Take my hand, let me guide you through the mish mash of the life of an almost twenty-teen, and show you what really runs through the head of a female with the 24/7 fever.

Monday, 28 March 2011

Insult Slipper

"It's okay, there's no shame in eating a whole dessert to yourself. Enjoy."
- Me, tonight. At work. To a very, very fat man.

I'm sorry.

Why, why why why whyyyyy why why did I feel the need to make this poor poor man feel bad about himself? Yes, he was abnormally large, and yes, about to indulge in 2500 worth of calories, after eating two courses of junk food. Yes, his thighs probably did NOT fit on that chair, which was groaning under the weight of him. Yes, he needs help. THIS CAKE IS NOT GOOD FOR YOU, may have been less subtle. Oops. I genuinely feel bad but for some reason it kind of just slipped out.

For the rest of the night I just kept out-doing myself with insults aimed at customers - to their faces. Not subtle ones either... EG
"would you like two spoons? oh, it's just for you." and "is that pizza to share? No? Are you sure, it's pretty big? Oh, okay, you've been here before..."
Brilliant. So not only do I add weight to the obese, I then abuse them about it.

I don't understand, I am never usually rude (okay, I can be when I set my mind to it but this doesn't count, this was an accident) so why,!? Why did my brain think that those sentences would be okay uttered aloud? So that real people could actually hear me!?

I feel so guilty, and I am hoping this little confession can ease my mind so that at some point tonight I may get some shut eye.

Sunday, 27 March 2011


Alright, so recently I've become a bit of a slacker.
A bit of a lazy typical student, waking up at 4 in the afternoon and wondering where the hell I am!? I've spent days doing absolutely nothing productive, yet going to bed with a sense of unexplainable achievement. I've cooked myself chicken and chips, thinking it would work out, and managing to burn the crap out of everything! I've thrown away two saucepans in the past two days with my useless culinary efforts. I am not made for domestication. I've sat down and ripped trousers, broken my phone, dropped my mascara down the toilet, smashed my bronzer, stubbed my toes on the corner of the wall, left the salad in the fridge to grow new salad. Do feel free to laugh at my mis-fortune, luckily I am seeing the funny side!
I can't understand what's come over me recently, but it's fair to say I do NOT enjoy it. I wanna be Mrs. Motivator, I want that on my mailbox when I am old and grey!!

So, in this state of hopeless despair, I am clearly getting nowhere. Clearly, something needs to be changed. I either need a huge wack up the ass with a wellington boot... or something to happen to click things back into place!

Well, today has been my urika moment!

Not only did I wake up after a messy night with no signs of a hangover (bloody miracle after the game we played - 100 shots of punch in 100 minutes anyone!? yeah, no.) but I also woke up to a room filled with sunshine (in my drunken state I forgot to close the curtains apparently, wow) and it made me think - hello, good morning! Let's do something!

Finally little miss lazy boots has got her mojo back!!

I wanna do well, I wanna get things done instead of being a total bum, I wanna be productive!!

So, although recently I have been partying hard, now I've realised it's time to work hard too. Work hard, party hard! yeahhh babyyyy!!!!!

Saturday, 26 March 2011

Delirious Sunshine Fever

Okay, so I know most of the time I seem pretty delirious anyway - and maybe a bit mental, but I swear, as soon as those sunshine rays hit my skin it brings something new in me!

I wanna sit on the beach, wanna read magazines endlessly, wanna listen to more music than usual (and that's a lot... I'm mildly obsessed with the tunes!), eat ice pops until my tongue turns orange, wear flip flops - I don't care if it's only March, party until the early hours, dance and drink with my friends (okay that's nothing new)! I think I have a severe case of sunshine delirium.

Turning into a crazy person as soon as the sun comes out doesn't seem to restrict itself to just me though - I live near the beach which has it's benefits, and one trip down there on a day of hazy rays proves my point.
Blokes with their tops off - I'm not complaining, if your fit, please do continue, but really? 18 degrees ain't exactly hot is it - so in future, save your pasty post winter skin for the sun-bed, and only get half naked when your confident in your tanning abilities thank you!
People eating fish and chips I understand, but a que half way down the beach for the ice cream stand - just because the sun is out - bit mental? Okay, that one probably isn't, I do understand the love of ice cream, I am a female after all.
Girls in shorts, strappy tops and flip flops. Right ladies, I know that we are all completely desperate to wack out the summer wardrobe - it has more colours, is far more exciting and definitely more flattering, but let's be sensible for once shall we? It is NOT hot enough to get ya legs out love, nor is it acceptable to break the boobs OR legs rule, during the day! No wonder you've got sand in your pants. I have no sympathy.

Basically, the entire country goes down with severe sunshine delirium and just gets naked on the beach, down the shops etc etc! That's my conclusion, everyone just wants to get naked!!

I am putting an end to it here and now, enough is enough, my eyes are burning and boggling at the sheer amount of flesh on show for this time of year. This must be the only explanation for such madness. Blame the sunshine.

Friday, 18 March 2011

The Cure

There is nothing like catching up with an old friend to make yourself feel better!

Recently, I've been finding things a bit of a struggle - uni has been killing me, I've been homesick, missing people and missing the stupid things we used to do.

So, this weekend I've decided to come home (oh, it's also my birthday on Tuesday so that's another good reason) in the hope that a bit of time away can cure me. I wanna see my family, catch up with everyone who used to be a part of my daily routine, listen to music in my car, do stupid stupid things with my sister that no-one else would understand (drawing on our faces in eyeliner ring any bells haha!) and just chill out away from the stress of my course!

This morning, myself and one of my best friends form home decided to pig out on a good old McDonalds breakfast - yum!! So after stuffing ourselves with egg and bacon mcmuff's ;) and hash browns, we glanced across the table at each other...
"You still hungry?"
"What's wrong with us!?"
Cue us cracking up laughing and going back for another greasy but oh-so-good round of fat filled breakkie!

That's something I've missed - being around people who know you better than you do, like the back of their hand!

Tonight, I'm going on a night out with my three closest friends, and I can safely say nothing has had me this excitable in the last three months! It's not the night out that I'm looking forward to though, it's seeing them and knowing I can completely relax! I can feel this weekend is going to be a good one, and I know it WILL cure my uni blues!

Bring on the cocktails ...

Friday, 11 March 2011


Watching the eyes flicker from girl to girl, model to model, it is clear to see the only thing on peoples minds at the glamourous shows... look how skinny they all are. 
Models to me, are like an alien species. Tall, skinny, beautiful. Noses and cheeks bone sharp enough they look as though they could cut through concrete.
Clothes hang across their skeletal frames, and somehow, society thinks this looks good. This is the look we all want to achieve. We want that same unique-ness, that cool model vibe, the sharp structured faces.

In my head, I know it is disgusting how the modelling industry demands skinny as skinny can be, near death thin-ness and skeletal, boyish bodies. They are not women's bodies. Yet, I want to be them, I would give an awful lot to be able to do what they do, look how they look, be them. And I can't get into my head why!? I can't reason with it, I can't justify it. I know it is wrong, I know it's sick, but at the same time I can't help but lust after the 'look' of the minute, wishing I could pull that off.

I am confident in saying, that I know every female has a body hang up, something they truly loathe about themselves. All of us do, there is always someone better, something else we could be. But isn't it sad that girls as young as ten are developing eating disorders, wishing they were that thin, all because of the models we see on the catwalks?

I'm a size ten. Normal sized girl right? Yet I can't help but freak out if I put on a teeny layer of podge, or if I have to buy something in a size 12. The fear of getting big is instilled right inside me.
Point the finger down the catwalk.

Girls are screwed up body image wise. I wish there was something we could do... but the modelling industry isn't about to change anytime soon, the size zero campaign fazed out after a year and now scouts are back to their old tricks.

Models are supposed to be a role model, an inspiration.
Wrong, they are a thinspiration. And it really bugs me.

Monday, 7 March 2011

Euphoria Euphoria Euphoria

Ever loved a song so much that you play it, again, and again, and again? Until your genuinely concerned about your own mental state, afraid that the windows may shatter and that your flatmates can hear your high-pitched squealing (singing) and are laughing behind your door?

Recently, if I like a song, or an album. End of. It plays again and again and again until I know every word, every beat, every single segment of it!

I've been listening to Ed Sheeran loads, a bit of Mumford and Sons, bit of Bombay Bicycle Club, KOL (a lot of them, it's slightly embarrassing) and soooo so so much of (don't laugh) Kylie Minogue.
I can't help myself!

Every time one of my faves come on, I turn into this strange, crazed creature, wondering around my room in random items of clothing, singing into my hairbrush at the top of my lungs! Nothing beats that feeling of euphoria that sweeps across you when a song you love comes on, and I think if it is possible to be addicted to a hormone, I just found mine. The euphoria hormone. I wanna bottle it up and keep it forever.

Oh wait... there's always my ipod.

Friday, 4 March 2011

Obsess with the mess...

My head hurts. My feet hurt. Why is there a scratch on my chin? Where am I? Why do I feel so ill?
Just a few of the thoughts I have incurred this messy, messy week.

I have found out that waking up, is the hardest thing in the world. Never in my life have I struggled so hard to hook myself out of bed, wash and go to Uni. Never in my life have I woken up wondering why my head was down the toilet. Classy huh? So attractive, and yet this is what my week has consisted of - partying, getting drunk and sleeping it all off the next day.

It's so horrific. So why is this process so much GOD DAMN FUN?

I'm obsessed with going out, getting completely rat arsed and forgetting my own name! Obsessed!! Dancing is so much less of a battle when under the influence! Somehow, someway, flailing your arms around like a frog in a blender doesn't feel so embarrassing when your drunk. Nor does not being able to walk in the sky high six inch monsters us ladies call shoes. Or falling down the stairs in them ten minutes after your fifth Sambuca shot of the evening.

And it seems I'm not the only one. Recently, I have noticed more and more people around me who are drunk. Day time, night time, everywhere. It's strange.
Like tonight at work, (I say tonight, more like half 8 in the evening) the guy who stumbled in wearing what looked like a nightgown he had stolen from his Nan and clutching a small Radley handbag. He was mashed. Completely wasted. Gone. He fell asleep in his pizza, downed a glass of water, fell asleep again, tried to eat, missed his mouth and poked himself in the eye with a slice. Wow wee. He was a very poorly man. Oh did I mention, he threw up. Everywhere. Lush times. (and before you ask, I did NOT clean it up. Grotesque.)

Somehow I couldn't help but feel appalled by this idiotic mans drunken antics. But, it made me think. He doesn't care, he won't remember in the morning... what do I get up to if I so happen to 'accidentally' reach the dizzy heights of drunkenness? What must I look like to normal, sober people?!

Oh the shame. Off to bury my head in the sand, sorry toilet, again.