Time to dust off the Ugg boots

 

Not my actual boots (but just the same anyway)

For the last few weeks I’ve been eyeing up my Ugg boots, sitting neatly on the shelves looking lovely and warm and tempting. I love those guys. I’ve taken good care of them, they’re a lovely inoffensive brown and I’ve been extra careful to walk well in them to avoid the dreaded Ugg slouch. You know the one, when people walk to the side in their boots and they look like they’ve dislocated their foot.
I’ve got none of that going on, but still, every time I look at the lovely boots I have a flash of bitchy fashion magazines saying how disgusting they are, and that if a man ever sees you in them they will never ever be able to see beyond the boot, that you are now just a giant pair of ugly shoes. Admittedly I’ve not done much research but I have seen men’s Uggs, and while I wouldn’t want to get to know any of them I don’t blame that on the boot. I mostly blame it on Joey Essex.

If I’m going for a quick walk to the shop or just running out to get a present of go to the post office I am not going to dedicate time to lacing up a lovely pair of brogues or tottering about in a pair of heels. They are a convenience item. The fashion crowds knocking about near the shops just need to understand that. Don’t give me a dirty look, you don’t know how much of a rush I’m in, if you’re going to judge do it because I’ve got no makeup on, because I haven’t brushed my hair or because the buttons on my coat are all done up wrong.

As far as men finding them ugly, the kinds of men you find midday on the streets of London standing outside the post office don’t tend to be the type you’d want to take home so I’m not worried about them either.

The weather is shit, it is cold, there is no need to get made up and overdressed to walk to the shops. Pop on your ugly boots, feel lovely and warm and walk with pride. Just be sure you’re walking properly, no one wants a slouchy shoe.

 

Oh dear

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I hate my bank (and my bank hates me)

I HATE MY BANK!

So what if I lost my card somewhere between carrying a bag of gravel, crying, getting in a cab, getting lost and finally arriving home. That doesn’t mean it’s not still my money.

I know that they have to be very secure to stop those pesky pinches taking my last penny but when presented with ID, where I opened my account, when I last used my card and THREE examples of my signature you would think they would be pretty sure I am me! NO!

It turns out there is a password on my account. Does anyone else know about this? Password protected money. I have to be extra careful writing this, I don’t want to give out all of my secrets BUT there are only two passwords I ever really use. Tried them both. OUTLOUD in the bank, no secret whispers or writing it down or anything to protect the money they’re so desperately trying to keep from me. She gave me a VERY big clue which then lead to the right secret code word.

What confuses me most is that I have had the same account for a veryyyy long time. Long before the password thing even existed. How did it get there? Did my mum do it to stop me spending? Does my bank spy on me and pick out something to use? Do I dream bank? I don’t understand!

And so I moan and moan and make a fuss about how much I hate them. And the only thing I could do about it is to just change who I bank with, but that’s a lot of effort and I’m lazy. So I blog.

Life is fun.

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Time to kick my eBay habit

In an attempt to raise some money to pay my new rent bills I’ve been selling everything I own on eBay. Turns out it’s a lot harder than I was expecting.

Commit to buy?

Firstly people don’t want to pay you. They say they do. They will enthusiastically press the place bid button but when it comes down to it they don’t actually want to buy my skanky t-shirt.

I’m guilty of it too. I get over excited and place bids on things that I would never usually buy. I always go through with it though. You can’t commit to buy if you’re not actually going to. It just leaves people like me at home crying because they thought they were going to get £3 and now they’re not.

This morning I going caught up in my first proper eBay war. I sold a dress to one person but someone else was really angry about it. I’ll call them donuthead1 and pinkbabe21. Donuthead1 paid for my lovely dress and pinkbabe21 was not happy about it. She proceeded to tell me that all donuthead1 was going to do was resell my dress for three times the price. It’s like they’re bitter rivals. I suspect they may well be.

But that’s not my problem. I just want my money and now I have it. Of course it would be nice to sell everything to someone who is going to make my pink dress their all time pride and joy but when it comes down to it it’s taking up space and I’ve got agents fees to pay. I’m going to offload my stuff onto the highest bidder. That’s the point isn’t it?

My final eBay moan is about people who were just too late. I feel a bit sorry for these ones. You’re watching something and planning on swooping in at the last minute to outbid by 1p but then the phone rings, it’s dinnertime, the dog throws up. Something happens and before you know it it’s all over and someone else has the French edition of Never Mind The Bollocks. What you should do is accept that it just wasn’t meant to be and that maybe next time it will be your lucky day.

What people actually do is send messages ranging from ‘Ah I’m so gutted I missed it if the sale falls through please let me know’ to ‘I’m willing to pay more than that couldn’t you tell them you’ve changed your mind and sell it to me?’ Cheeky bitch, no I can’t. You can’t do that in Topshop! If some bitch buys the last size 5 hidden platform patent Mary Janes you have to accept it. You can’t sneak up to the salesgirl and tell her you’ll give her an extra £5. I think that only works with cars and houses.

Honestly, it’s a scary place, similar to a car boot sale at 5.45am. Once my current 37 items have ended I’m getting out of the game. Going straight and getting a real job like taking my clothes off for money. It’ll be much less stressful.

 

 

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Giving up smoking is miserable.

This is some of my school work about giving up smoking. It’s very wordy and it’s really not written to be online but I don’t want to change it all and miss the point. It’s about a year old and sadly I decided that I’d start again anyway, you know, just for a laugh. So now I’m doing it all over again. Nearly 6 days, I’m not as smug as I was a year ago but I’m still as shaky and I’ve still got my patches. Hopefully this time will be better!

Giving up smoking is a miserable and lonely experience. I truly believe anyone who says different is a liar, which I think can be proved by the fact I’m writing this at 3.50am after waking from another Niquitin patch related nightmare.

It’s now been one week and four days since I decided to give up smoking and the thought of going down to the 24 hour garage in my slippers is still very appealing, though subsided from the urges of days one, two and three. I didn’t even really want to quit in the first place, but the realisation that I had £2 to live on for five days and the guilt I felt after stealing from the emergency hamster fund was too strong. It was time to give up.

Since moving away from home have worked my way up to a 30 a day addiction. That’s almost £10 per day. £280 a month. I cannot afford this. I need clothes and pretty things. It has also finally dawned on me that I smell awful and no one wants to kiss me, which can never be good.

Being 20 years old and deciding to join the leagues of the non smokers is especially difficult. Most of my friends smoke, the people I go to university with smoke, my flat mates smoke, the girls who want to be thin smoke, and no one seems to understand why I’m so keen to give up my habit. It’s also made harder by the fact that people seem to think I’m too young to worry about dying and that it should be easy for me, I don’t even look old enough to buy cigarettes, how hard could it possibly be? In the UK the highest rates of smoking are in those aged between 20-24 which makes me feel better. If people are giving up by the time they are 24 then it can’t just be me who’s decided the risks and the prices are too high.

I have been smoked everyday for the last 7 years, which translates as nearly a £2 price increase, the smoking ban the legal age of buying cigarettes being changed from 16 to 18. This happened to be the 1st October 2007. 5 days before my 18th birthday. I was lucky enough to be blessed with a best friend who turned 18 on the 28th September.  In this year smoking fell to its lowest recorded level, 21% of over 16s in the UK.

I have since learned that someone who starts smoking at 15 is three times more likely to die from a smoking related cancer than someone who starts in their mid 20s. Before I would have ignored something like that but now it terrifies me.

So far this year 5 people I know have died. Four from cancer, two from smoking related cancers. And as much as I tried I can’t ignore things like this anymore. The fact is that if they didn’t smoke they would still be here now. One in two smokers will be killed by their addiction. Around 114,000 people in the UK are killed by smoking related illnesses. I’ve always avoided statistics and numbers like this but now they’re mean a lot to me. They’re scaring me into keeping away from cigarettes.

One of the first steps I made after burning away all of the nub ends from the ashtray was to set up a meeting with the stop smoking adviser at boots. She didn’t turn up. I waited an hour and a half after lectures for that meeting to arrive and be told she wouldn’t be coming in. It wasn’t a good start. A friend of mine who’d heard of my efforts through the student housing grapevine decided to lend a hand and drop me off some patches he’d gotten free when attempting to give up his own habit. Shame he handed them over puffing on a lucky strike. Good advert for the patches there.

They make me itch, give me nightmares and leave square red marks on my skin but I do think patches are helping. Firstly because I’ve heard if you smoke whilst wearing them you can get really sick. Also I don’t know if it’s a placebo effect but I really do feel better with them on. I don’t seem to have awful cravings or anything. I feel like writing a big thank you note to Niquorette. I already feel better. I have more energy, I can run further and everything tastes better. I know it’s awful but one of the main reasons I’ve been putting off quitting is putting on weight. I’ve seen it happen to people I know, one day they’re a tiny little 8 stone thing and then bang, they’re shopping in the maternity wear section. I refuse to let this be me. I’ve decided not just to give up smoking but to change my life. Since I now can I’m going to get fit. I’ve been eating healthy and running every day. Something I never dreamed I would do. But giving up smoking is about more than just not smoking. It’s a lifestyle change. I feel like I can do anything. I’m ready to face the world. Okay, that might be taking it a bit too far but I really do feel good. Better than I have for years and I’m only 20. I should always feel good.

As much as they insist otherwise no one will really be pleased for you when you give up smoking.

To your smoking friends you are now a deserter. With all the laws and proposals smokers stick together. They stand in the cold and rain bitching about the ban and mocking non smokers for being too health conscious, they’d smoke if they were braver. I’m out of the gang now. They make jokes I don’t understand, and I’ve already been left out of an outing as they all smoke and ‘wouldn’t want to tempt me’. That’s what they told me anyway, I know what they mean is they think I’m a bore, that I’ll tell them to give up and be spouting facts about how likely they are to die all night. The way I feel now they’re probably right.

The non smokers don’t want me back either. They’re wary of me, like I could explode any minute. I’m the new girl at non smoking school and no one wants to be my friend. I don’t even care, one day I’ll be a real member of the non smoking gang, the smokers will come to their senses and quit and everyone can exist in peace.

It’s still early days but by now I feel like it’s gone too far. I’ve had the cough and been unbearable, it should just get easier from now and i don’t think I could start from day one again. I know some people give up only to start again but I don’t think i’ll be one of them. Even from when I started it’s getting less and less acceptable, you can’t smoke anywhere, it’s expensive and it’s bad for you.

I know people have the right to do what they like and if people want to smoke it’s up to them, but it’s a stupid thing to do. Really, there is not one bit of sense in spending obscene amount money on something that does not have a single benefit and will probably kill you.

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I started stalking a girl one of my friends went to college with, it’s a bit weird.

Emily Heath- Strange Love

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The best start to any day

 

 

Don’t laugh at me. It’s such a lovely song about being friends and being brave.
I think I’m a Rolf Harris fan now.

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Magaluf. Full of weirdos.

The drunks are missing from this picture

 

So blogging from holiday didn’t go exactly to plan. It was very hot and I was too busy swimming about or sleeping to get round to it. Also the Internet was really expensive and I just don’t have the commitment.

I’m not going to do all of the gossip here as everyone will get the stories in real life but here’s a summary:

We ate at Burger King, we got drunk off cheap vodka, someone was very sweaty, someone was grumpy, something happened that will forever change my thoughts about doing the laundry, I shouted for one of the first times in my life and someone* turned out to be one of the most actually insane people I have ever met.

*Clue- The lovely Miss MG

Oh dear

 

It’s actually alright in Magaluf. There are times I got a bit worried, like when I saw three lads trying to steal a girl’s bikini on the beach. They all thought it was really fun but I thought it was more like assault and felt very uncomfortable about it all. She didn’t seem to mind though so I can only assume she was one of those sluts. There are some quite nice bars though, or at least they would be nice if they hadn’t decided to pop a bucking bronco in the middle and allow fat girls to ride it until their boobs fall out.

Actually it’s not half as bad as people made out. I think it tries to make itself sound a bit dirtier and more exciting. Truth is it’s quite easy to stop people from trying to have sex with you. A really good tip is telling them to FUCK OFF (better shouted) or walking/running away. Another thing that worked for me and a mystery blonde (I don’t know why I’m not naming anyone) was to constantly talk about boyfriends- her real one and my reluctant fake one.

Conclusion: if your girlfriend/boyfriend cheats on you in Magaluf and says it’s because they couldn’t help themselves they’re lying. Actually that applies to wherever they are. Some people are just gross.

But not everyone is gross. Some people are just sexy

 

 

 

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