So my ploy of being a v big time celeb is obviously working guys, I now have some friends that sometimes want to hang out with me more than once a week and are more than willing to let me attend without washing my feet. I've realised that I'm now considered so cool darling, plus I've had more than 3000 views on my blog so that's potench 3000 people who have fallen in love with me, duuuuuh.
Right basically it's coming up to Christmas as you probably know from the tiny cardboard doors you struggle to open every day that reveal the smallest possible piece of chocolate you will have ever seen in your life. I'm not going to sit here and lie, I'm not a massive Christmas fan because it is SUCH a ballache, however this year I'm trying my hardest not to be a Scrooge. My only ish is no one's going to be interested in hearing about all the lovely things about Jesus' birthday so I thought I'd share some things that I specifically hate about Christmas.
Smug couples. You know the types I mean. The ones who insist on telling you their plans together over the festive period whilst you know you're going to be sat there on Christmas day drinking several bottles of champagne to yourself, eating three times your daily allowance in calories and probably finish the day off with your head down the toilet. The ones who will be wearing matching jumpers and decorating their tree together and then take a photo of them in front of it and put it on Instagram. I know they're just bragging about their bauble hanging skills. In the lead up to Christmas day you have the honour of hearing about what they're going to put in their "other half's" stocking and how they've bickered about whose family's house to spend the day at. GOD give me a BREAK. Christmas is just an excuse to go out every night of the week and get utterly shitfaced.
Christmas songs. They drive me absolutely fucking insane. They're the same year upon year. Why has no one composed a new one yet?! I don't give a fuck about whether Santa Claus is coming to town, because quite frankly, anyone over the age of 10 knows he isn't. Also, if you gave your heart to someone last Christmas and they gave it away, more fool you. Because if you did that you'd be dead and I think you'll find that's called the Black Market.
Food. I'm grateful that I have food, not saying that it's a bad thing. I just really don't understand everyone's need to constantly eat in the lead up, on, and after Christmas. I eat when I'm hungry. Surely you can't be hungry 24/7 for a 10 day period, you can survive without food for weeks at a time. Then once you've piled all the pounds on everyone's on a 'New Year, New You' diet. Just don't eat as much then you wouldn't have that qualm.
One of the things I hate most about Christmas is how I constantly hemorrhage cash for presents, parties, alcohol, food, meals and what not. It's excessive. Now, I'm not a tight person at all, if anything I would say I'm overly generous but is it really necessary to buy for your best friend's brothers girlfriends cousins wife? No. Not at all. But when you say you're
"Not doing presents this year" everyone looks at you like you've just abducted a child and buried them on the yorkshire moors.
I have serious issues with tinsel. It's tacky. It irritates my skin. And I want to burn every inch of the stuff. Why people insist on putting this in their homes as a decorative feature is beyond me. It is 100% not at all chic darling.
So there you have it. 10 minus 5 things I hate about Christmas. Have a good one darls.
Friday, 14 December 2012
Monday, 5 November 2012
Questionable Questions
Right, so I can't think of any opening lines this evening I'm afraid, so a Hello is all you lot are getting.
As the title of this blog might insinuate, I'm talking about questions people ask you that are utterly ridonk and don't need to be asked or even answered. This is something that really irritates me (Supermarkets post) and my all time HATE is when I go to Nando's - I go a lot - and they ask me if I've been before. I want to turn around to them and tell them I could recite their menu backwards, or maybe ask the whole of Nando's to raise their hands if they hadn't been before so that I could arrange for them to go to counselling.
Sticking with the theme of food, there is nothing WORSE than when someone who you go out for a meal with asks if you want to share a side or a starter when you've got your heart set on devouring the whole thing. The other week after I had my order well thought out: Lasagne, garlic bread and a portion of skinny chips. My friend Ami was like, "Oh, I might like a few chips, do you want to share?" No. No I do not want to share my chips. I want to eat them all to myself. If you want some chips, order your own portion.
Another great one is when someone asks if you're OK. They ask you this as you're on the floor after being mauled by a Doberman or been hit by a bus. They ask you when you're so horrifically drunk that you're throwing up all over yourself whilst being physically removed by 2 bouncers in a club. Once (probably the only time I have cried in front of people I don't know that well) I'd had a really shit week, and I was in a finance lecture which lets not beat around the bush is enough to make anyone cry. I realised that I was not in a good mental position to stay there so I got up and walked out, unbeknownst to me a few people followed me because I am obviously the love of their lives/they wanted to be my friend. I was having a small nervous breakdown outside whilst trying to make a quick exit home and one of them asked me if I was OK. I just looked at her "Do I look fucking OK to you?" Safe to say she didn't want to be my friend after that.
One thing that irritates me is when people ask for the time they point at their wrist. I know where you wear a watch, unless you're that useless prick Joey from TOWIE. If I needed to know where the toilet was I wouldn't point at my vagina.
The next lot aren't really questions, they're just stupid things people say. Boys probably won't be able to relate to this but how many girls have had the following conversation:
"What you wearing tonight?"
"Jeans, heels and a nice top."
"Ohhhh a nice top? Not a shit top then?"
Or...
"I'm just going to have a body shower."
"Not a leg shower then?"
Actually thinking about it someone asked me if I wanted a 'cold water' the other day. No, I'd like a luke warm one please.
If anyone else has any painfully ridic questions then please let me know, genuinely makes me laugh. ALOT.
As the title of this blog might insinuate, I'm talking about questions people ask you that are utterly ridonk and don't need to be asked or even answered. This is something that really irritates me (Supermarkets post) and my all time HATE is when I go to Nando's - I go a lot - and they ask me if I've been before. I want to turn around to them and tell them I could recite their menu backwards, or maybe ask the whole of Nando's to raise their hands if they hadn't been before so that I could arrange for them to go to counselling.
Sticking with the theme of food, there is nothing WORSE than when someone who you go out for a meal with asks if you want to share a side or a starter when you've got your heart set on devouring the whole thing. The other week after I had my order well thought out: Lasagne, garlic bread and a portion of skinny chips. My friend Ami was like, "Oh, I might like a few chips, do you want to share?" No. No I do not want to share my chips. I want to eat them all to myself. If you want some chips, order your own portion.
Another great one is when someone asks if you're OK. They ask you this as you're on the floor after being mauled by a Doberman or been hit by a bus. They ask you when you're so horrifically drunk that you're throwing up all over yourself whilst being physically removed by 2 bouncers in a club. Once (probably the only time I have cried in front of people I don't know that well) I'd had a really shit week, and I was in a finance lecture which lets not beat around the bush is enough to make anyone cry. I realised that I was not in a good mental position to stay there so I got up and walked out, unbeknownst to me a few people followed me because I am obviously the love of their lives/they wanted to be my friend. I was having a small nervous breakdown outside whilst trying to make a quick exit home and one of them asked me if I was OK. I just looked at her "Do I look fucking OK to you?" Safe to say she didn't want to be my friend after that.
One thing that irritates me is when people ask for the time they point at their wrist. I know where you wear a watch, unless you're that useless prick Joey from TOWIE. If I needed to know where the toilet was I wouldn't point at my vagina.
The next lot aren't really questions, they're just stupid things people say. Boys probably won't be able to relate to this but how many girls have had the following conversation:
"What you wearing tonight?"
"Jeans, heels and a nice top."
"Ohhhh a nice top? Not a shit top then?"
Or...
"I'm just going to have a body shower."
"Not a leg shower then?"
Actually thinking about it someone asked me if I wanted a 'cold water' the other day. No, I'd like a luke warm one please.
If anyone else has any painfully ridic questions then please let me know, genuinely makes me laugh. ALOT.
Tuesday, 30 October 2012
Road Qualms
Greetings darls, hope you have all adjusted and got over your time-lag since the clocks moved back a whole hour this weekend leaving the whole country in utter chaos. For any of you who aren't up to date with daylight saving, you may want to do some light googling as it has been ongoing since 1895 so shouldn't be too much of a shock to the system.
Moving on. Tonight I wanted to discuss things along the lines of cars/traffic/road rage. I can't comment too much on other people and their shit driving after encountering 3 separate incidents involving hitting a tree, ploughing down a Nepalese girl in a car-park and sliding into a lorry then spinning into a wrought iron fence. However, I'm all for a bit of hypocrisy so whatevs trevs.
I do believe in karma. I purposely let people go at junctions so that one day when I'm in a rush someone will let me go. This has not yet happened, but I am adamant it will. Maybe if I didn't judge the people I decide to let go, karma might not be such a bitch. Old people, never. If you let someone over the age of 65 out in front of you, you may as well terminate your life then and there. You'll never get to the place you needed to go because they will drive about as fast as a paraplegic can run a marathon. The only people I will let go is people who are above a 7.5 (in summer when sunglasses are involved this can be a tricky judgement) or if they have a nicer car than me.
I'm not a patient person, I never will be. So when things slow down my day like traffic, or people driving slowly or being unnecessarily hesitant I do kick off a tad. One issue I have is when women (and yes, we are a lot shitter at driving than men) drive round in their 4 x 4's (which they obviously need for all the off-roading they're going to be doing in the Hampshire suburbs) but think they're driving a bus and can't get through a gap about 8 metres wide. If I counted all the times I shouted "YOU'RE NOT DRIVING A FUCKING BUS" I would be very good at counting. I also find it very annoying when I'm in a car park trying to find a space to do something important like go to the shop to buy some chicken dippers, that some idiotic person will spend 12 years trying to get into a space because 25 years after passing their driving test and being on the UK roads they can't reverse park.
My favourite thing about driving is watching other people in their cars. Not because I'm a large stalker but just because people think they're in an opaque box which they can see out of. Literally one of the best days of my life was when I was driving to work and saw one of my ex boyfriends driving in the opposite direction picking his nose. Admittedly I'm a big culprit when it comes to singing along in the car. There's been plenty of times when I've been stopped in traffic and been clocked singing to various songs, including Taylor Swift and Drake. I genuinely think I'm black the majority of the time I'm driving (anyone who has been on a long car journey with me can vouch for this, I can rap along to ALOT of albums).
Road rage is one thing that literally winds me up to the extent where I get so angry. I think this will just be much funnier if I tell the story of when road rage nearly ended up in me being nearly murdered by a man in north London. I was with my wolfpack (Hannah Justine and Ami) we were going to see The Saturdays (I was Frankie's stunt double for the evening) and we were trying to find somewhere to park. I was at a junction of a one way system when the car behind me started beeping. As I drove on to the one way system, Hannah was hanging out my window shouting 'fuck offfff you c*ntttt' and I think my middle finger made an appearance. Next thing we know this car overtakes me blocks the road forcing me to do an emergency stop. Out steps a man approximately 6ft 4 and weighing about 16 stone with a metal bar. Justine and Ami are in a panic at this point, Justine is shouting 'REVERSSSSE' me being me decided to front this one out. At this stage the only reason I can think of why this man wanted to kill me was because he thought I was a boy with my short hair. In a moment of stupidity I asked him if he was wearing a turban (I later realised it was just a usual day-wear hat) then shouted WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING. He retreated and got back into his car and drove off. So the only thing this taught me, was to front everything out until the person leaves you alone. This lesson did not work well in Cardiff (see previous post).
Anyway, this was a half arsed attempt of qualms on the road.
Moving on. Tonight I wanted to discuss things along the lines of cars/traffic/road rage. I can't comment too much on other people and their shit driving after encountering 3 separate incidents involving hitting a tree, ploughing down a Nepalese girl in a car-park and sliding into a lorry then spinning into a wrought iron fence. However, I'm all for a bit of hypocrisy so whatevs trevs.
I do believe in karma. I purposely let people go at junctions so that one day when I'm in a rush someone will let me go. This has not yet happened, but I am adamant it will. Maybe if I didn't judge the people I decide to let go, karma might not be such a bitch. Old people, never. If you let someone over the age of 65 out in front of you, you may as well terminate your life then and there. You'll never get to the place you needed to go because they will drive about as fast as a paraplegic can run a marathon. The only people I will let go is people who are above a 7.5 (in summer when sunglasses are involved this can be a tricky judgement) or if they have a nicer car than me.
I'm not a patient person, I never will be. So when things slow down my day like traffic, or people driving slowly or being unnecessarily hesitant I do kick off a tad. One issue I have is when women (and yes, we are a lot shitter at driving than men) drive round in their 4 x 4's (which they obviously need for all the off-roading they're going to be doing in the Hampshire suburbs) but think they're driving a bus and can't get through a gap about 8 metres wide. If I counted all the times I shouted "YOU'RE NOT DRIVING A FUCKING BUS" I would be very good at counting. I also find it very annoying when I'm in a car park trying to find a space to do something important like go to the shop to buy some chicken dippers, that some idiotic person will spend 12 years trying to get into a space because 25 years after passing their driving test and being on the UK roads they can't reverse park.
My favourite thing about driving is watching other people in their cars. Not because I'm a large stalker but just because people think they're in an opaque box which they can see out of. Literally one of the best days of my life was when I was driving to work and saw one of my ex boyfriends driving in the opposite direction picking his nose. Admittedly I'm a big culprit when it comes to singing along in the car. There's been plenty of times when I've been stopped in traffic and been clocked singing to various songs, including Taylor Swift and Drake. I genuinely think I'm black the majority of the time I'm driving (anyone who has been on a long car journey with me can vouch for this, I can rap along to ALOT of albums).
Road rage is one thing that literally winds me up to the extent where I get so angry. I think this will just be much funnier if I tell the story of when road rage nearly ended up in me being nearly murdered by a man in north London. I was with my wolfpack (Hannah Justine and Ami) we were going to see The Saturdays (I was Frankie's stunt double for the evening) and we were trying to find somewhere to park. I was at a junction of a one way system when the car behind me started beeping. As I drove on to the one way system, Hannah was hanging out my window shouting 'fuck offfff you c*ntttt' and I think my middle finger made an appearance. Next thing we know this car overtakes me blocks the road forcing me to do an emergency stop. Out steps a man approximately 6ft 4 and weighing about 16 stone with a metal bar. Justine and Ami are in a panic at this point, Justine is shouting 'REVERSSSSE' me being me decided to front this one out. At this stage the only reason I can think of why this man wanted to kill me was because he thought I was a boy with my short hair. In a moment of stupidity I asked him if he was wearing a turban (I later realised it was just a usual day-wear hat) then shouted WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING. He retreated and got back into his car and drove off. So the only thing this taught me, was to front everything out until the person leaves you alone. This lesson did not work well in Cardiff (see previous post).
Anyway, this was a half arsed attempt of qualms on the road.
Sunday, 30 September 2012
Large Marge
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.
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, 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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