The Mind Fuzz Moments

In true ‘I have no job and therefore nothing to do’ fashion, I have decided to update my blog again. Yes, twice in two days. I’m spoiling you. This post is going to give you an insight into some of the ‘mind fuzz’ moments I have had in the past 22 years. To me, a ‘mind fuzz’ is a moment of seemingly innocent genius that totally clouds your usual sane self. A mind fuzz usually lasts a few reckless seconds in which you make a terrible decision that seems foolproof, only to realise you have seriously. Fucked. Up. A ‘mind fuzz’ is that moment as a child where you think it’d be really funny to move your friend’s chair out the way as they sit down, only to watch them fall backwards and crack their head on the solid concrete floor. It’s the idea that seems fail-safe but in reality really, really sucks and only illuminates the fact that you make terrible decisions and need a full time carer with you to supervise your daily activities. My life is a constant stringing together of mind fuzz moments so I’ll just include a couple of particularly stupid decisions I’ve made that stand out to me:

1.       The Soap Thing – As children, every single one of us will have pretended to be sick at least once in order to stay at home and watch day time telly in our PJs. I’ve heard many different methods for persuading parents that you are truly sick, ranging from holding the thermometer to a light bulb to pouring cans of diced carrots down the toilet. In true Lotte fashion, however, I could not be content with just pretending to throw up. No, I had to actually endure the actual process of being sick. For that reason I decided to eat a bar of pink soap. I’d remembered accidentally licking a bar of soap once so knew it tasted awful and was likely to have the desired effect. Seemed pretty simple at the time... turned out that vomiting pink foam through your nostrils is anything but simple. The soap thing quickly went from being a simple method to ensure I didn’t have to go to school to a very real fear that I’d forever look like a rabid dog. Safe to say I did get to stay home from school. Safe to say it was not worth it.

2.       The Phone Call Thing – I need to make it very clear that I have always been a good girl. I’ve never had a detention in my life and I always do my homework on time. I’m a good girl but this is going to make me sound like a bad girl, which is not the case.

      Remember how funny it used to be (and possibly still is) to prank people? In the days before internet became a staple part of your phone contract, if someone left their phone lying around we had to rely on basic hilarious jokes such as changing the names around in the phonebook or texting rude messages to the phone owner’s relatives.

      Once in sixth form, my friend and I had a true mind fuzz moment. One of our friends left his phone unattended and, not knowing how long we had to concoct a plan of genius, we quickly decided to ring his mum pretending to be an angry teacher who had confiscated her son’s phone due to finding porn on it. This provided at least 3 minutes of pure hilarity and I’m sure we felt very proud of ourselves. It was less funny, however, when his mum turned up at school demanding to talk to the head teacher about why a member of his staff was going through her son’s phone. Our daring prank quickly turned into a crippling fear that we were going to be found out and punished for our crimes. Luckily, the owner of the phone did not tell on us and I have been able to continue my life detention free, but it was a very close call.

3.       The Finger thing – I’ve lived next door to my two cousins for my entire life which has meant that as well as having one real brother, I also pretty much had two other siblings. Although this made for a brilliant childhood in which I always had someone to play with, it also meant that I had three different people to fight with instead of just one. I

       In one particular incident me, my brother and my male cousin decided to gang up on my female cousin. We were young and a yob mentality took hold and we decided to lock her in her own house because it was funny and one thing led to another and we cut her finger off. Yeah. Obviously it was totally accidental but what had initially started as a fun game of tug of war with the front door ended up with a severed finger and a bout of plastic surgery for my cousin. Luckily the doctors were able to attach the finger we had so viciously removed from her hand but it definitely served as a warning that trying to lock someone in their own house is neither fun nor clever.

4.       The Tree Thing – You probably wouldn’t think it to look at me but I actually really enjoy activities such as paintballing, obstacle courses and treasure hunts. Although I’ll probably whine about how cold I am and how much I need a wee, I love getting dirty and being a general tomboy (except when it comes to camping. Camping can go to Hell). To this end, even in my most recent years if I’ve ever come across a good looking tree, I have felt a need to climb it.

      When I was about 16 I decided to climb a tree in my cousin’s back garden because there was a net at the top that I wanted to jump down from and scare my brother. I know this doesn’t sound like a particularly normal activity for a 16 year old girl but in my head it made perfect sense. I’d climbed the tree hundreds of times before and knew exactly which branches to go for. I hadn’t, however, considered the concrete blocks at the bottom that were neatly covered by a smattering of autumn leaves. Climbing up the tree was fine (I’m a pro tree climber), but jumping down resulted in cracking the bones in my ankle. Rather than executing my plan of pure brilliance to scare the shit out of my brother, I ended up on crutches, having to explain to people that I behave like a ten year old boy when I’m not in polite company.

5.       The Concrete Thing – My primary school was the kind of place where parents liked to ‘chip in and help’ wherever they could. This meant very successful Christmas fayres and Harvest festivals in which children would bring homemade bread and cakes that looked like works of art. When I was in year 6 the parents all clubbed together to raise money to build a new play area on the school field and as well as funding the project, they also decided to build it with their own bare hands. Imagine their disgust after hours and hours of working in the rain to create something wonderful for their children to play on, only for me to wander aimlessly across the newly laid concrete. For reasons unknown even to me I wanted to see if the concrete was still wet but instead of just prodding an edge with my finger, I felt a need to literally embed my own feet in it. I could almost hear the thought process of thirty different adults weighing up whether anyone would notice if they buried me in the concrete. Apparently the footprints remain today. The legacy of my mind fuzz moment lives on.

 

 

 

Activities for The Unemployed

Whilst waiting for second interviews (yeah. You read that right. SECOND interviews. I’m a pro at the interviewing. Just TRY and stop me), I have had a lot of time for activities that have previously being impeded by either work/university/sixth form/school/nursery. I thought I’d do a little blog post about all the different things I’ve been doing whilst unemployed and bored out of my god damn mind. They range from mind numbingly boring to shoot myself in the face dull, but alas, they are all I have to cling onto the last strands of my sanity.

1.       Wandering around the gym aimlessly – When the opportunity to go to the gym was limited by the fact I had responsibilities, I used to watch the fascinating humans that seemed to spend their lives there, yet never seemed to do anything. Their workouts don't seem to extend further than filling up their water bottle, leaning against walls, swinging their towels around and talking to the instructors about all the FAKE exercise they’ve been doing.

However, whilst in my poor, unemployed stupor I have noticed that actually I’ve had a little bit of time to kill and that there is a very real danger that I won’t have any real interaction with a fellow living being, bar my cat, for long periods of time. This has meant that I’ve morphed into one of those dillholes that sees the gym as a social activity. I will stand and listen to anyone talk about the pros and cons of protein shakes, I’ll let anyone teach me new workouts regardless of whether they're actually employed by the gym and if I was strong enough I’d totally spot the steroid junkie on the weights. I’m sure if people know how close I am to physically latching myself onto their bodies and screaming ‘TALK TO ME ABOUT PREMIUM GYM MEMBERSHIP’ I’d be banned from most gyms in the area. The only reason I’ve stopped myself thus far is because I don’t want to lose a top hang out spot.

2.       Checking the Daily Mail website – Let’s just be very clear here, I am totally ashamed. I am well aware of the kind of person this makes me but it’s crucial to understand that their celebrity gossip is just second to none. The Daily Mail has this amazing habit of stealing interviews from all the magazines I’d usually buy and putting them up on the website before the magazine has even been published. It’s incredible. I used to buy magazines every week but now I know I can get my fix for free on the internet and it has revolutionized my life. Now my days are filled with questioning whether I’m a ‘real woman’ because my boobs are so small I can still see my feet. Phrases such as ‘eye candy’, ‘dangerous curves’ and ‘raunchy, figure hugging outfit’ float around my brain and occasionally fall out of my mouth when trying to tell my mum I like what she is wearing.

3.       Being judgemental – Being unemployed has meant I have a lot of time for t’internet activities. This has meant that as well as judging all the people outside my house, I have also learnt to judge all the people inside my computer. My facebook does this infuriating thing where it doesn’t update itself for hours at a time which has meant I have actively had to go and search for people to judge. When I had a life I pretty much gave up on facebook because it never bloody showed me anything anyway. Now I’ve taught myself that if facebook doesn’t come to you, you go to facebook. Much time has been spent assessing the stability of other people’s relationships, whether that girl is truly happy that her nose is that big and if that boy has realised that he can try all he wants but he will forever remain in the friend zone.  I know this makes me sound like a horrible human... mostly because I am a horrible human. I have a disease and ain’t no one gon’ cure me from it. If you are reading this, I’ve probably stalked you and then judged you. I’m one step away from writing a ‘Hot or Not’ list for all the people I’ve ever interacted with on social media websites. Help me.

4.       Day time TV – Remember that saying ‘too much TV will make your eyes go square’? I think that my eyes might be going square. I never knew you could watch so much television that you could actually get a head ache from it. I now know that I actually quite like the Kardashian family and that I think those awful ladies from Loose Women need to quietly take themselves to the bathrooms at the ITV studios and stick their heads down the toilets. I feel like they deliberately make day time television boring because they want people to get so infuriated by reruns of Come Dine with Me that they are forced to go and find jobs. Guess they didn’t factor in Sky+ when they made that little executive decision. Now I’ve got series and series and series of Keeping Up With the Kardashians to watch (until my second interviews. When I’ll stop. I promise).

5.       Analysing my body – When you are busy you don’t really have any more time than to look in the mirror and say ‘yup. My hair looks like shite today’ and then continue with whatever you were doing. When you’ve got enough time in your life that you could literally stand in front of a mirror for a solid day if you wanted to, you start to learn all about open pores and frown lines. It is entirely unhealthy how well plucked my eyebrows are at the moment. I have become the kind of person who actually exfoliates before applying fake tan. If I hadn’t finally learnt that dying hair is something that needs to be left to the professionals I am sure I’d be in my bathroom with a box colour every 3 days just to ‘touch up’ my roots. Having this much free time has given me an acute ability to judge myself as looking like fifty shades of shit, regardless of whether I actually do.

6.       Going insane – Although I have only been living this cruel existence for two weeks and I know it is soon to end, I feel as though my brain is slowly melting. For me, having too much time on my hands has been entirely terrible. I’ve spent years in education praying for a time where I could choose whatever time I wanted to get up in the morning and now it has finally arrived and I can say with conviction that it. Sucks. Ass. My motivation has gone, I’ve turned into a needy little whinebag with nothing to focus her attention on. I do not recommend this life.

 

 

Unemployable

Why am I so unattractive to graduate schemes?

As the end of University looms ever closer I have been forced to start accepting the fact that I need to at least try to mould some kind of career for myself. From a young age I blithely told myself that my ‘career’ was going to be a writer without really taking into account the fact that being a successful writer rarely happens overnight (unless you write a book about a woman with an obsession for being degraded by men with their sex toys and their condescending yet apparently attractive nature) and that, in all likelihood, being a writer would mean living off pot noodles. So instead I’ve tried to find some kind of career that will allow me to write on someone else’s terms such as advertising, journalism and copy writing.

The problem I have found is that when writing a CV there are certain things you are meant to mention and certain things that you are not. For example, an employer will love that you’ve worked for the university newspaper or you’re a member of the rowing team. They’ll applaud the fact that you once arranged a car wash to raise money to re-do the student union. An employer will adore that once a month you’ve gone live on the university radio. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not belittling these ‘extra-curricular’ activities, I just feel that the things that have made me a more rounded person can’t be put down on a CV and I don’t think it’s fair.

Take my gap year for example. For many people, a gap year means a year long holiday under the pretence of ‘saving the children/animals/trees’. Their gap year is filled with alcohol, parties and casual sex with foreign people. Whatever, your choice. But whilst these people decided to ‘find themselves’ on a beach in the middle of paradise, I ‘found myself’ by working my arse off in a restaurant surrounded by rude customers and pitiful tips. The issue I have with employers looking at CVs is that immediately they seem to think that the person who has gone on a yearlong holiday is the person with more life experience rather than the person who decided to live in the real world and pay the bills that needed to be paid. I didn’t run from my life during my gap year, I worked for it and I would argue that gives me far more life experience. I lived in the real world and I don’t see how that makes me more unattractive.

I also didn’t go away to live in student halls whilst at Uni. Some people thought that was a mistake but it worked for me. I don’t like living in other people’s mess, I made the decision to walk away with as little debt from university as possible and I enjoy the life I have at home. I’ve had a job since I was 16 and I started paying rent to my mum the minute I left school. I pay for my car, my car insurance, my petrol, road tax, my own food and I also contribute towards bills now that I live with my boyfriend. Everything I have in my life I have worked for. I am not trying to belittle the people that did decide to go to uni, I am belittling the CV screening process that seems to think I am not worthy of at least an interview. I believe the decisions I’ve made in my life and the amount I have worked for what I have is a true reflection of my character and is something that would make me an asset to potential employers. I didn’t join the netball/dancing/jazz society because I went home from Uni and I went to work, but I can’t put that on my CV. For people that did join those societies, good for you because you’ve made your CV a lot more attractive, I chose to go down a route that I think makes me just as capable. Unfortunately for me, I’m not allowed to put down ‘being an adult from the age of 16’ as my listed interest.

 

Serious post about a serious issue in my life

As previously established, bumping into people I haven’t seen for a prolonged period of time causes me much anxiety. Since I’m finishing Uni this year, the natural question that gets asked at these awkward meetings is, ‘so what do you want to do when you finish studying?’ This is a pretty ordinary question to ask and it’s not unexpected that someone might be interested to know what you intend to do at the end of 16 years of regimented learning. However, for people like me, the question can be jaw clenchingly annoying. It’s not an annoyance at the person asking the question (because why would they not?), it’s an annoyance of being reminded that you have absolutely no life plan.

I feel such envy for people that have studied vocational courses. If you do medicine, you become a doctor. If you study teaching, you become a teacher. There is a natural progression and knowing that you will slide into the profession you want to do is such a luxury. Studying history means there isn’t really a profession waiting for me at the end of my degree. Obviously you get every third person saying ‘are you gonna become a histoooorian? Are you gonna work in a museeeeeum?’ without really taking into account that just because you have studied history it doesn’t mean you want to spend your time in a dusty museum trying to stop people stealing dinosaur bones. History is not vocational and ‘working in a museum’ is not the career at the end of the history degree road. The problem is that there is no real career.

History is a really interesting degree and I’m glad I did it. I feel that I am a more rounded person for it and if nothing else, history has taught me ‘how to think’. I absolutely resent anyone who says ‘what’s the point in learning history? It’s in the past’. If you want to understand anything about the world we live in today you need to know how we got to this place. Without people studying history, we are doomed to repeat it (although that seems to happen regardless of how many people studying history).  History is a lot of writing essays. I would argue there is more flexibility in writing a history degree than, say, an English literature degree because there is no ‘looking for hidden messages’ and regurgitating what your lecturer has told you. With a history essay you are able to take a period in history and come to your own conclusions as to what event led to what repercussions.  Of course that leads to potential failure when writing an essay because if your lecturer doesn’t agree with what you are saying, you’re likely to find yourself hitting the 2:2 margin. Hard. I recently wrote an essay about the extent to which you could call Hitler a weak dictator. To someone that hasn’t studied history it might seem like a ridiculous question, but to a history student it is a question that opens up all kinds of different avenues to study. The feedback on my essay said that I’d obviously worked hard, deserved a good grade but my tutor didn’t agree with my fundamental argument. I managed to scrape a 2:1 but it’s very frustrating when your tutor is acknowledging your hard work but due to the flexibility in historical arguments, I didn’t gain the mark I felt I deserved.

In a perfect world, I’d be aiming for a career in writing. I’d love to work in journalism but I know that if my CV and a journalism student’s CV were put in front of a potential employer, my CV probably wouldn’t make the cut. It’s frustrating that, I would argue, history teaches you to write just as much as a journalism degree does, but the title of the subjects means that a journalism student will take precedence over me. Writing is a passion of mine, but I chose to take a different path than the average journalism student and I fear that will be to my detriment in the long run. I’m leaving university feeling I have learnt a lot with my history degree, but that perhaps I should have chosen a path in order to secure a more stable future life plan.

 

So...Awkward.

For people that know me, it is pretty common knowledge that I am hugely awkward. For people that don’t know me, now you know that it is pretty common knowledge that I am hugely awkward. It isn’t a deliberate thing, I just tend to forget I’ve grown out of my ‘braces and spotty teenager’ phase. The worst part is that I know I’m being awkward and my face responds accordingly by going bright red in the most inappropriate of places. To be frank, I spend a lot of my time looking like I’m about to have a seizure. Below I have listed a few situations in which I find myself at my most awkward. As you’ll probably notice, to normal people these are everyday situations...

 
I am awkward around babies

One of the main reasons I find myself being so awkward around babies is that I don’t know when they start to be able to...do stuff. I have no idea when they can talk, eat real food or understand sarcasm. I’m a waitress and a few weeks ago I asked a customer if they wanted a highchair for their child, the response being ‘no, he’s 3 weeks old’. Cue awkwardness. A child at 1 week old and a child at 5 years old are all the same to me. To me, they all look the same size and they all have big heads. Also, babies are hugely unpredictable. They cry. Like, all the time. Which in itself is pretty predictable, but you never know why it is crying. It could be because it is bored, or because it has done a massive steaming dump in its nappy. I can’t deal with not knowing when I’m going to have to face a green poop.

I also truly believe that, like dogs, babies can smell fear. I will never understand parents that shove their babies into the arms of clearly under qualified humans such as myself, saying ‘here, have a hold’. Why would you do that!? Do you not realise that your baby is incredibly delicate? They are handing their most treasure possession to someone who could be the clumsiest person on earth. If I’m ever a parent, I’m going to ask to see people’s CVs before they are allowed to hold my little bundle of joy because I will know that there are people out there who shouldn’t be within arm’s length of anything breakable.

I am awkward giving handshakes

I am incredibly awkward giving handshakes. I hate the moment when you realise that a hand shake is inevitable and you have to stand there and desperately try to remember which hand is your left and which is your right. As previously mentioned, my body responded to my awkwardness and one of the most noticeable effects is that I get sweaty palms. Couple this with knowing someone is about to touch said sweaty palms, and the sweat increases twofold. Many times have I been caught trying to sneakily wipe my hands on my trousers before an awkward handshake. Which is awkward.

There is also such etiquette on how hard you are meant to shake someone’s hand and since I feel like I’m really strong, every hand shake I’ve given makes me feel like I’m crushing the other poor person. However, trusted sources have told me I give a ‘pussy handshake’ which has led me to doubt my own abilities and therefore cause huge awkwardness when I try to apply different pressures during the handshake to see how the recipient reacts.

I am awkward at the tills in supermarkets

The dreaded ‘bag packing’ moment at the tills in a supermarket is just terrible for me. I really feel like the cashier is trying to race, to see how many items they can get through the till in relation to how quickly you can pack your bags. I hate the look they give me to say ‘hurry up, amateur’. Are you kidding me? Are you freaking kidding me? You are trained to do this shit. It is literally your job to scan items through the till. This is such an unfair contest. This is like having a race between Mo Farah and Peter fuckin Griffin. I always feel like the cashier is being so smug when they inevitably win said race and they look at you ‘sympathetically’ and say ‘do you need any help with that?’. No. I do not need any help with this. I’m not stupid. I can do it myself. Just because my full time job isn’t putting items into bags it doesn’t mean I’m not good at it and won’t get there eventually. It’s also important to add that as customers we have the added pressure of having to prise open those plastic bags. When you’re already feeling awkward and you’ve got ‘sweaty palm’ going on, it is near impossible to do anything but paw helplessly at these bags in the hope that eventually you’ll get one open. *

I am awkward when I see someone I used to go to school with but never spoke to

This is something that makes no sense to me. There are people that I went to school with years ago that I literally never said one word to. Of course I know their face and I probably know the hilarious rumour about the dirty things they did in the disabled toilets, but I have never conversed with them. Fast forward 5 years later, and if I see this person out and about I assume that we keep the long standing tradition of ignore the frick out of each other. But no. Oh no. For some reason, because we’ve left school that means we suddenly acknowledge each other’s existence and actually end up having some form of conversation, for absolutely no reason. So awkward. So, so awkward. As soon as I’m backed into a corner like this I usually start sprouting the most uncomfortable nonsense known to man. Something along the lines of ‘so what do you do now? Not that I knew what you did before. Apart from dirty things in disabled toilets. Was that true by the way?’ People tend to think I’m being bitchy but I’m really not. I’m just freaking out so much that my brain has a weird spasm and I have no control over what tripe comes out of my mouth.

I am awkward on the telephone

This is something that has been a problem for me for years. If my phone rings I just stare at it in absolute horror and stop breathing until the ringing stops. I have no idea where this issue stems from. Some people have daddy issues, some people have food issues, I have phone issues. If you are standing in front of someone having a conversation you can usually judge when they are about to open their mouth to say something. Over the phone you have no idea which means when I do occasionally pick up the phone I just end up talking over whoever is on the other end of the line because I just have no gauge of when I’m meant to say something. It’s especially awkward when it comes to saying goodbye at the end of the conversation. I don’t know how I’m meant to ‘sign off’. Am I meant to give a reason why I need to end the conversation? Am I meant to say I’ll ring them again? Who says goodbye first? I normally end up just screaming ‘I HAVE TO GO, BYE BYE BYE BYE BYE’, hanging up and hurling my phone at the nearest wall in despair.

I am awkward at buffets

I know a buffet should be heaven for a foodie such as myself, but I find the whole concept hugely daunting. It’s just impossible to know how much food is acceptable to put on your plate. Plus, there are all kinds of factors to take into account when putting food on your plate, i.e are we allowed to come back for seconds, are they going to bring out extra batches of these delicious cheese and tomato sandwiches and if I eat this will some poor vegetarian go hungry elsewhere? Because I feel so awkward around such huge quantities of food, I usually end up going in the opposite direction and choosing only the smallest amount and then feeling awkward and hungry for the rest of the event I probably didn’t even want to attend in the first place.

 

 

*It is important to note that I am mental and there is probably no such race going on and I have massive over thought this and actually the cashier’s are just thinking about what they want for dinner tonight and I’m a bitch and I am making a mountain out of a molehill and I need to stop and and and....

5 Shades of Drunk

I recently became horribly drunk after a full days drinking at a festival. I’m talking drunk to the extent I began whimpering that if I didn’t feel better in the next hour my boyfriend ‘should definitely call an ambulance’. I’m talking drunk to the extent I was sure someone must have spiked my drink. I’m talking drunk to the extent I didn’t even have to help myself throw up. It was a terrible time in my life. However, now I’ve managed to establish with myself that when I get completely rat arsed I am ‘A Whiner’, I thought it might be fun to write a blog entry about some of the other kinds of drunks you might find on a night out:

The Fighter

Unfortunately this category is not just reserved for men. If anything I see more females scrapping with each other, most of them looking like they are doing some abnormal mating dance, than men. The difference between drunk men fighting and drunk women fighting is that drunk men tend to just throw a few badly aimed punches before remembering they are best mates and going to buy each other another flaming Sambucca. From what I’ve seen of women fighters, they use weapons. And these are weapons you don’t even realise are weapons until they are being used as such. Suddenly a pair of cheap Primark stilettos are being used as eye-gougers, keys are being used to scratch initials into the other girls face, perfume bottles are used to bash the enemies skull in. To any girl who has been known to turn into A Fighter after a few too many Apple Sourz, I advise that you  should seriously rethink you alcohol intake before you end up in jail, with an ex-friend who is missing an eye and has the word ‘Bitch’ engraved on their cheek.

The Poser

This is for the person that has a drink and then decides that getting their friend to take a picture of them on the toilet is just the best. Idea. Ever.  Most of you will have seen these pictures and unfortunately for us, what has been seen cannot be unseen. The Poser will also make sure there are at least 30 photos of them holding two drinks (at least), dancing in the middle of an empty club. This is to let everyone know how much fun they are and how much we all want to be their friend because doesn’t everyone want a picture to capture the memory of them urinating in the same bathroom stall as their best mate?

The Updater

The Updater is normally a very close friend of The Poser. This person will update all his/her friends via social media sites to let them know how much fun they are having/how drunk they are/how much they love this song/how much they love their mates/how little sleep they have had etc etc etc etc etc etc etc. Etc. I’ve noticed a growing trend of people morphing into Updaters after ending relationships. Of course it is important to let the ex ‘Love of Your Frickin’ Life’ know that you are soooooooooooo much better without them, and that you are having sooooooooooooo much fun, and the best way to do that is on Facebook because he/she is definitely sat at home refreshing your page, waiting for information to filter through. If you are a diehard Updater you’ll even get your friends to post on your page something along the lines of ‘love u so much girlllll xxxxxx’ or ‘omg dese guys jst won’t leave us alone…they’re pretty hot doe ;) xxx’. The Updater will make sure everyone knows that they are just the most fun to be around, ironically missing the point that sitting on Facebook whilst on a night out probably makes you the most boring person to be around.

The Crier

The Crier is someone who has a couple of drinks and….cries. Pretty simple, really. The Crier will break down for an array of reasons. Perhaps the person they fancy is dancing with someone else, or they suddenly remember the gerbil they had that died 7 years ago, or (and in my opinion, the most irritating) ‘no one likes me’. The Crier is determined for everyone to stop enjoying their night and focus all their attention on whatever mundane problem The Crier has just realised needs to be addressed at that exact moment. The Crier will not rest until he/she has told everyone why their life is so much worse than everyone else’s and made sure everyone would rather slit their wrists than bust some moves on the dance floor.

The Best Friend

The Best Friend is the person that decides to live by the motto ‘strangers are just people you haven’t made friends with yet’, rather than ‘strangers are potential rapists and should be avoided at all costs’.  The Best Friend will dance with anyone, take a drink from anyone, laugh with anyone and the next day will probably end up with a wealth of pictures of people they do not know. The Best Friend is determined to make sure everyone is having fun, whether they know them or not. This means dragging everyone onto the dance floor. And I mean everyone. The Best Friend will take back strangers to their actual group of friends, introduce them and then leave them to go in search of more strangers. The Best Friend doesn’t notice if a stranger has a questionable odour about them. The Best Friend doesn’t mind if their new playmate wants to grab their behind all evening. The Best Friend doesn’t judge the person who is slyly emptying strange powder into girl’s drinks. Everyone in that club is a potential new buddy of The Best Friend. Everyone.

Of course the list of different types of drunks is far longer than this, but I’ve got really important things to do today like tidy the bedroom and eat 3 packets of French Fries in a row. Sorry.

what women want

What women look for in a man

I’ve decided since I haven’t updated my blog in a while to give all you single males out there a bit of dating advice. You should absolutely follow these instructions if you’re looking to settle down in a relationship, get dusty in your private parts* and die in marital bliss:

·         1.Make sure you tell the girl you are dating all about your toilet habits. There is nothing we like more than finding out you ‘pebble dashed the entire toilet’ earlier in the day. We really enjoy all the intimate details and really don’t want you to tone it down just because we have vaginas. If you can work it in to conversation, I’d suggest describing the smell of your own farts using different food analogies and warmth levels, e.g ‘it was a mix between old Heinz baked beans and leftover macaroni cheese, with a pretty humid after effect’.

·        2. Under no circumstances should you hold the door for us, pull out a chair or open our car door for us. This is the twenty first century people, and frankly we’d only think you were insulting our feminist inclinations if you did something polite like the above. We’re one of the guys now and if you’d be more likely to pull our chair out from under us so we land up on the floor with a broken coccyk bone, that’s what we want you to do. We’ll appreciate you feeling comfortable with us.

·        3. Use our toothbrush. It makes us feel intimate and close to you.

·         4.Go through our phones. We’ll love that you are feeling jealous of all the other guys we are texting and won’t fear that you might be a psycho. I’d suggest that you do this as early as the first date because it shows us that you are serious about our relationship right from the offset. We won’t be mad because it just shows you care about us.

·         5.‘Like’ all of our photos on facebook and comment daily on our walls. We all love public displays of affection and what better way of showing it than over the internet where all our friends/people-we-hate-but-love-to-show-how-happy-we-are-with-our-new-boyfriend are. We definitely won’t be freaked out and won’t be inclined to delete you OR hide your wallposts. This is also a good way of gaining the attention of the girl you want to date. After liking each photos, I’d recommend you giving each one a score out of ten. Make sure you don’t go above 9.5 though because you want to keep her wanting more. Treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen.

·         6.Make sure you flirt with all our friends. They’ll definitely tell us, but it will make us think we have competition. Another upside of you grabbing our friend’s arse is that we will fall out with her and then you get us all to ourselves, no sharies.

·         7.Buy us presents. We like girly shit like irons, gardening gloves and mixing bowls. Occasionally you might even want to buy us presents that will benefit you more than anyone else. For example, buy us some shoe polish and we’ll be sure to use it on your shoes every Sunday night before you go to work in the morning. This is a win-win situation because we love cleaning stuff and….you get clean stuff.

I’ve run out of ideas for now, but the ones I’ve got so far are pretty fool proof. If these don’t work the only other thing I can suggest is that you look into buying a bride online. Make sure you use a reputable website and ensure you have a warranty so you can send the bitch back if she back chats too much.

Peace x

*this is absolutely a joke, if you are reading this boyf.

Queens of the Frickin' Universe

There is a local club where occasionally, for reasons I will never fathom, I decide would be a nice place to spend my evening. The sticky bar, overcrowded dance floor and disgusting toilets (seriously? Do you girls stand with your back against the cubicle doors and try and hit the bowl from there or something?) obviously all just add to the pure class of the place and there is only one factor that lets this venue down: the god awful women.

Let's just pretend for the purpose of this blog entry that I'm not a female (I am, by the way, despite what the lack of breasticles might imply) because I have no idea what happens to girls the moment they seem to step over the threshold of this place. Whatever it is, it ain't pretty. Firstly, we must remember that by day these women are probably reasonably normal. I would assume only a small minority of them spend their days watching Jeremy Kyle and eating Iceland's finest chicken nuggets and that, for the most part, the majority have jobs. These jobs may even occasionally involve conversing with other people with some manor of decorum and class. I would also assume that these women weren't actually spawned by the Devil, despite the unquestionable evidence to the contary, and that they might even have families. That love them. Basically I'm just trying to get across to you that these women aren't always god awful, they just seem to transform into absolute twatheads once the sun goes down. Like vampires. But not the Twilight kind. The twathead kind.


Once darkness is upon us and these women have got a few cheeky WKDs down them, they are ready and 'excited 4 a nite out wiv the girlies', things change. I'm not sure if it's the badly applied fake tan (not that I can talk) or the unevenly drawn on eyebrows that does it, but somehow these women convert from being reasonably normal job-having females, to absolute monster bitches who think they are Queen of the Frickin' Universe. Well let me tell you something, honey, just because you managed to put your eyelashes on straight today that does not mean you don't have to say 'sorry' having poured your horrendously overpriced vodka-redbull all down my new dress. 

I don't know what it is about this club. You can go to the club in the next town and, yes granted, you are far more likely to get stabbed but at least they'll say 'excuse me' as they do it. Manners don't cost nuttin', people! In this particular club though it is almost the rules that you have to shove your way through the crowd, stamp on stranger's feet, spill your drink and give the trade mark 'out of my fucking way, minion' pout, just to find the stranger whose tonsils you were getting acquianted with earlier. Don't even pretend you know what his name is. I'm not saying you are not more than welcome to go and be a slut on your own time, but instead of thinking you are the most important hoe in the club, why not appreciate that others are here to have a good time too and they don't particularly appreciate having to be carried home because your stilleto has gone through their foot? 

These women also seem to become extra mouthy after stepping into this club, with 'what the fuck are you looking at?' becoming one of the most over-used phrases of the night. Actually, I was going to tell you that you've dropped your phone but NEVER MIND ME. CARRY ON. HOPE YOU TRAMPLE ON IT WITH YOUR OWN HOOF. Suddenly, every man who looks in their direction is a pervert who is trying it on, rather than a human being who happens to have a penis and thought that you looked like someone they knew. I don't know what gives these women such a jumped up sense of their own worth but it is completely unjustified. Some of these women literally look like their cheeks are made of two ballsacks sewn together. 

There doesn't seem to be a particular 'type' of woman who goes by the rule of 'I'm the most important person here and I am not going to politely ask anyone to move, I'm just going to use my elbow as a weapon'. I guess you'd expect it to mostly be the stunners that think they own the room, which might be fair enough. But, get this, the fatties think they do too! And they do a lot more damage on account of all the 'extra weight' they are carrying. Girl, it is not fair to use your body against other people in the club and become a human wrecking ball. Selfish. Selfish. Biatch. Whatever happened to just being nice to each other? And not acting like wilderbeest? And saying 'excuse me' if you need to get past? And accepting that there is no such job as 'Queen of the Frickin' Universe? And that, if there was, that title would obviously go to Lotte?

People Who Don't Vote

People who don’t vote

Instead of this blog being a site for me to cultivate my writing skills and flourish as the writer I have always wanted to be, it has quickly descended into a place for me to bitch about all the things that annoy me in life. In a way this is a good thing because it means I am far less likely to scream in the face of a poor unsuspecting mother with a pram who is just trying to do her weekly shop.

Today I am going to complain about people that don’t vote. I’m not exactly in my Golden Years yet so I’m not what you’d call a ‘seasoned voter’, but that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to completely and utterly judge the people that don’t. Whenever I come across an imbecile who has decided not to vote I ask them why and I tend to get the same two generic responses:

1.       1. I didn’t know who to vote for

2.       2. One vote doesn’t change anything anyway

Just….gah. ‘I don’t know who to vote for’ is quite possibly one of the lamest things I have ever heard anyone say apart from ‘I’ll take the McDonalds salad, please’. Apparently unless it is spoon fed to these people, they have no interest in having a say over the people who are going to be running their God damn country. If you are reading this, you have some way of accessing the internet. One of the craziest things about the internet is that it isn’t actually limited to ‘Facebook’, ‘Twitter’ and ‘Hotmail’ (and my blog, obv). It may come as a surprise to some of you but there is actually a wealth of knowledge out there that is just waiting to be unlocked. How about closing that facebook browser for just five sodding minutes and taking a trip down Google-lane to see what’s going on with the whole ‘people in power’ thing. Pretty simple solution to the problem. But we all know that isn’t the real reason you aren’t voting. It isn’t because you ‘don’t know who to vote for’, it’s because you can’t be bothered to find out.

Now onto the people that claim ‘one vote doesn’t change anything anyway’. This is a statement so ridiculous that I can only assume that the person saying it must have temporarily lost their sanity and are pretending they live in ‘opposite world’ for the day. That, or they are utter morons. The whole point of voting is that everyone gets a say. Each vote counts. No one vote is worth more than the other. To quote pervy M. Jackson, ‘it doesn’t matter if you’re black or white’ (or female/male, gay/straight, religious/non-religious, Pepsi drinker/Coke drinker). Par exemple, in the US Presidential election of 1876, Hayes beat Tilden by 1 electoral vote. One measly vote that ‘didn’t change anything’….except it did. One vote absolutely does count and if anything it should especially count to you because it is your chance to change something. I don’t know if you people think that you put your ballot card in and there is a tiny troll inside that little post box eating it, but I can assure that is not the case. Whatever you wrote on that card will be accounted for. I promise. You can punch me if we ever find out there is a ballot-eating troll. In the face.

The people that tend not to vote actually seem to be the people that complain the most which is absolutely fucking ridiculous. I hear ‘Ohh, we’re well and truly in the shitter because of this Government’, ‘Ohh if I could sort this country out in a second, ‘Ohh all those politicians are just out for themselves’. Just stop. Hold on. You are complaining because things aren’t going the way you want them to/you think you know a better way of running the country then the present party in power/you don’t like the people that are making decisions for you. Well there was a bloody prime time to sort out all those grievances and instead of getting up off your arse and having a say, you sat back and decided to complain.

Don’t like the NHS? Shut the fuck up. Think your University education should be free? Shut the fuck up. Don’t like how much you are taxed? Shut the fuck up. Angry because your town is being overrun by Asdas and Tescos? Shut the fuck up. You had your chance to try and change all the things that you love to complain about ‘down the pub’ on a Friday evening and you didn’t. So shut. The. Fuck. Up. (and please vote in the next election!)

4 Kinds of People Who Annoy Me

Women with prams

I genuinely think that the only people that aren’t pissed off by women with prams are women with prams. For unknown reasons, these women seem to think that just because they have a brat-mobile they have the right of way. Everywhere. Shops, lifts, buses. This belief seems to go to the extent that they will use their child as a weapon against anyone who gets in their way. They will literally fire those prams towards you and expect you to move. Bitch, please. These women are so lucky that I am not the type of person to roundhouse kick a child but my point is, they don’t know that. They are willing to launch their little prides of joy at you in order to grab that last pack of chilli heat wave doritos without giving a moment’s thought to the actual possibility that, just maybe, you won’t move. And you just know that these are the kinds of women who are going to start hollering about ‘the police’ and ‘suing’ and ‘GBH’ just because little Jimmy happens to have a foot print on the side of his face. Hope the doritos were worth it.

Men who wait until they are outside the toilets to do up their flies.

Seriously guys, what the hell. Have you noticed that there are separate areas for women to go to the toilet and men to go to the toilet? Noticed there are signs on the door just in case you can’t read? If you’re blind, you may even have noticed little braille signs saying ‘GIRLDEM ONLY’ or ‘GUYDEM ONLY’ (sort of)? Yeah, the reason for that is because girls don’t actually want to see what you men are doing in there. I’ve occasionally had the displeasure of catching a glimpse of the insides of a men’s toilet and I must say I am scarred. I won’t go into details on here but I’m sure everyone is aware of the smell that lingers around that door. I just have images of men comparing the sizes of their thingys, using the urinals for things they shouldn’t be used for and smearing unsavoury things on the walls. I never want to go into that place. Nor do I ever want to see anything that implies you may have been doing any of the above. We all know you went to that room to do a number 1 or a number 2, but you don’t need to shove it in our faces by waltzing out of there doing up your flies and giving us a big, content sigh.

People who complain just for the sake of complaining

I’ve been a waitress for a number of years but had to quit due to the fact I was going to beat the shit out of the next customer who complained to me. I don’t have a problem with people that have a legitimate complaint to make. I would argue that, yes, pouring an entire beer down one customers back probably did warrant a small complaint and a free dinner. As did the customer who ended up with his pizza on his lap. However, I take serious issue with people that complain because they know it’ll get them something for free.

One of the most annoying customers I ever had was a man who looked like the slimier version of Nick Griffin. He started by staring at my chest for a good 3 minutes (sorry mate, you’re not going to find a lot there) before ordering a starter platter. All for himself. Which is just greedy. He got about 4/5 through his fatman starter before calling me over to tell me he’d ‘found a pube in his food’. From the outset this seemed wildly unlikely because I’m 100% sure the chefs didn’t cook in the nude, but he was adamant that this hair was a pubic one. I’d also like to point out that the chef on duty that night was bald. I’m not saying I know if he was bald ‘down there’, but since it obviously was not a down there hair, it had to have come from someone’s head, and it wasn't the chefs. I’d also like to point out, this slimy little twit had a really attractive mass of wiry, coarse, brown hair sprouting from his head. And his eyebrows. And his nose. And probably his ears.

Basically, it was clearly his own bloody hair that he’d malted into his own bloody food. But instead of acknowledging that yes, he was a hairy douchebag and yes, the chef who cooked his food was bald, and yes, the waitress who brought him his food was blonde, he decided to kick up an almighty fuss and get all his food for free. What. The. Hell. I wanted to take him by the nose hair and smash his face into the remainder of his stupid sharing platter which, coincidentally, he’d eaten all the best bits of before complaining. Prick.

People who chew parts of their own body.

There is a girl in one of my seminars who eats her own hair. I kid you not. She literally sits there and eats her own frickin’ hair. And if that isn’t bad enough, instead of just….swallowing, she’ll sit there and use it as some kind of floss for her teeth. I can hear her tongue rolling around her mouth, making sure that piece of hair touches all corners of her mouth. It is literally all I can do not to throw up on her. Whenever she sits next to me my heart sinks because I know I’m going to get an hour of hair munching and as much as I try to ignore it I just can’t.

She also bites her nails. FILTHY, FILTHY HABIT. Everyone knows that all kinds of germs are hangin’ around under your nails so why the hell would you want to put that anywhere near your mouth? She then chews these nails for a bit before spitting them out. On the floor. She is asking for me to do a murder to her. This also goes for people that chew the skin off the sides of their nails and then eat it. Self-cannibalism ain’t sexy, people.

I could literally write about this topic all frickin’ night, but I’m also enraged by people who moan that they haven’t had enough sleep when they have no reason to still be awake so instead I’m going to bed. Ciao!

The Bucket List

The Bucket List

Having recently watched ‘The Bucket List’ I’ve decided to compile my own list of things I want to do before I ‘kick the bucket’. If you haven’t seen the film yet I would highly recommend it.  For one thing Jack Nicholson is an absolute silver fox, and for another it is actually a very good film. Especially if you like sobbing. Uncontrollably. Which, coincidentally, I do. (N.b I am joking about the silver fox thing, he looks like a human Jabba the Hut.)

1.    1.   See the Northern Lights

I’ve heard they are, like, really cool to look at. I’m not even going to try and pretend I know what they are but I’ve looked them up on a really reliable source (Wikipedia) and it’s all to do with the Earth’s magnetic poles. Basically, something weird happens to do with the Earth’s poles and it creates this kick-ass array of lights across the sky. And I mean seriously kick-ass. I’m slightly enraged by the fact that you can only see these lights in absolutely freezing areas in the world. Let’s be honest, they’re probably the main reason that anyone goes there. There’s no Mac Donalds, no shops, no cinemas, no hairdressers, no nothing. But there are some really kick-ass lights so I guess that’s something worth going for.

2.      2. Marry ‘the One’

DO NOT JUDGE ME. I AM A GIRL. WE ALL DREAM OF THIS DAY.  Recently I’ve gone a bit mental. I used to laugh at people that obsessed over their wedding day...and then I became one of those people. I’d like to point out that I am in no way ready to get married now (boyfriend, breathe a sigh of relief) but it is definitely something I want to do someday. I want to wear white. I want everyone to stare at me. I want the ring, the flowers, the first dance. I’d be absolutely gutted if I kicked the bucket before I got to walk down the aisle. In fact, I’d be livid. And no one likes a livid ghost.

3.       3.Get my degree.

Boring but necessary. Nuff said.

4.      4. Write a book

Well I guess this was the whole point of this blog thingy-whatsit. I’d love to write a book one day, it’s just really unfortunate that I have no bloody clue what I want it to be about. I think I’ve probably got enough words inside my brain to do it, I just don’t know how to string them all together to create a coherent, readable book. One day, I promise.

5.    5.   Relearn the piano

Yes, relearn. I actually played piano for 8 years. Unfortunately, I hated every goddamned minute of it and almost made a conscious effort to forget everything my exasperated teacher taught me each week.  I’ve changed my mind now though and would love to sit down at a grand piano and howl along to a Talyor Swift song. However, now I can literally only play ‘Frere Jacques’ which is mildly disheartening considering any old dumbass can play that, even if they have stumps where their hands should be.

6.    6.   Step on every continent.

This requires being marginally well off so I think this will have to go on the back burner until I stop being a student. Damn my education. Provided I last that long I might wait until my retirement to do this and then hit up each continent one after another. I’d like to point out that just because I’ll be old it doesn’t mean I’ll behave myself.

7.      7. Get in a taxi and yell, ‘FOLLOW THAT CAR!’

8.    8.   Keep up my diary ‘till I am old and mouldy

Yes, I am 21 and I have a diary, blablabla. I love looking back on things I wrote when I was 14. It turns out I moan a lot and ‘fall in love’ even more. I’d love to have a whole archive of diaries to read back on when I’m old. Even if I only write in it once a week to moan that so-and-so is SUCH a bitch, I’d like my kids to read them too one day and remember what a cranky twit their mother was.

9.       9.Wear a really, really expensive pair of shoes.

I don’t even want to buy them. I don’t think I can ever justify walking around with a year’s average wage strapped to my feet, but I’d just like to try them on. Just to see how they feel. I want to feel like Cinderella, even if they are only on loan.

There are more things to be added at a later date but this will do for now. I’ve already been able to tick a few things off my bucket list: I’m learning a different language; I’ve travelled to New York; I’ve fallen in love (n’awrrrr....BARF). Let’s try and be realistic - I could write that I want to travel to the moon and meet Barack Obama and invent a cure for cancer but the likelihood of any one of those things happening is slim-to-none and I hate failing so let’s keep these ambitions attainable, people!

Can't Hold Us Down...

So it all started for me with pop diva extraordinaire Christina Aguilera. She was the reason I spent most of my childhood begging my mother to let me have dreadlocks and a pierced lip. Because that would have looked so good on me. Her song ‘Can’t Hold Us Down’ was released in 2003 and featured some interesting lyrics:

 

‘it's a common double standard of society
the guy gets all the glory the more he can score
while the girl can do the same but yet you call her a whore
 I dont understand why it's okay
the guy can get away with it, the girl gets named
all my ladies come together and make a change
and start a new beginning for us, everybody sing!’

It has also got a strange lady wearing a bikini and an energizer belt gyrating thin air telling us that:

‘if a guy have 3 girlz then hes the man
he can even give her some head or sex her off
but if a girl do the same then shes a whore
but the tables 'bout to turn
i bet my fame on it’

You can find the video here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dg8QgUIKXHw&ob=av3e

The video basically features Xtina stomping around in a really...fetching purple number, touching water hoses inappropriately and telling a load of under nourished human males that if she wanted to be a hoe, she’d damn well be a hoe. She also invites her audience into hoedom and tells them that if we want to be a hoe too, Christina and Lil Kim will have our backs. Now firstly I’d just like to take a minute to say that I’m pretty sure if I sent a letter to Christina telling her that I’d followed her advice, got myself a load of fine male bootay and now everyone was calling bad names and could she please make it stop, she’d tell me to fuck off. Not least because I’ve heard she is a massive cow.

Anyway, Christina obviously has a knack for really deep and meaningful lyrics (See 'Candyman') because this song got me thinking. She’s basically pissed because if a guy manages to bed a load of girls he gets a high five, but if a girl does the same then she’s labelled ‘a whore’. Apparently all girls should be fighting for the right to get laid without getting the label. Christina and Lil Kim are bored of it, and we should be too.

However, I’m going to have to respectfully disagree with Christina and let you into a little foolproof scientific study. Now, I’ve only done this scientific study in my head but I reckon if anyone actually bothered to do it, it would prove I’m definitely right. I’m pretty sure once word of this study gets out I’m going to be on track for a Nobel Peace Prize.

Ok so imagine a girl walks into a bar. She’s pretty alright looking, probably nothing special but people don’t try to scratch their own eyes out when they look at her. She’s got some nice heels  on, she’s put on some lipstick, she’s feeling good about herself. So she walks into this bar and, really conveniently the music has just stopped and really conveniently the bar is full of men. She takes a look around before putting on her best ‘slut face’ and shouts ‘WHO HERE WANTS TO TAKE ME HOME TONIGHT? YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE TO PAY. IN FACT, I WANT TO DO IT. FOR FREE. WITH SOMEONE. ANYONE’. What do you think the reaction is going to be? Because I will bet you any money plus my beloved cat that at least one guy is going to turn around and say, ‘yeah ok then’. In fact, I’d expect more than one man trying to take her up on the offer.

Now let’s turn the tables. This time it’s an average looking guy walking into a bar full of women, shouting that he wants to get laid. He has made an effort, and he, too, is full on confidence. I’m pretty sure all he is going to get is a load of strawberry daiquiris to the face. 

I think this scientific experiment just proves that it is so much easier for a girl to get laid than it is for a boy, hence why women who sleep around tend to be known as sluts. They don’t have to put any effort in. Men who want to be sluts actually have to try, and very few of them succeed. It usually requires charisma, intelligence and good humour, whereas with a woman it usually just requires the correct genitalia. Whether Christina wants to admit it or not, it is far easier for a woman to go and do the dirty and the majority of women can have sex on tap if that’s what they want. There is little challenge for women. As much as I’d probably think a guy who has bedded a load of women a bit of a knobhead, I’d have to admit that he obviously has something to him. It is easier for women to be fussier than men, but it is also it is easier for a woman to get laid than a man.

I’m sure Christina would tell me that I’m turning my back on women and she might even try to sit on me (I heard she’s got really fat recently), but I think I’m onto something. Girls, if you wish to go out and ‘get yours’ then that’s up to you, but you have to admit that it isn’t exactly going to be a struggle. Guys, if you want to go get yourself some fine lady muffin then you’ve got an uphill battle, my friend, and all I can say to you is ‘good luck’.

P.S Christina if you are reading this, I was just joking, please don’t sit on me. Also you can’t be mad that I don’t agree with you because you said yourself in your crappy song;

‘so, what am i not supposed to have my own opinion
should i keep quiet just because im a woman?
Call me a bytch cuz i speak whats on my mind
Guess its easier for you to swallow if i saw and smiled’