durned good advice, Camel, so you have earned a big old hug you lucky little shit.
I forgot to mention that I’ve cunningly arranged a mutual friend to have a birthday drinks thing next Thurs where the objection of my remote lust should be attending. Would getting stupidly drunk and then drooling in her face work? Or should I just whip out my “little chap” and lunge at her? Perhaps that’s too subtle.
Decisions, deliciously dubious, wet decisions.
…I COULD try being less shit!
Thanks camiknickers!
Let me know how you get on, you lovely fucker. xx
I am generally a good person, I think I have a decent sense of humour and reasonably average looks, and I am sociable and outgoing. I have a decent job and a lovely flat.
So why is it, Miss Camiknickers, that whenever I meet a girl that I like and respect, I just end up killing her and driving around town with her head on the front of my car like a hood ornament? My parents despair that I am going to remain single forever, my friends are embarrassed, and the police are frankly furious about the whole situation.
Please help!
One time, a friend gazed at me and said “I think you’re good. You’re fundamentally a really decent person” and I was quite touched. We’d been up all night celebrating her sister’s birthday, and we carried on through the next day. With champagne. I felt very ill after all that.
I think you might need to work on the humour aspect of your equation. Fewer killing jokes, perhaps.
Hello Cam, I wonder if you could help
I spend all of my spare time getting stoned and arseing around on a PC. Where do I find the women that are attracted to this sort of thing and how do I alert them to the fact that I am actively engaged in it?
I think you’re heading in the right direction, what with frequenting Twitter and ‘My Wrongs’.
Tell everyone you meet what you like to do in your spare time as soon as you’re introduced. Be explicit. It’s a bit like the Shotgun Approach: you’re bound to hit something, or in this case, find a woman who likes your style.
Dear Cam
Another.
I frequently fall in love with complete strangers. This is having a detrimental effect on my ability to communicate with the world. If you can help me stop being mental in this way, you’d also be helping Jack, who does the same thing, but worse because he gets on TRAMS.
The Biscuit
Dear Katiebiscuit,
You are a very lucky girl. I find myself indifferent to complete strangers, and certainly not prone to loving them. In fact, I sometimes catch them gazing at me on public transport or in the street and then I panic and wonder if my flies are open or buttons undone. I did this once, and I was not wearing any underwear. It was not a good moment when I realised. What am I doing wrong?
Cam xx
I’m not sure but you have just reminded me of a time when I was walking through Leeds train station thinking I was “da bomb” when I looked down and to my horror saw my bazoomas. Yep, that’s right, my blouse had come undone because of my over-the-shoulder-strap bag. Obviously there was a brassiere to hide my true shame, but now everybody in the station knows I wear polka dot underwear.
Thanks for reminding me of that.
I shall now weep.
Yours shudderingly
The Biscuit
Dear Mademoiselle Knickers,
I’ve been neglecting The Remarkable Mrs Devia of late, and Lord knows she deserves more romance. The problem is that I’m notoriously tight-arsed. How can I re-woo my lovely lady on a budget? Can a woman ever truly love a cheapskate?
I remain humbly yours,
Stan.
Women don’t need GIFTS. If she expects you to shell out tell her she’s a WHORE, and you didn’t marry a WHORE, so she’d better stop being so bloody DEMANDING. Also, pick her some wild flowers or something.
After a period of quiet reflection I’ve decided NOT to call my wife a demanding whore, and instead take up your suggestion of wild flowers. And a foot rub thrown in for good measure.
If the resulting night of passion yields a daughter I shall name her after you, my muse. I think Knickers is a lovely name for a girl.
Dear Camiknickers.
I tried not being shit. I am now married with 6 kids. Thank you for the advice.
But it was too good, as Katie above pointed out, I am now in love with nearly every member of the opposite sex, and John Leslie.
HALP.
Dear Jack,
That was quick! Well done, you.
Stay off the trams, remember to wash under your foreskin, eat some vegetables, carry a rape alarm, and punch yourself in the forehead every time you think of John Leslie with warmth.
Hope this helps.
Dear Camiknickers,
All the girls I date keep getting restraining orders. The volume of restraining orders I get is now so large that I must now live in the bathroom of my house because it is the only point from which I can be outside the exclusion zone of my next door neighbour.
What am I doing wrong?
Nothing, treacle.
They’re wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. How’s your bathroom? Once, in the distant past, I dated a man who hadn’t cleaned his bathroom since he’d moved into his flat. I would’ve offered to do it for him but that might’ve been construed as, I dunno, odd. It’s not that I adore cleaning, but I like to help out. Got anything needs washing or mending? I’m your man.
Anyway, you shold move house post-haste. Pronto. Immédiatement.
Fond regards,
Cam to the illa
Moving house is problematic as it would require leaving the bathroom. I am hoisted by a petard of my own making.
And who wants to solve MY problems? CAN’T ever tell you what they are, I’m afraid. But if you’d like to hurl some generic advice in my direction, you know the drill.
If you promise a threesome for your tenth wedding anniversary you will have ten years of marriage behind you in no time.
Does the threesome have to wait that long?
You are trying to trap a man in marriage for 10 years, you can promise earlier threesomes but he will scarper once the threesome fails to appear, unless it does appear in which case I will propose right this second.
Unless you go into more detail the best advice I can give is: always keep your feet warm and dry; own at least one pair of sensible shoes; keep a close-knit circle of genuine friends (more than two but less than eight); and ensure you know at least one person that you can trust with your life.
I can promise that I will never go into more detail. And my feet are usually cold.
Dear Cams,
I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord
I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life, oh Lord
Can you feel it coming in the air tonight?
Sincerely,
FT
Fuckity fuck.
My last post just looks fucking spooky. Was listening to shite 70′s spotify stuff then thought I’d do a ‘speak in lyrics’ kind of message so Uncle Phil collins was playing and…the rest is laid out for the world to see.
Fuckity fuckity fuck.
I shall walk calmly away from the screen and wince Basil Fawlty-like in the loo.
(Fuckity fuck?
I sound like Bridget Jones.
Fuuuck.)
If I were you I’d want to relax. I shan’t judge you, and if anyone attempts to do so they’ll have to get past me.
I can’t hear you.
I’m in the loo.
Dear Camz,
I’m looking at making a couple of changes – new job in the big city and all that. However, I’m not looking forward to being a 28yr old single guy in a fairly new place so what should I do to meet someone interesting (interesting being witty, funny, abrasive, intelligent and marginally attractive) without trawling meat markets and desperate date-o-ramas?
I’m not saying that I’m looking for the next big relationship, but whilst it’s fun to sleep with someone, it’d be nice to have someone to wake up to instead.
Cheers, Rich x
a] Give up hope now. It’ll save time in the long run.
b] Be a bit more positive. Being a twenty-eight year-old single guy in a fairly new place sounds like a fucking great thing. Make the most of it.
Your options, sir. Pick your favourite.
You’re actually the first person to tell me it’s a ‘fucking great thing’ and not ‘scary’, ‘stupid’ and even ‘a horrendous mistake’ (thanks for that last one, mum!).
Cheers, Cam!
Dearest Camiknickers,
I’ll try and keep this brief (but probably won’t – sorry)…
Everything in my life is great. Some things could be better: par exemple, I have a father whom I’ve chosen to disown (apart from the bi-annual visits when he needs his computer fixing) because he is a man bereft of the morals instilled in me by the fairer parent and a very select group of peers; but apart from that, everything is just fine!
Except… I had a very long, intimate relationship with this wonderful lady. We met young and had many years together and we regrettably separated some 18 months ago. I am now – how you say – ‘over’ her, and have been for a while now. I very rarely think of her and when I do it hurts much less than it used to do. Of course, I’m quite a careful boy when it comes to relationships and this is probably reflected in my keeping an intimate circle of friends I know I can trust.
However, I’m not fully satisfying Maslow’s hierarchy of needs (sorry for the geek refs), i.e. I haven’t found someone with whom I can share myself, share time together, be intimate – and I miss that.
I’ve also found establishing friendship and Something, Sometimes ‘happening’ as a result is far more rewarding than say, chancing it in some sordid beach-themed guff-hole; but this happens so infrequently, it’s barely worth the mention. I don’t approach girls that haven’t been introduced to me because I don’t want to appear desperate/odd/predatory, nor do I stalk social networking sites looking for a girlfriend of a friend of a sibling who is also into cooking curries and pretentious left field cinema.
My problem is I probably think too much, but I don’t think that will ever change. Maybe one day, someone somewhere will grasp the fact that not all guys’ ambitions point crudely and cruelly to empty, emotionless sex. Some of us are a Little Bit More Decent than that (at the risk of being called a wet blanket). It’s just nice to have someone to care about – what’s wrong with that?
Anyway, it’s cathartic to commit thoughts to type and sometimes let others have a peek, so thanks for being an unwitting party to my neuroses, which I’ll now return to The Little Box Of Personal Foibles. And apologies for wasting your time!
Yours Truly,
Typical B
Dear Mister Bloke,
I’m not entirely sure what the problem is, though if you keep thinking about it and writing about it, it’ll probably sort itself out. Works for me. I am now 100% great.
Yours,
Camilla
Dear Cam
This must be it!
Must’nt it?
http://thebestoftheworstofspotify.blogspot.com/2009/06/various-artists-dating-and-seduction.html
A.
Dear Cam,
As a long time relationship sorter, you must get asked this all the time, but do you have the number of any good hitmen ?? ( or hitwomen…although you never really see films of hitwomen do you ??……I wonder why that is ?? …. )
The idea that killing someone should solve anything is, well, abhorrent.
Dear Aunt Knickers
I have been informed by my Eye Tea department that my repeated browsing of this blog must cease and desist otherwise I will be asked to seekalternative employment. I was rather hoping to pursue a relationship with the Eye Tea person in question in the near future, and I think I have ruined my chances by telling her to Fuck Right Off And Find Something Useful To Do.
Is there any advice you could offer me in my hour of need?
Sincerely,
Marvo (Uncle)
Hacksaw and binbags.
You’re most welcome xxx
I am confused. You say killing people is abhorrent, but advise using a hacksaw and binbags. I have a man in my flat who is half dead after I went at him with a hacksaw. Should I finish him off?
Ben
xxx
The hacksaw and binbags could be of use in natural causes type situations. Y’know, when people spontaneously die because you are so good at sex and you need to get rid of the evidence. See?
Suppose killing could be construed as kind in your case, but don’t do it again.
you’re fucking lush