Hey darlings, another week has passed since my last outpouring of intelligence and wit. I know you may all be wondering what I've been doing this week as I probably am your role model and/or idol. Obviously I've just been maintaining my celeb lifestyle and having the general public lap up the stories I tell like I'm Enid Blighton. Today's been particularly funny, been bumming around with my friends Cara and Will, (who is such a playaaaaa and gets all the bitches) people watching. Whilst people watching we noticed that a very large proportion of the population, is generally quite large. Now some of you won't like this, I'm not trying to be nasty, but the following things just wind me up. I'm not going to apologise for it so if you're offended easily don't read the rest of this post.
We began discussing fat people. It got brought up after a small altercation broke out last night where I told some rude, vile chav to 'enjoy weightwatchers you fat c u next tuesday' which admittedly, was wrong but I was very wound up at the time. Now I'm not by any means saying I'm perfect, I've got a forehead the size of Wales, my toes are horrific and most men have bigger boobs than I do. But I admit that. I know it. I don't sit there moaning that I've got a massive forehead but scrape my hair back to show it off, I've got a fringe for a reason. So it's the same principle when a large person sits there with a slab of cheese and a Big Mac meal moaning that they're fat. Eat a salad then. I know people come in different shapes and sizes and I'm all for embracing it, but don't expect me to feel sorry for you when you're shoving 8 mars bars down your throat.
Also I really hate it when a guy thinks he's so stacked, wearing a tee (probably G Star, let's face it) but actually he's just fat.
Airports annoy me. When I go on holiday I pack my suitcase like everyone else, trying to get all my stuff in without exceeding the 15kg limit. Obviously as a girl, I get there, check in, and my case is overweight by 1kg. So I get to pay £60 for the privilege for some lazy, thieving fuck from baggage handling to put my bag on the plane. But for all those people who weigh 30 stone, they don't have to pay more. I don't understand. The plane can obviously still take off with all those fat northerners on the plane but my extra 1kg is causing an issue. Genuinely going to start wearing all my clothes to the airport like Joey in Friends and do lunges across the departure lounge.
'Celebrities' whose careers are dwindling so they quite clearly binge eat so that they get a bit porky and can release a fitness DVD really grinds on me. The most recent culprit of this is Maria Fowler. Now, I thought she was funny on TOWIE, don't get me wrong but if you've put on a few pounds you wouldn't walk round with your gut (or 'gunt' as Will's mum calls it - work it out for yourself) hanging out of your CROPPED jacket just so you can get in Heat magazine. A story of 'I've lost all my confidence since gaining 2 stone' will probs pull you in a bit of paper and then you can release the DVD and then do the 'before and after story'. But babes, Lycra is not a good look for anyone.
So there you have it. I'm most likely going to get hate mail now So just to be clear, I don't have a problem with fat people, I just have a problem with those who participate in the above activities. Over and out.
Sunday 30 September 2012
Sunday 23 September 2012
Speak your mind
Hello there my little cherubs. I am currently suffering from a severe case of SND (if you don't know what this is, read my previous post about hanging out of your a-hole) and thought that I'd write a quick post to take my mind off this tragedy.
It came about in conversation today and I thought to myself that I really need to share my feelings on wanting to say exactly what you want to say, when you want to say it. As much as I know I don't exactly beat around the bush when I'm having a conversation with someone; there are times when I know a line needs to be drawn and to hold back. But sometimes I wish that we didn't have to do that and we could just say what our brains are thinking.
Yesterday I was sat in Starbucks with my friends having a catch up on life, discussing what to wear that evening, slagging off men, the usual. We were sat on the big comfy chairs by the window in the hope that we'd spot some talent (obviously that didn't happen as Fleet's population is made up of 99.9% hideous specimens). Me and Emma had our feet up a tad on the chairs - I was sat cross legged trying to be cool and quirky, the only other thing I would have needed was the top button on my shirt done up and I would have definitely been cool. This is when we were told very rudely by a member of staff, who for the record really should look into doing her level 1 NVQ in customer service, "don't put your feet on the chairs." Alright, I wouldn't do it in my own house but it was the way she said it that pissed me off. This was when I REALLY wanted to say to her:- "well do you fancy wiping this table and sweeping the floor cos there's crumbs fucking everywhere." I'm sorry, but I had just paid £4 for the privilege of some idiot to put a sandwich in a toastie machine and put it on a plate. £4! It used to take me 1 hour of work to earn that much money when I was 14.
Again, yesterday night my friend Andy who was born in South Africa got his ID out as we were going into a club. The doorman turned round to him and said "Oooh South Africa, that's great." Ok, he was just being polite and making conversation which is a nice thing when you go out, especially from a bouncer. But what Andy's response should have been was:- "Well, not really it's an impoverished country with a corrupt government."
Every day there are times when a customer says something to me like "It was just horrendous, breaking my camera RUINED my holiday" I get so tempted to just turn around and say, God get a grip hunnayyyy it's only a bloody camera. I remember once when I was working in Greggs (I made the sandwiches and wore a hair net) I was working full time over the summer cos I was such a G and some woman told me to get off my phone whilst I was making a batch of chicken salad's on brown bread. At the age of 16 I wanted to turn round to the old goat and say:- "1) Fuck off. 2) No. 3) You're part time. 4. Get out of our manager's arse hole. And 5.) Fuck off." Really wish I had now.
One day, when I'm in charge of the country, aside from banning work and making everything under £20.00 free I will make it the law that everyone has to say EXACTLY what they think.
It came about in conversation today and I thought to myself that I really need to share my feelings on wanting to say exactly what you want to say, when you want to say it. As much as I know I don't exactly beat around the bush when I'm having a conversation with someone; there are times when I know a line needs to be drawn and to hold back. But sometimes I wish that we didn't have to do that and we could just say what our brains are thinking.
Yesterday I was sat in Starbucks with my friends having a catch up on life, discussing what to wear that evening, slagging off men, the usual. We were sat on the big comfy chairs by the window in the hope that we'd spot some talent (obviously that didn't happen as Fleet's population is made up of 99.9% hideous specimens). Me and Emma had our feet up a tad on the chairs - I was sat cross legged trying to be cool and quirky, the only other thing I would have needed was the top button on my shirt done up and I would have definitely been cool. This is when we were told very rudely by a member of staff, who for the record really should look into doing her level 1 NVQ in customer service, "don't put your feet on the chairs." Alright, I wouldn't do it in my own house but it was the way she said it that pissed me off. This was when I REALLY wanted to say to her:- "well do you fancy wiping this table and sweeping the floor cos there's crumbs fucking everywhere." I'm sorry, but I had just paid £4 for the privilege of some idiot to put a sandwich in a toastie machine and put it on a plate. £4! It used to take me 1 hour of work to earn that much money when I was 14.
Again, yesterday night my friend Andy who was born in South Africa got his ID out as we were going into a club. The doorman turned round to him and said "Oooh South Africa, that's great." Ok, he was just being polite and making conversation which is a nice thing when you go out, especially from a bouncer. But what Andy's response should have been was:- "Well, not really it's an impoverished country with a corrupt government."
Every day there are times when a customer says something to me like "It was just horrendous, breaking my camera RUINED my holiday" I get so tempted to just turn around and say, God get a grip hunnayyyy it's only a bloody camera. I remember once when I was working in Greggs (I made the sandwiches and wore a hair net) I was working full time over the summer cos I was such a G and some woman told me to get off my phone whilst I was making a batch of chicken salad's on brown bread. At the age of 16 I wanted to turn round to the old goat and say:- "1) Fuck off. 2) No. 3) You're part time. 4. Get out of our manager's arse hole. And 5.) Fuck off." Really wish I had now.
One day, when I'm in charge of the country, aside from banning work and making everything under £20.00 free I will make it the law that everyone has to say EXACTLY what they think.
Monday 17 September 2012
Ignorance is not bliss
Evening darlings hope you are all stupendous. There is one thing that has been causing many a qualm in recent weeks for myself and some close friends which is what I'm planning on venting about today. Now, before I go on this is actually going to be a very hypocritical post because I think ignoring people I don't like/don't want to talk to is perfectly acceptable. BUT when it happens to me or my friends it just isn't, ok babes?
We all do it, we pretend we didn't see someone when they wave to us from across the road. Sometimes because they're wearing a hideous top, sporting a particularly patchy tan, have a tendency to bore the life out of you, or let's face it, we don't want to be seen in public with them. I just hate it when it happens to me. That horrendous moment when you raise your hand way above your head, a grin creeps up on your face - YES! SOMEONE I KNOW! I'M POPULAR! You shout their name, arm waving excitedly from side to side and you make eye contact with the old friend from school, eagerly anticipating their warm embrace. But no, they turn their head and walk into Argos to buy a new curtain pole. You then have to recover the situation, with a severe onset of cramp in your arm. Or an itch that needs to be scratched on your head.
This is just as irritating when you get ignored when you need help. Once I was on the train back from Uni and I had a suitcase which weighed about the same as a camel. I had lugged it from my house in Canterbury to the station. When I got to Kings Cross I had to get all the way across London on the tube at rush hour to Waterloo whilst carrying my handbag, and 2 textbooks. (Just to emphasise I'm 5ft3, have little upper body strength and that tube journey involves 2 changes). I eventually got to my train, at approximately 17:38 and somehow managed to get a seat. However, I couldn't lift the suitcase onto the luggage rack above my head - my height and upper body strength definitely impacted on this, and whilst I was stood there struggling nearly dropping the fucking thing on an old woman's head, men were just sat there ignoring me, trying to get past me in the aisle. So me being me, threw a fit and said as loud as I could "anyone, anyone at all fancy helping me or are you all going to pretend that this isn't happening?" I'm sure if I wasn't sweating like a large pig and had boobs 2 cup sizes bigger there wouldn't have been an issue.
Speaking of men, this brings me nicely onto being ignored by them. Just to clarify, I can handle being binned off. It's happened before and it will definitely happen again. My friends are the same 'you win some you lose some' is a constant saying between us. What we don't appreciate is being given the impression that someone's interested and then being pied off by not ever getting any form of a response. Not going to lie, I've done this myself and I realise this is just bad karma but I prom I'm going to be nice from now on and let old people go at junctions and buy a cake from the cake sales that raise money for the orphanages in Nepal rather than saying 'charity begins at home.'
Basically, if we all stopped ignoring people then we would live in a much happier place. Everyone's egos would be less bruised. People would smile and say thank you. It would be a much more honest, truthful land to live on. Don't ignore me.
We all do it, we pretend we didn't see someone when they wave to us from across the road. Sometimes because they're wearing a hideous top, sporting a particularly patchy tan, have a tendency to bore the life out of you, or let's face it, we don't want to be seen in public with them. I just hate it when it happens to me. That horrendous moment when you raise your hand way above your head, a grin creeps up on your face - YES! SOMEONE I KNOW! I'M POPULAR! You shout their name, arm waving excitedly from side to side and you make eye contact with the old friend from school, eagerly anticipating their warm embrace. But no, they turn their head and walk into Argos to buy a new curtain pole. You then have to recover the situation, with a severe onset of cramp in your arm. Or an itch that needs to be scratched on your head.
This is just as irritating when you get ignored when you need help. Once I was on the train back from Uni and I had a suitcase which weighed about the same as a camel. I had lugged it from my house in Canterbury to the station. When I got to Kings Cross I had to get all the way across London on the tube at rush hour to Waterloo whilst carrying my handbag, and 2 textbooks. (Just to emphasise I'm 5ft3, have little upper body strength and that tube journey involves 2 changes). I eventually got to my train, at approximately 17:38 and somehow managed to get a seat. However, I couldn't lift the suitcase onto the luggage rack above my head - my height and upper body strength definitely impacted on this, and whilst I was stood there struggling nearly dropping the fucking thing on an old woman's head, men were just sat there ignoring me, trying to get past me in the aisle. So me being me, threw a fit and said as loud as I could "anyone, anyone at all fancy helping me or are you all going to pretend that this isn't happening?" I'm sure if I wasn't sweating like a large pig and had boobs 2 cup sizes bigger there wouldn't have been an issue.
Speaking of men, this brings me nicely onto being ignored by them. Just to clarify, I can handle being binned off. It's happened before and it will definitely happen again. My friends are the same 'you win some you lose some' is a constant saying between us. What we don't appreciate is being given the impression that someone's interested and then being pied off by not ever getting any form of a response. Not going to lie, I've done this myself and I realise this is just bad karma but I prom I'm going to be nice from now on and let old people go at junctions and buy a cake from the cake sales that raise money for the orphanages in Nepal rather than saying 'charity begins at home.'
Basically, if we all stopped ignoring people then we would live in a much happier place. Everyone's egos would be less bruised. People would smile and say thank you. It would be a much more honest, truthful land to live on. Don't ignore me.
Wednesday 5 September 2012
Creamfields
Bonjour mon amies, I know it's been a while and I would just like to take a moment to apologise to you all. It must have been difficult for you to not have any idea what I was up to, where I've been or how I've been feeling, so soz about that; I've had things to see, people to do, the usual.
Anyway, today I wanted to share with you my recent (and may I add, last) experience of camping. I didn't sleep in a tent voluntarily it was for the purpose of a festival but nevertheless I am in no hurry whatsoever to violate my human rights ever again.
Now, it wasn't my first time at this festival, I went last year. And now that I think back I did spend the majority of the time in tears after just breaking up from a long term relationship, having all my belongings soaked and covered in mud, and being in denial about the size of my feet. So I must not have been thinking straight when I agreed to go again. Don't get me wrong, when the sun's out and you're loving life with your friends it would be the best weekend of your life. Until you're pissing on the floor in front of strangers and you can't find your pink bear because your friend Mandy stole him.
We were all in high spirits, we'd had a curry and a few bevs the night before we drove there. We all had a shower, put on our well thought out festival attire in the morning. We'd spent £70 each on a pair of wellies which let's face it, we'll never wear again. We'd even persuaded our guy mates to erect (lol) our tent for when we got there.
For any of you who have been to a festival before, you'll understand that the walk from the car to the entrance is probably the most horrific ordeal you will ever encounter. Especially when you're not allowed to leave the site once you enter, so you have to take EVERYTHING with you. So try to imagine four girls hauling our ridonk bags of clothes, airbeds, sleeping bags, gallons of bottles of vodka and camping chairs approximately 2 miles over wet, muddy, uphill ground. Safe to say having a shower that morning was utterly pointless as I looked like a fat girl in a disco by the time someone had strapped a wristband round my arm. Which I'm just going to say - can be removed once you leave a festival. So for all you sad, sad people that leave them on. Please get a life.
By this point our 'Bags for Life' were well and truly dead and I was dragging/throwing along 4 x 2 Litre bottles of water. Well 2 were water, 2 were vodka and I couldn't tell which ones were which, so like the trooper I am I picked them up (along with my other 76500 bags) covering my sweaty white t-shirt (stupid decision I know) in mud. My friend Emma was close to having a nervous breakdown at this point. It was very sunny and all I can say is we were all very moist.
Now, I'm not going to lie the Saturday was unreal. I laughed a lot.
Anyway, today I wanted to share with you my recent (and may I add, last) experience of camping. I didn't sleep in a tent voluntarily it was for the purpose of a festival but nevertheless I am in no hurry whatsoever to violate my human rights ever again.
Now, it wasn't my first time at this festival, I went last year. And now that I think back I did spend the majority of the time in tears after just breaking up from a long term relationship, having all my belongings soaked and covered in mud, and being in denial about the size of my feet. So I must not have been thinking straight when I agreed to go again. Don't get me wrong, when the sun's out and you're loving life with your friends it would be the best weekend of your life. Until you're pissing on the floor in front of strangers and you can't find your pink bear because your friend Mandy stole him.
We were all in high spirits, we'd had a curry and a few bevs the night before we drove there. We all had a shower, put on our well thought out festival attire in the morning. We'd spent £70 each on a pair of wellies which let's face it, we'll never wear again. We'd even persuaded our guy mates to erect (lol) our tent for when we got there.
For any of you who have been to a festival before, you'll understand that the walk from the car to the entrance is probably the most horrific ordeal you will ever encounter. Especially when you're not allowed to leave the site once you enter, so you have to take EVERYTHING with you. So try to imagine four girls hauling our ridonk bags of clothes, airbeds, sleeping bags, gallons of bottles of vodka and camping chairs approximately 2 miles over wet, muddy, uphill ground. Safe to say having a shower that morning was utterly pointless as I looked like a fat girl in a disco by the time someone had strapped a wristband round my arm. Which I'm just going to say - can be removed once you leave a festival. So for all you sad, sad people that leave them on. Please get a life.
By this point our 'Bags for Life' were well and truly dead and I was dragging/throwing along 4 x 2 Litre bottles of water. Well 2 were water, 2 were vodka and I couldn't tell which ones were which, so like the trooper I am I picked them up (along with my other 76500 bags) covering my sweaty white t-shirt (stupid decision I know) in mud. My friend Emma was close to having a nervous breakdown at this point. It was very sunny and all I can say is we were all very moist.
Now, I'm not going to lie the Saturday was unreal. I laughed a lot.
Saturday night is a different story. It started raining at about 8pm. Fine. We went in the big tents to see Benga, Skrillex, Annie Mac etc. However, the rain didn't stop until 11am the following morning. And I'm not just talking about a drizzle here. I'm talking cats and dogs, tigers and dingos, the type of rain that when you're lying there absolutely soaked because your tents leaking and trying to cuddle your friend that you think the tent is going to be ripped in half. Rain where you don't sleep AT ALL because it sounds like you're in downtown Baghdad and you're getting shot at. Rain when you can hear a river running past your tent. When you look outside and half the people who were there the night before have left. I don't handle being cold well, and for a good 20 minutes I was screaming. I'M GOING HOME. THIS IS A JOKE. I AM BEING VIOLATED. GET ME FUCKING AIRLIFTED OUT OF THIS FUCKING FIELD. Essentially, I was being my usual bratty self. I was checking where the nearest hotels were to check in to, I text my friends to come and get me. But eventually, we realised I was on my friends insurance so could actually drive myself home. So yes, me and Emma (who was on the verge of having her 2nd breakdown in 24 hours) bailed. And never in my whole entire life was I so happy to get home.
So what I'm really looking forward to is travelling round the world and staying in hostels in South East Asia.
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