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.

Wednesday, 13 April 2011

Apparently not...

Sometimes life likes to chuck you a curve ball.
Now, I thought my mojo was back, but a series of things have just shattered any confidence I regained, and left me feeling stuck, broken and confused again.

Tuesday, 12 April 2011


So. Right, Okay. Ehem. Excuse me. Right. Hmm. Okay, Okay.

Right, so I have been sat here for an hour now. This is getting boring.

I know. I will google my own name.... Nothing. I don't exist. Brilliant.

Ahh... I will google BBC News. Again. Check my nails, go to the toilet, have another Dr Pepper, stare into space, the list of opportunities for time wasting is endless!

The problem is though... I'm on work experience. I'm supposed to, well, work. But when your ignored, that's a little hard to do!

Today wasn't so bad... I got off my arse after the realisation that my only hope was to get up and sort it myself, find a story, find something to do. And boy did I prove them wrong... I got the lead story for one of the pages. Huraah!!!

The problem, the weeny little scandal that does come to mind however is this... if I am such a pain in the arse, and you have nothing for me to do, why why whyyyyy would you agree to have work experience people come in and snoop around and intrude? Yes, training me up for a week is time consuming, and you will get no return from it, but if you aren't going to make my giving away of a weeks worth of free labour worth it, then I would much rather you didn't bother. It makes me angry.

It actually makes me so mad. And frustrated. I have to do work experience to get any where in my career, but it is both time consuming and mind numbingly boring when it is deadline day and nobody wants to help me. I can't pluck a story from thin air believe it or not, I am not a bloody miracle worker! If I could do that, I wouldn't be sat here twiddling my thumbs and thinking of what I'd do if I a, won the lottery and b, got the opportunity to kiss David Beckham (that fantasy is a little too rude so lets keep shhhtum on that one, I would never think of such things at work!!)

So, in future Mr Bigshot employer, I would like a structured day and something helpful/useful to do. (Not that the opportunity isn't appreciated may I add!!)

Monday, 4 April 2011

War Paint Confession

Right, you MUST promise not to laugh.

I know you will, but for the sake of my sanity, pretend this isn't funny please.

Last night, I sat down to watch one of my favourite TV shows - The Only Way Is Essex. I hate it, but love it. I will never understand why fake boobs, tans, nails, eyelashes, heels during the day, skin tight dresses and more war paint than you can shake a grotty old stick at are considered normal or even attractive! But yet, I am still obsessed with the show.

Last night, Mark Wright got his top of (there is in fact, a God up there, looking down on me and smiling after completing my life with that little snippet) and I'm not being over observational, but by jove, was he orange. In Essex, it seems, male fake tan is allowed. Male fake tan is HOT - in this case.

I looked down at my own arm, pasty and white, and wondered - would life be better tangoed?

All I can say is, never take inspiration from that show. I, in my hasty state of pale whiteness, decided that it would be a smooth ass move to fake tan, twice. In one night.

This my friends, was one very very bad idea. I awoke this morning to the fumes of fake tan, my skin glittered in the sunlight and almost blinded me, my fake nails looked more tacky against orange peel skin and my first thought was 'SHIT'. I look in the mirror, and then realise I have made a bad bad mistake. Out comes the body scrub and lemon juice - my face is ORANGE. Oompa loompa. I am not best pleased.

So, lesson of the day. No, you do NOT need 2 layers of tan. Do not take inspiration from Essex boys with their top off. I think I was bowled over by his fit-ness and forgot myself for a minute.