It's March. A few days ago I was battling against winds strong enough to floor James Corden. It's been so wet, even the ducks were thinking "fuck this, let's go find a dry spot". Yet, today - this day in March - I have been nursing what can only be described as "beetroot syndrome". I mean I know it was a sunny day but I distinctly remember somebody saying to me that the sun isn't strong at this time of year. When I remember who said it I'll be beating them to death. In fact no, I won't. I'll tie them to a sun lounger and leave them outside for half a day.
The thing I hate about Summer, aside from the wasps and children on their holidays (not the wasps on holiday I mean, the children. I don't know where wasps go for holidays), is that all the ugly people come out in the tiniest amount of clothing they can find. Girls with arses bigger than the lilo's they float on, blokes with beer bellies so big even Chris Moyles would stand back and say "jesus, that's just rank". Wrinkly old men with ass cheeks hanging down to their ankles, standing on the beach in their pants; hands on (artificial) hips, pretending not to be staring at the big-arsed girls on their lilo's. And B.O! Jesus fucking Christ! Here's a piece of advice to people prone to bouts of sweating; CARRY SOME FUCKING DEODRANT!
British weather is mostly so unpredictable from one day to the next that at the slightest hint of sun rays poking through those black clouds, the British people of this country grab their trunks, sunglasses and coconut oil as fast as they can and stock up on BBQ meat. I was only talking to a guy yesterday who admitted the first BBQ he had this year was on January 9th. You gotta admire his determination.
Flies in your ice-cream. You know what I mean. Those little bastards just lurrrrrve the taste of your ice-cream. Candy floss is the worse though, and don't ever eat it along the seafront; last year I was picking floss outta my hair for days. That shit don't taste so good after a couple of hair washes.
I guess I have to admire our British strength and determination, but most of all...our hope. It's March and the sun is shining, so fuck it; get yer flesh out. But make the most of it, looks like rain tomorrow.......
Sunday, 11 March 2012
Friday, 9 March 2012
Bow Wow
I'm dogsitting this weekend. Amy Childs is coming to stay. No, not really...I am actually dogsitting for an actual dog, which is strange considering I once believed all dogs belonged in a river. With a rock attached to them. Not that I absolutely despise dogs, I just find them dirty and inconvenient. Think about it; we walk around outside with our shoes on and walk over all manner of dirt, grime and germs - but we come home and take our shoes off. Dogs walk in the same crap and then walk it all over your lovely shag pile. Not to mention jumping up on your bed and spreading those dirty filthy little bugs and germs all over your sleeping area.
As well as the dirty feet issue, I absolutely detest it when dogs jump up at you. A lot of dog owners find it funny; "oh he's a little tyke isn't he?" they'll say. No, I'll say, he's a little in danger of getting my boot up his arse. Your lovely clean clothes are then marred by dirty paw prints all down the front. And dog hairs??? Don't even get me started.
Have you ever sat eating your dinner in front of the TV and suddenly found yourself staring into the eyes of a dog - watching you eat - and then look down to notice he has a bit of a lipstick going on...? A guy I used to live with had two dogs and they both used to sit directly in front of me, waiting, no...yearning, for me to drop something on the floor. I hate dogs who beg, it drives me mad. If a dog is malnourished then fine, I can understand. But just being greedy is very annoying...even more so with a doggie erection. Maybe they did it on purpose because they knew it'd put me off my food? In which case, I have to admire their craftiness.
But Alfie, my companion this weekend, is a bit of a dude. He doesn't beg, he doesn't moult, he's so fat you can't even see his lipstick, and he never jumps up (which is good because he'd probably break my leg, the fat bastard). The only thing that's a bit of a pain is when he decides to want to go out and have a piss, then I have to keep jumping up and letting him out. But then I'm a lazy cow and I should at least be grateful he does it outside and not in the kitchen. Also, I'm staying at this persons house and I'm a bit of a wimp on my own in a big house, so he makes me feel safe; if a burglar got in he could kiss goodbye to ever being able to make babies after Alfie's finished with him.
So, unless it's so unbelievably cute that I can forgive all these flaws; or ripping off someone's bollocks to protect me from harm...I am not a dog person!
As well as the dirty feet issue, I absolutely detest it when dogs jump up at you. A lot of dog owners find it funny; "oh he's a little tyke isn't he?" they'll say. No, I'll say, he's a little in danger of getting my boot up his arse. Your lovely clean clothes are then marred by dirty paw prints all down the front. And dog hairs??? Don't even get me started.
Have you ever sat eating your dinner in front of the TV and suddenly found yourself staring into the eyes of a dog - watching you eat - and then look down to notice he has a bit of a lipstick going on...? A guy I used to live with had two dogs and they both used to sit directly in front of me, waiting, no...yearning, for me to drop something on the floor. I hate dogs who beg, it drives me mad. If a dog is malnourished then fine, I can understand. But just being greedy is very annoying...even more so with a doggie erection. Maybe they did it on purpose because they knew it'd put me off my food? In which case, I have to admire their craftiness.
But Alfie, my companion this weekend, is a bit of a dude. He doesn't beg, he doesn't moult, he's so fat you can't even see his lipstick, and he never jumps up (which is good because he'd probably break my leg, the fat bastard). The only thing that's a bit of a pain is when he decides to want to go out and have a piss, then I have to keep jumping up and letting him out. But then I'm a lazy cow and I should at least be grateful he does it outside and not in the kitchen. Also, I'm staying at this persons house and I'm a bit of a wimp on my own in a big house, so he makes me feel safe; if a burglar got in he could kiss goodbye to ever being able to make babies after Alfie's finished with him.
So, unless it's so unbelievably cute that I can forgive all these flaws; or ripping off someone's bollocks to protect me from harm...I am not a dog person!
Wednesday, 7 March 2012
Why break the habit of a lifetime...?
Old habits die hard, so they say. How very true. In the continuing saga that is my diet, I have finally found a lunchtime meal which is both healthy and enjoyable. I suppose it could be a lot more nutritional if I took the chocolate and bacon out, but it's got greens in it...
I'm just kidding. It's a mix of pasta, sun dried tomatoes, french beans, peppers, tuna and pesto. I have to give thanks to the amazing Mr Carluccio for putting the recipe into my head after I sampled it at one of his restaurants. Meals you try to recreate at home after eating out never quite work out as nice, you go down to the Horse & Cart and order a lovely Beef Stroganoff but when you cook it at home the next day it tastes like Beef Turdanoff, but full marks to me *blows trumpet*, it's pretty amazing.
My lunches have always consisted of either a sandwich or a salad, some fruit, a yoghurt and a packet of crisps. This to me seems fairly healthy, although probably a bit of a carb-overload. But I've been reading up on all different sorts of diets, coming to the conclusion that I actually can't be arsed to do any of them. Why would you want to waste precious time in your day, every day, counting the calories of every single item you pick up in the supermarket? A single shopping trip would take all bloody morning, just through calculating the calories. I've now taken to checking the saturated fat content of food, seeing as my Mum cut all this out together with lowering her sugar intake and lost loads of weight from her stomach. It's not so much hassle, I just try to stick to under 3g of sat fat. My problem is that because I've been used to eating the same sort of lunch ever since primary school, I can't eat lunch without craving a packet of crisps. No matter how good my pasta dish is (and it is damn good) I cannot get the thought of how good a nice packet of Quavers tastes, out of my head! I'm sitting here right now struggling to see the screen in front of me because I'm seeing a vision of cheesy Wotsits, prawn cocktail Quavers, beef Monster Munch etc in front of my eyes.
You know what the cruel thing is...? I ate an apple this morning and about 10 minutes later I felt like I'd just swallowed a herd of cows. My stomach grew to twice it's twice AND....I still really wanted a packet of crisps. I never feel that way after a packet of crisps. I feel satisfied - and definitely not bloated! So maybe I just ditch the fruit and salad-only diet and go back to what I know? In fact, that wasn't a question...it was a statement. Right, who's going to the shops.....
I'm just kidding. It's a mix of pasta, sun dried tomatoes, french beans, peppers, tuna and pesto. I have to give thanks to the amazing Mr Carluccio for putting the recipe into my head after I sampled it at one of his restaurants. Meals you try to recreate at home after eating out never quite work out as nice, you go down to the Horse & Cart and order a lovely Beef Stroganoff but when you cook it at home the next day it tastes like Beef Turdanoff, but full marks to me *blows trumpet*, it's pretty amazing.
My lunches have always consisted of either a sandwich or a salad, some fruit, a yoghurt and a packet of crisps. This to me seems fairly healthy, although probably a bit of a carb-overload. But I've been reading up on all different sorts of diets, coming to the conclusion that I actually can't be arsed to do any of them. Why would you want to waste precious time in your day, every day, counting the calories of every single item you pick up in the supermarket? A single shopping trip would take all bloody morning, just through calculating the calories. I've now taken to checking the saturated fat content of food, seeing as my Mum cut all this out together with lowering her sugar intake and lost loads of weight from her stomach. It's not so much hassle, I just try to stick to under 3g of sat fat. My problem is that because I've been used to eating the same sort of lunch ever since primary school, I can't eat lunch without craving a packet of crisps. No matter how good my pasta dish is (and it is damn good) I cannot get the thought of how good a nice packet of Quavers tastes, out of my head! I'm sitting here right now struggling to see the screen in front of me because I'm seeing a vision of cheesy Wotsits, prawn cocktail Quavers, beef Monster Munch etc in front of my eyes.
You know what the cruel thing is...? I ate an apple this morning and about 10 minutes later I felt like I'd just swallowed a herd of cows. My stomach grew to twice it's twice AND....I still really wanted a packet of crisps. I never feel that way after a packet of crisps. I feel satisfied - and definitely not bloated! So maybe I just ditch the fruit and salad-only diet and go back to what I know? In fact, that wasn't a question...it was a statement. Right, who's going to the shops.....
Tuesday, 6 March 2012
Open wide.....
Men have it so easy. If any men are reading this right now I suggest you make a note and remember it every time your wife/girlfriend has a pop at you and you're not quite sure why......
Today I went for my cervical smear (and now wave goodbye to all the men reading this...). As I lay there with my drawers off, legs spread-eagled and lady bits exposed - it reminded me of that one great summer I spent at the buff men's rugby camp.......just kidding. I was reminded that woman suffer a lot more indignities than men. I shall list but a few;
1) Periods. I don't think I need to elaborate much more.
2) Babies. Not only do woman have to carry around the heavy load for 9 months, they then have to push the little bugger(s) out through a hole much smaller than the size of a baby AND risk a lot of damage - mostly ending up in having their own arse stitched up.
3) Cervical smear tests. If at this point there are any men reading this, I would implore you to ask your wife/girlfriend exactly what happens during this test. I'm sure a lot of men will already know, but then I'm 100% sure there are those who believe it's simply a case of dabbing the inside of a lady's frou-frou with a cotton bud. That's certainly what I thought the first time I had it done; boy was I in for a big fucking shock.
4) The Wax. All men should have their testicles waxed to see how it feels for us women. Just the once...that's all you'll need (because you won't have the guts to do it again anyway).
5) The pressure of having to prove you can do most jobs just as good as a man. If you say to most men (I won't say all men because it wouldn't be true, I'll give you that) that you're going to be a mechanic/plumber/electrician...I guarantee all you'll get is a smirk. If they're particularly clever they'll hide their disbelief fairly well, but if you're quick, you may catch a little flicker of sympathy; "awww bless'er, she's got something to prove, good for her"!
There are many many more things I'm sure, but I don't really have the time to list them all. I'm not a man-hater as such, I just felt that after my very undignified morning appointment I wanted to remind you men how lucky you are. And don't try telling me that spontaneous erections are a real bug bear for men...you're probably secretly proud of the fact that you can get it up anywhere anytime!
Today I went for my cervical smear (and now wave goodbye to all the men reading this...). As I lay there with my drawers off, legs spread-eagled and lady bits exposed - it reminded me of that one great summer I spent at the buff men's rugby camp.......just kidding. I was reminded that woman suffer a lot more indignities than men. I shall list but a few;
1) Periods. I don't think I need to elaborate much more.
2) Babies. Not only do woman have to carry around the heavy load for 9 months, they then have to push the little bugger(s) out through a hole much smaller than the size of a baby AND risk a lot of damage - mostly ending up in having their own arse stitched up.
3) Cervical smear tests. If at this point there are any men reading this, I would implore you to ask your wife/girlfriend exactly what happens during this test. I'm sure a lot of men will already know, but then I'm 100% sure there are those who believe it's simply a case of dabbing the inside of a lady's frou-frou with a cotton bud. That's certainly what I thought the first time I had it done; boy was I in for a big fucking shock.
4) The Wax. All men should have their testicles waxed to see how it feels for us women. Just the once...that's all you'll need (because you won't have the guts to do it again anyway).
5) The pressure of having to prove you can do most jobs just as good as a man. If you say to most men (I won't say all men because it wouldn't be true, I'll give you that) that you're going to be a mechanic/plumber/electrician...I guarantee all you'll get is a smirk. If they're particularly clever they'll hide their disbelief fairly well, but if you're quick, you may catch a little flicker of sympathy; "awww bless'er, she's got something to prove, good for her"!
There are many many more things I'm sure, but I don't really have the time to list them all. I'm not a man-hater as such, I just felt that after my very undignified morning appointment I wanted to remind you men how lucky you are. And don't try telling me that spontaneous erections are a real bug bear for men...you're probably secretly proud of the fact that you can get it up anywhere anytime!
Sunday, 4 March 2012
Hello darkness my old friend
I'm feeling a bit of a cynic today. I sometimes have ups and downs in general, but today I woke up with a little black cloud over my head - meterphorically speaking of course; I wasn't sleeping outside in the rain. My day didn't start off too well anyway, so it kind of set the tone for the rest of the day. Shame really after I had such a nice time last night and managed to talk and laugh all night with a really good, pretty like-minded mate (plus there may have been pizza and alcohol...)
I wonder if the grass really could be greener for me..? I sometimes stop and think to myself "you shouldn't be so negative, there are lots of people in a far worse situation than you"....then I cheer up a bit. Isn't it awful how one can be cheered up just knowing other people are suffering? That was rhetorical by the way, you don't need to confess that you agree with me...I know you do.
I get the feeling sometimes that I'm unwittingly holding myself back. I often curse myself for not having complete confidence in my actions. Or complete confidence in myself, period. Is there anybody who feels 100% confident with everything about them? If so, does this make them lucky.....or just damn weird? I'm going to have a "reflection" day today. I'm currently in a temporary job at the moment which will end after 4 weeks; before that time is up I'm going to make a pact with myself that I will decide what I want to do, where I want to be, who I really am; and whether or not I can make myself believe the grass really is greener.
I wonder if the grass really could be greener for me..? I sometimes stop and think to myself "you shouldn't be so negative, there are lots of people in a far worse situation than you"....then I cheer up a bit. Isn't it awful how one can be cheered up just knowing other people are suffering? That was rhetorical by the way, you don't need to confess that you agree with me...I know you do.
I get the feeling sometimes that I'm unwittingly holding myself back. I often curse myself for not having complete confidence in my actions. Or complete confidence in myself, period. Is there anybody who feels 100% confident with everything about them? If so, does this make them lucky.....or just damn weird? I'm going to have a "reflection" day today. I'm currently in a temporary job at the moment which will end after 4 weeks; before that time is up I'm going to make a pact with myself that I will decide what I want to do, where I want to be, who I really am; and whether or not I can make myself believe the grass really is greener.
Friday, 2 March 2012
By George she's got it!
Well it's done. The plunge has been taken and I can stop needlessly buying stuff from Lidl!
Wouldn't asking someone out be easier if we were all programmed perfectly naturally to just approach someone and ask them out and they say yes? I'm very grateful to M.B, who actually texted Mr Lidl and informed him that I was interested. Thankfully Mr L decided to be brave enough to pass his number on and we've had a good conversation tonight...although I'm slightly worried he may be concerned I'm a bit stalkerish. If I didn't find it so hard to ask someone out I wouldn't have needed to keep going in there! But how the hell do you ask someone out when you don't know them?? It's different in a nightclub, people approach each other all the time, but that usually only ends up with a shag behind the kebab shop, and I'm a bit more classier than that. I prefer McDonalds.
I'm quite surprised how nervous I felt when speaking to him. I have no problems talking to people in general, whether I know them or not, but it's different when it comes to relationships. You feel more self-conscious about yourself. I probably gabbled a bit, as I do when I'm on edge, but it looks like we're going out on Sunday so hopefully tomorrow will give me a chance to collect myself!
I'm aware he may be a tad put off by finding out I've been talking about him in a blog which everybody in the world can read, and he has indeed found out. But he didn't seem to be bothered. He may ask if he could read it, or he may have a look before he meets me on Sunday to make sure he's not meeting a total psycho! Thing is, I like to write. One day, who knows, I may get my books commissioned. A writer has to be prepared to put their hearts on their sleeves and their life on the internet. That's showbusiness! But I'm sorry to say I will be toning it down just a little.
.....Then when he's forgotten about it I'll fill you all in ;-)
Wouldn't asking someone out be easier if we were all programmed perfectly naturally to just approach someone and ask them out and they say yes? I'm very grateful to M.B, who actually texted Mr Lidl and informed him that I was interested. Thankfully Mr L decided to be brave enough to pass his number on and we've had a good conversation tonight...although I'm slightly worried he may be concerned I'm a bit stalkerish. If I didn't find it so hard to ask someone out I wouldn't have needed to keep going in there! But how the hell do you ask someone out when you don't know them?? It's different in a nightclub, people approach each other all the time, but that usually only ends up with a shag behind the kebab shop, and I'm a bit more classier than that. I prefer McDonalds.
I'm quite surprised how nervous I felt when speaking to him. I have no problems talking to people in general, whether I know them or not, but it's different when it comes to relationships. You feel more self-conscious about yourself. I probably gabbled a bit, as I do when I'm on edge, but it looks like we're going out on Sunday so hopefully tomorrow will give me a chance to collect myself!
I'm aware he may be a tad put off by finding out I've been talking about him in a blog which everybody in the world can read, and he has indeed found out. But he didn't seem to be bothered. He may ask if he could read it, or he may have a look before he meets me on Sunday to make sure he's not meeting a total psycho! Thing is, I like to write. One day, who knows, I may get my books commissioned. A writer has to be prepared to put their hearts on their sleeves and their life on the internet. That's showbusiness! But I'm sorry to say I will be toning it down just a little.
.....Then when he's forgotten about it I'll fill you all in ;-)
Thursday, 1 March 2012
The customer is always...moody.
NB: I've had a hair dye disaster tonight and I'm in a shitty mood! A word of warning; don't always trust the picture on the box...!
I went to Tesco after work today and came face to face with my biggest nightmare after a long day: The happy cashier. Now don't get wrong here, I like it when I receive good customer service because, after all, this country is not very well-known for its happy-go-lucky workers. In a lot of shops you're lucky to get an acknowledgment from the member of staff at all. I remember in one particular shop a while ago the young girl behind the till chatted to her friend on the other till the whole time she served me. She never once looked at me and just held out her hand for my money at the end. I looked at her hand and back up at her and said nothing. Just waited for her to say something. She looked at me after a few seconds and grunted the amount due. I don't usually complain to a higher power about crap service, I don't feel it's always taken seriously anyway so it's not worth the effort, but in this case the little shit had pissed me off so much with her blatant ignorance I sent an email of complaint to the manager. She never lasted long anyway, she'd gone within a fortnight. Huge surprise there.
I'm funny with my moods. Funny strange, not funny-haha. Well, most of the time I'm funny ha-ha to be honest...but not today. My new work colleagues all smoke and it started to drift into reception today. It affected me pretty bad and by the end of the day I was feeling like shite; my head felt like it weighed a tonne and I felt pretty drowsy. I picked the most emptiest looking till in Tesco and dumped my stuff down. This particular cashier was chatting merrily away to the guy in front of me - whose polite smile looked pretty strained to say the least. I did that London underground thing; avoid eye contact and stare down at shoes. Look grumpy. Surely people should notice a grumpy person and think "hmm, ok, they don't look like they want to talk today", but no, Tesco lady was totally oblivious. Bless her for being friendly, but she picked the wrong day. On a good day I would've chatted happily with her about how nice the weather was today, and that -yes- I can get excited about the new Tesco price-drop. But alas, all I could think as she talked at me was; "bitch.... just shut the fuck up, give me my chat magazine and my Philadelphia cheese, and let me go HOOOOOME"!
I went to Tesco after work today and came face to face with my biggest nightmare after a long day: The happy cashier. Now don't get wrong here, I like it when I receive good customer service because, after all, this country is not very well-known for its happy-go-lucky workers. In a lot of shops you're lucky to get an acknowledgment from the member of staff at all. I remember in one particular shop a while ago the young girl behind the till chatted to her friend on the other till the whole time she served me. She never once looked at me and just held out her hand for my money at the end. I looked at her hand and back up at her and said nothing. Just waited for her to say something. She looked at me after a few seconds and grunted the amount due. I don't usually complain to a higher power about crap service, I don't feel it's always taken seriously anyway so it's not worth the effort, but in this case the little shit had pissed me off so much with her blatant ignorance I sent an email of complaint to the manager. She never lasted long anyway, she'd gone within a fortnight. Huge surprise there.
I'm funny with my moods. Funny strange, not funny-haha. Well, most of the time I'm funny ha-ha to be honest...but not today. My new work colleagues all smoke and it started to drift into reception today. It affected me pretty bad and by the end of the day I was feeling like shite; my head felt like it weighed a tonne and I felt pretty drowsy. I picked the most emptiest looking till in Tesco and dumped my stuff down. This particular cashier was chatting merrily away to the guy in front of me - whose polite smile looked pretty strained to say the least. I did that London underground thing; avoid eye contact and stare down at shoes. Look grumpy. Surely people should notice a grumpy person and think "hmm, ok, they don't look like they want to talk today", but no, Tesco lady was totally oblivious. Bless her for being friendly, but she picked the wrong day. On a good day I would've chatted happily with her about how nice the weather was today, and that -yes- I can get excited about the new Tesco price-drop. But alas, all I could think as she talked at me was; "bitch.... just shut the fuck up, give me my chat magazine and my Philadelphia cheese, and let me go HOOOOOME"!
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