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Friday, 11 October 2013

'Calamity Eve'

First off I would like to apologise for neglecting my blog for the past...what...month, I think it is? I've just been so busy with uni, work, some more uni, some more work, uni work, and the occasional sleep in between.

WELL. What an eventful week I've had! At not a good one, might I add... it got so bad I must describe it as the week from hell. It all started when I was cleaning out my car... then I broke the hoover....then I broke the ice scraper...then I broke the window wiper. Unlucky, you might think? Oh no, the list continues.

Monday morning on my way to uni, someone runs out infront of my car.. (I was that distraught I don't even want to talk about it) ...then I broke the toastie machine...which consequentially blew the fuse for the entire house. JEZZO, you might think? Oh no, the list, yet again, continues.

Taking my dinner out the oven- I somehow forget about putting an oven glove on...burnt my hand. Making a coffee...smash the mug. Go to charge my phone...pull the cable out of the charger. 

I'm starting to think it might be a clever idea to send out some kind of warning add in the papers...something like CALAMITY GIRL, STAY AWAY. 

Let's all hope and pray that next week will be a little more luckier for me... you'know just for the safety of those around me.

On the plus side though, I'm having a fabulous hair day today!


Monday, 16 September 2013

Feeling a little lost...

Recently I've been feeling tired, drained...a little lost. I just started uni last week and can't help but wonder, am I truly ready for this new-found independence? Finding my way around a new building, familiarising myself with not only new teachers (or 'lecturers' as they're now called) but also introduce myself to, and hopefully at some point become friends with, the most varied group of people I've came across. For example, in one of my classes there's a guy who believes Hitler's policies were brilliant, and a woman who has 5 kids , but yet still manages to find the time o be a full time student.

Maybe I'm just not cut out for all this hard-work. Is it bad that all I want to do is curl up in my bed and watch a sex and the city marathon? It may be down to the fact that my mind had switched off for what seems years over this summer, when in reality it was about 3 months. 



Tuesday, 3 September 2013

Worry, Worry, Worry...

As much as I know it shouldn't, it really bothers me when people don't like me. It's almost as if I have to please people, or go out of my way just to make sure they're alright and that I'm not offending anyone. I'd love to life my life carefree, being oblivious to what others opinions of me were...but it's hard.

When I read a piece of criticism I can almost feel my body sink , I really wish I didn' know, that I was one of the people who could brush a snide comment off. Considering I want to become a journalist, this is something that I know I must snap out of, but I guess I am a sensitive person.

I can dish out the non-stop critique...but can I take it? No. I'm a complete bitch when it comes to this, but once someone hits a sensitive spot, that's me...crumbled. My comments are meant as a joke with no harm intended, and I'd like to think the opinions I receive are too...but how can we ever be sure? This over-analysing sense of attitude I have however, allows me to stand up for myself, to work on the things that other people do not necessarily agree with.

With no real point to this post, I just wanted to share my feelings... that sometimes it is alright just to care a little about what other people think. Just as long as we don't live to please them.

“You wouldn't worry so much about what others think of you if you realized how seldom they do.”

― Eleanor Roosevelt


Monday, 2 September 2013

Receipts vs. Bank Statements

Today I realised where my priorities lie, and not in the good sense. A rainy Monday morning with nothing else to do other than clean out my diary which seemed like it would explode if I ever tried to open it. Rummaging through I found scrap pieces of paper with random numbers on it, messy lists that I wrote myself on what to do that day, and most importantly- receipts. Mountains and mountains of receipts. All with varied colours, all from different shops, and all showcasing the items I had bought. As I was clearing out my black abyss of a planner, the post came through in the form of a bank statement. I quickly scanned it trying not to focus too much on the ridiculous (and may I add, sometimes unnecessary) amount of money I had spent that month, while tossing it underneath my bed. You know, where one always keeps important documents. (Like I said, 'organised scatterbrain.')

Let's way up the value factor here; who would prefer to look at a looooong and dull report of all the money you had thrown away in 30-odd little days, rather than collect shiny pieces of paper that reminded you of the rush you received when purchasing said item. Not me, that's for sure. I'm sure we've all been there, having a crappy day and then turning round mid-walk and been mesmerised by a pair of shoes. Now I don't know whether I had been watching too much Sex and the City at this point, and my Carrie was trying to burst through, comforting me that THESE shoes (and only these £60 shoes) would lift my spirits. So I bought them. And did I feel guilty? Not one little bit. That rush of buying and shopping is indescribable... to try the item on, strike a pose in and (although it is my least favourite part) hand over the money. When you finally lift the bag off the counter, collect your change and clasp that shiny beacon of proof...the receipt. These shoes are yours, no one else's.

So, it got me thinking. What would happen if every time I was feeling down or a bit sad, I just bought things. Don't get me wrong, in the long run it would take its toll, mountains of money being spent on impulsive items. But really I''m not buying the item as such, I'm spending the money to get that rush. The rush of excitement that only shopping can buy. As crazy as it sounds though, my fellow-shopaholics will be able to relate to my shallow pick-me-up.

"Cinderella is proof that a pair of shoes can change your life"


Sunday, 1 September 2013

The Competition of Perfection

As I slap on my make up for what seems like the 50th time this week, I started to contemplate over the image of perfection in this world. One minute we’re claiming that we all ‘love curvy woman who don’t care what they look like’ but when guys are faced with the decision over some skinny supermodel and your everyday average girl, who is he really going to pick?

I continue to look at my face in the mirror trying to fathom out which category of ‘girl’ I fit into… a pretty girl, an ugly girl, or one of those in between ones where you’re told ‘you have a nice personality.’ I continue to tell myself that I’m not ugly, that when I angle the mirror so that it’s looking down on me, it accentuates my cheekbones…when in reality I’m disguising a multiple of sins, especially every girl’s worst nightmare- the killer double chin. Now, I know I don’t fit into the first category (only stuck up bitches fit into the ‘pretty girl’ one, or so I tried to delude myself with anyway.) Which leaves me with the latter- a ‘nice personality…’
Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with being one of these girls, but when standing next to a beautiful woman we just blend into the background of a society where we’re obsessed with looks and opinions. But in reality, we don’t dress ourselves for guys, we dress to impress other woman. There’s nothing worse than walking around town in your brand new outfit, feeling like a million dollars (well, let’s face it we should…it near enough cost it) and seeing someone else wearing the exact same thing…looking a million times better.

We all magnify the flaws of ourselves to no end, until we start to believe that we do have ‘tree trunk thighs’ when really, a size 14 pair of jeans is not exactly obese-size material. In this society we continue to change ourselves from the person we are underneath all the layers… but wiping away the nine coats of mascara or taking off the high-heels, there is always a girl feeling self-conscious of herself. That’s the thing about society nowadays; we continue to change our perception on what is regarded as ‘beautiful’. One week it is Marilyn Monroe- style girls, the next it is shaping your eyebrows somewhat to the shape of Cara Delevinge.And do guys change these fashion trends or come right out and ask us to mould into someone else? No. Like I said ladies, we dress to look good for one another. And, as shallow as it may seem, it’s a competition. A very harsh one at that.

So there we have it, my preaching for today. "Love yourselves as you are…" and all that crap. No seriously, love those tree trunk things, love that double chin, and love whichever category you fall into. It’s all very well saying this though,when I know for a fact tomorrow I’ll be growling the face off the next bitch who decides to wear the same Topshop dress as me. It's my catwalk, not yours. But, negative thoughts aside, I take a deep sigh and continue to blend in my foundation, ransacking my brain for what outfit will make me look skinniest today.

It really is a vicious circle in this materialistic world.


Saturday, 31 August 2013

“A grownup is a child with layers on” - Woody Harrelson.

With the prospect of university looming I decided it was time to grow up. But when do we get to that point in our lives, when we look at ourselves in the mirror and realise we’re adults? I had no clue where to start and thought the best idea was to start at home. For me, that meant clearing out my room and getting rid anything that made me seem like a ‘child.’ I mean, surely a university student can’t be seen with a One Direction poster on her wall? So, I sat on my bedroom floor with a hundred childhood books surrounding me, along with what seems like an amount of cuddly animals to fill a zoo, I realised that I couldn’t actually part with anything. Whether this is down to the fact that I’m a ‘hoarder’ (according to my mum) or that I’m too nostalgic to give it up, I knew that every item had a story behind it. Rummaging through stuff meant I found old treasures that I’d completely forgotten about. I sat there, on my messy bedroom floor, just thinking, no matter how insignificant it may be, it must have meant something to me at one point or another in my life, and here I was ready to through everything out… and for what purpose? To become what? An ‘adult’? 

Throwing old photographs showcasing unforgettable memories over my shoulder, I continued to search for more. My favourite book when I was younger, for example ‘White Boots’ by Noel Streatfield was one of the first books that inspired me to want to write… and take up ice- skating, but that’s a completely different story, especially due to the fact that I’m the clumsiest person you’ll ever meet. The corners of the book were bent and several pages folded over, obviously marking my page when I wasn’t finished reading it. As a child, I refused to even damage a book and each were kept in pristine condition, so the fact this one was tattered meant I must have read it over and over again. I sat down and began to read the first page, and began to realise how simple life must have been back then. At the time I was reading this, I had time to read for pleasure, and now going to University to study English means the only things I’ll probably be reading for the next four years are the works of Shakespeare, Byron and Dickens. These simple things in life only make me worry even more- am I ready for University? Am I ready to be independent? The answer is no. I’m expected to fend for myself, yet I’m not trusted with the iron in my house because I’ll somehow ‘forget’ to turn it off and somehow ‘manage’ to burn the entire house down. Only last week I learned that whenever I try to cook something in the oven it doesn’t work because I turn the grill on instead of the cooker. These domestic chores should come naturally, I thought. Once you enter ‘adulthood’ these things just came to you, you didn’t need to be taught how to put the washing machine on, for example. I know what you’re thinking, ‘Wow, this girl is a total blonde; she can’t do anything for herself.’ But the truth is, I am blonde… literally. I don’t exactly fit the ‘blonde-jokes’ stereotype though, I have my five Highers. However, my mum did always say I had ‘more brains than common sense.’

Sitting on my floor, nearly hyperventilating over how childish I still seem, I knew I had to take my mind off it. I cleared a pathway from all of my junk over to my tv, and put on some music to try and clear my head. Songs that reminded me of different parties and nights out with my friends… My friends and I had been together for over six years, although we had arguments we always stayed in contact. But what if that doesn’t happen when we all go to University? What if we drift apart and the bottomless promises of, ‘Yes, we’ll definitely meet up,’ never get fulfilled? The truth is, in life everyone grows up, drifts apart from one another and we all grow our separate ways… but what if I don’t want that to happen? What I don’t want to grow up right now? Whenever I picture in my head a University student, all I can see is someone sitting sophisticatedly at some fancy coffee shop with their friends discussing the lecture they have just came out of. The more I think about the future, the more I worry. I ask myself constant questions, what if I don’t make friends; what if I don’t like my course; what if… what if..? My head was about to burst.

I took a deep breath and cleared my head. The more I thought about it, it seemed exciting. Yes, things will change (some for better and others for worse) but that’s just life. Thinking back on my somewhat childish memories, made me realise how much I had changed as a person. I began to empty the bin bag with the memories I had filled it with. Maybe I’ll just continue to be a ‘hoarder’ as my mum put it. Maybe I’ll just keep some of my memories so that in another ten years’ time I can reflect back on them again...

And maybe, just maybe the One Direction poster can stay.


Friday, 30 August 2013

So no-one told me life was gonna be this way... cha cha cha cha

All English & Journalism students MUST have a blog, right? Well, here goes...

I'm one for jotting down random words here and there trying to frantically remember every little detail of what I must do in the day. Do I ever stick to my list? The answer is no. It's crazy, isn't it? No matter how much we try to stay on top of things or map out every little detail of our life, nothing ever goes to plan. Don't get me wrong, it's not always a bad thing, but sometimes it does make me go a little crazy.

This is exactly the reason (not the cliche reason; becoming a journalism student where, like I said, I MUST have one) that I've started a keep track of all my random- and most likely pointless- thoughts. I'm the kind of girl who's room looks worse than the inside of Monica's 'secret cupboard' (a classic 'Friends' reference) but if a page ever goes missing out of my diary... MY LIFE IS OVER. 
How will I know when I'm meeting my friend in town?
How will I know when my hairdressers appointment is?
or, god forbid, How will I know when my boyfriend's birthday is? (if you're reading this Blair, I know I know, it is October 20th...I think.)

So here goes, my theory is we all have a little bit of 'Friends' in us, every girl. At least some point in our life we will channel our inner Monica, or Rachel, or even Pheobe. Me, however? I can be all at once, it's a talent really. For example, when I'm supposed to be doing a group activity, I have to be in charge in order to make sure every little detail is perfect (my high- maintenance Monica). Until, my friendly side kicks in and I start to feel bad for the people I haven't included (my pushover Rachel). But when it comes down to the actual presentation, if it all goes tits-up, I genuinely don't care (there we go, my flakey Pheobe). 

This makes little sense, even to me, but that's exactly who I am, like my blog says... an organised scatterbrain (who if you haven't already noticed, uses ellipsis far too much). 

Someone who seems to have complete control of their life, when really they have no clue. 


Organised- able to plan one’s activities efficiently
Scatterbrainsomeone who does not think in an organised way and often forgets or loses things