The Sales

It is not OK to take a push chair into a busy shopping centre, the day after Boxing Day, because you want to go sale-railing. I went to the new Westfield's at Stratford City today, and there were so many freaking buggies!!! Don't be so selfish to think that it's acceptable to hold everyone up while you try and manoeuvre your buggy through the crowd at 0.0000000001mph, and then take up precious floor space in shops with the screaming brat who OBVIOUSLY ISN'T HAVING A GOOD TIME AND WANTS TO GO HOME! Grrr..... When I go shopping, I'm on a mission; I hate being held up and forced to walk at a snail's pace. I want to be in and out with my bargain in 10 minutes max. I also despise shops that are too big. The Forever 21 at Stratford is comprised of three floors, each of which was just too big for me to cope with. I gave up before I'd even started because I knew there was too much for me to successfully see before I decided if I wanted anything. I couldn't even be bothered with the jewellery section. I don't want to spend half an hour looking at 4000 different necklaces, of which I'm probably going to buy none anyway. I thought at least the shoe lounge would be good. But it wasn't. You'd think in such a big shop, it would be proportionally big, but no. It was in a tiny little corner (alright, I know you can't measure a corner) with very few shoes in. Disappointment all round. Primark was also a massive despondency. I mean it might actually have been a nice Primark to shop in, but I took one look at the queue and immediately turned around and left. It was the type of queue you would expect to see at Alton Towers. In fact I'm surprised they didn't have one of those signs that tell you approximately how many hours you'll be waiting before you get to go on the ride. IT WAS THAT LONG. What a joke. Primark isn't even that cheap anymore.  My day wasn't all bad though; I did get an Oyster card (even though I still don't know how to use it properly and where to touch it in and out), and this makes me happy because I won't look like such a massive tourist in the underground anymore AND because it's about 100 times cheaper to use. I also did finally manage to find myself a new pair of black court shoes (the main purpose of me going out). They're from Schuh. And I think I really like them. I'm still a little undecided. 

Sylvia said the heel looks like fat rolls.
And now that's all I can see. 

Lakota Will Always Trump Missoula

I miss Lakota. I mean I know Missoula and Lakota are the same place, but I miss how Missoula used to be. I miss the times when Lakota would advertise £1.25 drinks on student night, and actually serve £1.25 drinks on student night. I miss when it was free to get in before 11. I miss when I was one of the youngest in there, and I didn't have to ask for ID before I pulled some lad. I also miss when Wednesday nights were relatively quiet. I mean quiet in that you could move around without getting pushed over. Missoula have sold themselves out in my opinion. They've got too big for their boots. This massive increase in popularity (I mean kudos to whoever does the branding and marketing though) means that they've become obsessed with money. They cram as many people in and charge them Saturday night prices. And that's not what Wednesday nights are about.

Last Wednesday was possibly the worst experience I have ever had in there (aside from the time I got so drunk, I was sick on my feet). Firstly, I feel like we were forced to sacrifice our pre-drinks in Spoons so we would get there early. I mean we weren't physically forced sacrifice Spoons - no one held a knife to our throats - but the queue for Missoula has become ridiculous. Nobody wants to queue for an hour to get in, especially in December. And especially not in front on the window to a nice warm restaurant, where you can see all the diners taunting you with their lovely food. I aways feel like someone's looking at me going 'look at you, you dirty slut, standing outside in the cold while we have a nice civilised dinner in the warmth'. I hate that window. Secondly we had to pay a fiver to get in. And I heard rumours it went up to £10 after midnight or something. If Missoula let 1000 people in (and I'm sure their capacity is more than that), then they made £5,000-£10-000 ON THE DOOR ALONE. And that is a disgustingly large amount of money. Anyway, by the time I got in, I was too sober to be foolish enough to pay £3.50 for a bottle of bitch piss (you know, VK, or WKD. The stuff that's 90% sugar and you wouldn't actually be caught dead drinking if you were outside the club and over the age of 12). I know its not the same for everyone, but they would have made like £20 out of me, if the drinks had been on offer. But they weren't. So they didn't make any money out of me at all once I was inside. I also had a massive problem with the ladies toilets (as my twitter feed bears witness too if you look at my tweets from that night). It's not just in Missoula, it's more a critique of everywhere, but the fucking patriarchy never, ever put enough female toilets in anywhere, and there is consequently always a twenty minute queue for a wee. And do you not what really annoys me, I HAVE NEVER SEEN A QUEUE OUTSIDE THE MENS! There needs to be more women's toilets. Once you're in the toilets though the story gets worse, there's usually sick on the floor (or my leg. cough you know who you are and I hope you're proud cough) and there is never any loo roll! Just because men can shake it dry, doesn't mean women can too. Nobody wants to wee and then have to pull their knickers up without wiping. Wet knickers are not cool. They're uncomfortable, and I'm sure you can get thrush or some other horrible fungal infection from damp conditions. I was also pretty pissed off that it was like being in a scrum every time you wanted to get outside to breath some nice clean air that wasn't saturated in others peoples sweat. Once you got out safe and alive though, there were so many people and such little space, that it was inevitable that some prepubescent boy, puffing on a Marlborough to impress the 'birds', would stick his cigarette through your lovely new tights/dress/top. Grrr.....

So to conclude. I had a shit time. I wouldn't have had a shit time if Missoula was still Lakota, and they hadn't let all the children of Chelmsford in and  had only charged me 'student' prices. Basically, at times like these I wish Chelmsford was a little more like York, with selective door policies, and dirt cheap drinks that encourage the binge drinking culture I'm used too. (I'll still be hitting up Missoula this Wednesday though...)

Goodbye Degree

I would just like to thank Miss Amanda Lim for sharing this with me. I'm kissing my degree goodbye as we speak.

http://procatinator.com/

I Hate Play.com

So my blog has basically becoming a forum in which I bitch about how useless play.com are. Whatevs. They've really hacked me off AGAIN. I ordered a slanket for my friend under the pretence that it would be delivered in 3-5 working days, but I got an email on Tuesday explaining that the manufacturer hadn't been able to keep up with demand, and that seeing as it was now less than 3-5 working days until Christmas, it probably wouldn't reach me in time. FUCKING BRILLIANT. The point is, I have always though 3-5 working days means your parcel will get delivered 3-5 days after you order it, but according to play it means AFTER IT GETS DESPATCHED. Grrr... Anyway, I've cancelled that order and I am now more angry at play than I ever was. Oh well. Lesson learnt. Three problems is two problems too many for me, and I certainly won't be shopping there again.

Courtney Needs Some New Shoes

With all the fame and fortune that Courtney Stodden has received recently you'd have thought she would have gone out and bought herself some lovely new stuff. However, I've noticed (in all the hours I've wasted googling the soon-to-be-trainwreck that is her life), THAT SHE ONLY HAS ONE PAIR OF SHOES! And they're shiny silver hooker shoes. I mean if you're only going to buy one pair of shoes you should think about investing in something sensible like a nice pair of flat boots or a pair of trainers (sneakers, Courtney, if you're reading this). It's not even like she's buying nice clothes with all that money I presume is being thrown her way, because all she ever wears is underwear. And not the nice kind. The horrible, hard-core slut kind. The kind you see in the Daily Sport. Perhaps we've misjudged her though, and she's actually being smart enough to save her money for a house and her future... PAHAHAHAHA!

It's not even like they fit her properly; her
toes are coming right over the from of them.

I've seen her wear these bad-boys too many times. She's worn them on a shopping spree, on a visit to santa, when she said 'hi' to photographers (The type of hi where you undo your coat and flash your boobs. Don't deny it. We've all done it.), and even to church (well the bible is full of whores...).  I feel it's time for her to invest in some new shoes, even if it is another pair of 8 inch stripper heels. I've done some research, and I've found these: http://www.discountstripper.com/tipjar-709-5.aspx. I think she'll like them. They're my personal favourites. Multi-use too as Doug can pop the last remaining shreds of his dignity into them while she's walking all over him and ruining his career. I'm also a big fan of these: http://www.discountstripper.com/treasure-7021-1.aspx. They say 'I'm classy and I know it'. I mean, whats more classy than pearls?! Especially pearls in a display case?! They just scream sophistication and wealth.

Having made some fun of the poor girl, I would just like to say that I genuinely do applaud her. Good for her finding a commodity people are jumping at the chance to buy; she's obviously slightly more intelligent than she's given credit for given that she's kept the press interested for so long. 

♥

So it's nearly Christmas. And this is a gift from me to you. DA CYOOOTTTEEESSSSHHHTTTTT IDDLLLEE PIKCHURE OF MY KIDDEEENNSSSSSSS*!!!!! Aren't they just the most beautiful little things you've ever seen?! I hope this picture brightens your day as much as it brightened mine when Sylvia posted it on my wall. 

*Translation: The cutest little picture of my kittens.

Number One Fashion Faux Pas

I was going to post something political about the disgusting picture on the front of the Sunday Times this week, but I decided I'd rather have a bitch about girls who wear grey shoes with black tights. IT LOOKS FREAKING AWFUL! If you wear black tights, please wear black shoes. Always*. If you want to wear shoes that are any other colour, go bare or go home. I was out in Chelmsford last night, and I saw at least two girls committing this fashion faux pas. I thought us 'Essex gals' were supposed to be well dressed?!

BAD. 

*I will concede that there are some exceptions to this. For example, a pair of gold super glittery heels might look amazing with black tights.

Potentially A Pretty Woman

Yesterday Momma Fudge and I (perfect grammar) hit up Cambridge for a last little Christmas shop. I spent the WHOLE day looking for boots. THE ENTIRE DAY. I really want a pair of over the knee black suede boots*. I'd found a pair online that I really liked but they were £89 and I'm a poor student. I know they've been 'fashionable' for a while now (I picked out a pair three years ago for someone to buy his girlfriend for her birthday) , but I saw a picture of Megan Fox wearing a pair recently and for the first time since whenever people started wearing them, I decided I really, really wanted a pair. There are a few things that worry me though:

a) I'm worried that my legs are way too fat and its going to look like I'm wearing a pair of black waders when I put them on. 

PAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

b) I might end up looking like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. No bad thing, except she plays a prostitute. I do not, in any way, want to look like a prostitute. Or Jordan.  

c) I might look like Puss in Boots. (However much I love cats, I think I'd rather look like Jordan).

Anyway, I was really disappointed by the lack of relatively cheap over the knee boots on offer in Cambridge. I went online tonight though to have another butchers at the pair I fell in love with and found that THEY WERE ON SALE WITH £53 OFF! Plus, the site gave me an extra 20% discount because it was my first purchase. So now I have my boots. And they were a snip at £31.79 after postage and packaging. BOOM. Best buy ever. Well potentially the best buy ever; there's a chance I might look like an obese, prostitute cat with a penchant for fishing in them. We'll just have to wait and see.

* Please note that it is only OK to wear over the knee boots if they are flat and suede. Anything with a heel, or made from leather (or worse, PVC), WILL make you look like a hooker. 

Why I Hate The Tabloids

This is why I hate the tabloids:

The only real piece of news on this page is in the top left hand corner. If you squint hard you might be able to make it out. Failing that you'll have to fetch your magnifying glass. It's about 100 words, probably fewer, on the protests/uprising in Russia. It's an interesting story on electoral fraud that in my opinion warrants a double page spread. But no. The Sunday Mirror have decided that Jeremy Clarkson on a yacht looking like a fat old man is more valuable word wise. THIS IS NOT NEWS PEOPLE. Sure, he gets paid far too much, and he says some outrageous things, but that doesn't make him more important/interesting than the troubles in Russia. Granted, he just got fired as the Sun's columnist for his comments suggesting the strikers should be shot, but the Sun must have read and approved that column before they printed it, knowing full well the backlash it would receive. I think it's wrong to hold Clarkson entirely culpable. He may have written the words, but I'm guessing at least ten other people read that before it was published, and yet none of the media storm is being focussed on them. This might not be true, but I still think it's wrong to devote almost a whole double page spread to a story on how he's taken the reaction to his column so badly and how guilty he feels and how he's trying to take his mind off things by surrounding himself by expensive things and 'pretty' ladies (If anyone can actually be bothered to look hard, none of the ladies are actually that attractive....). Clarkson looks like he's pretty thick skinned and I'm guessing after years of being as outspoken as he is, he's grown accustomed to the odd adverse reaction. There's also a lot in the article about how much Clarkson is paid blah blah blah. But I say, if you can find someone stupid enough to pay you £1 million a year while you manage to piss off half the population, GOOD ON YOU CHUM. I hope one day I find someone as thick as that to sign my pay cheques. Anyway, my main point (that I somehow got sidetracked from when I started bitching about the content of the Clarkson article) was that the tabloids devote too much page space to non-stories. And I know this drivel is what the 'plebs' (OMG I called them plebs. I'm nearly as controversial as Clarkson) want to read, but I just feel that if the tabloids started giving more words and space to real news, then people would be less ignorant. That's what people need; a political education. And I think the first way we can start to do this, is by changing the tabloid media.

I Was Right. Deal With It.

This is a picture of an owl with a moustache. 

I just wanted to prove Hannah Whyman wrong. She didn't believe they existed. They definitely do. 

The Importance of Proof Reading

If you don't proof read properly, you will look like a massive twat. We should all carry this lesson through life with us.

Too Festive?

So today I bought this dress. I can't decide if I like it or not. I wanted to look like this http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2011/12/07/article-2071172-0F1700A800000578-94_468x1107.jpg but I'm worried I'm channeling Mrs Santa. Perhaps I'm being paranoid.

I promise my room is normally tidier than this.
(By tidier, I mean messier)

I Have Feet Roughly Equal In Size to Noah's Ark

I have huge feet. It's probably just because I'm tall but they're a size 8 none the less. In Uggs, my feet are even bigger and I usually can't really tell where I'm putting them (its a constant worry of mine that I'm going to step on a small child). I was in River Island today, and my huge Ugg-clad feet caused me to trip and knock a whole display of purses all over the floor. It was the most mortifying thing ever. Elle, like the good friend she is, didn't come over and help (like I would have done. LOL JK). It's not the first time my Ugg-clad feet have caused me major embarrassment either. I was late to a lecture a few weeks ago, and when I finally arrived, my huge feet caused me to trip up the steps. Everyone was watching. I've never wanted the earth to open up and swallow me more than in that one second. I have contemplated stopping wearing my Uggs, but they're just too warm and soft. They're how I imagine heaven cuddling your feet feels like. Sometimes I wish I had smaller feet, (there are men with smaller feet than me...) but then I remember that I would probably fall over even more than I already do.

Her feet are probably smaller than mine. 

Caroline Cradle-Snatcher

Caroline Flack, (yeah I don't really know who she is either) can't understand why society doesn't accept the massive 15 year age gap between her and her toyboy Harry Styles. YOU'RE NEARLY TWICE HIS AGE CAROLINE! I know in ten years time she won't be, but its just weird at the moment. If they were 30 and 45, we would probably be more accepting. But they're not. Even though I'm only two years older than him I find it hard to get excited when I see him. I feel like Gary Glitter hanging around the school gates, and not in a good way. They're just babies. I doubt his testicles have even dropped fully! Furthermore, she's 32. Shouldn't she be focussing on finding a husband and having children? Her body clock is ticking. I know not all women want children bah blah blah, but she's getting on, and she's going to fall off the shelf if she's not careful. Time is not on her side. My problem isn't the age gap, its his actual age. He's 17. 17 for Christ Sake! He's not even legally an adult yet. He was photographed leaving her house this morning having stayed the night and I hope all that happened was bed time stories and hot milk. I can't decide if this is one big publicity stunt for her or not. I seriously think she needs to reassess her life choices though.

I Went Out. And I Was Freezing.

I hate going to clubs that are too stingy to splash out on air-conditioning (cough Tokyo cough). You get all hot and sweaty and your hair gets messed up and your make-up starts melting off your face. Well this is what happens to me anyway. It's not pretty. It's part of the reason I smoke. Last night we went to BPM (it will always be called BPM freshers; none of this Bar Salvation shit please), AND IT WAS FREEZING. It was so cold me and Whyman spent a good 15 minutes in the toilets warming ourselves under the hand dryers.  Do BPM want us to catch colds and die?! Do they not realise that when you drink, all the capillaries come to the surface of your skin and you lose loads of heat anyway?! A lack of heating is nearly as unacceptable as a lack of air conditioning. Sort it out BPM.

Careful. You'll melt that pleather. 

Taking Obsession to a Whole New Level

Today I tried to steal a cat. No joke. It was just so cute I don't know what overcame me. It was a tiny grey kitten, and as I was sitting in Langwith college computer room trying to find something on the Daily Mail to write about, I saw it walk past the window. Before I knew what was happening, I had logged out of the computer and was heading outside to find it. I'm not exaggerating when I say, 'before I knew what was happening'. It was like I didn't even realise what I'd just done until I was outside following it. Anyway it went under a bush, and I tried to coax it out, but it ran away. So, like the crazy cat lady I am, I went after it. By this point, I've already formed an emotional attachment to it, and I'm very concerned that if it gets away and I can't take it home, I might actually die of sadness. I decide to call Emma. She has a cat. She'll understand right? Wrong. 'So basically what you're telling me is you're trying to steal a cat?' 'BUT EMMA IT'S SO SMALL AND IT MIGHT NOT HAVE A HOME AND IT MIGHT GET EATEN BY A GOOSE OR A DRUNK DERWENT BOY OR SOMETHING! I CAN'T JUST LEAVE IT!' 'Flo. I'm trying to be the voice of sanity here. You're acting like a crazy person. Leave the cat and go to your seminar. I'm sure it will be fine.' So anyway, like the horrible person I am, I left the kitten to potentially become somethings dinner. I'm still really sad that I didn't bring it home. But I'm consoling myself with the fact that I get to see my kittens at home in 72 hours. 

It wasn't hiding under a bush to get way from me. It was playing hide and seek. Duh. 

I'm Going To Be On The Radio

Yeah, simmer down. I'm not going to be on national radio. I'm making a guest appearance on Hannah Whyman's URY radio show. Wednesday 3-4pm. Its called Angels of the North. I will be there adding some civility to the matter and generally being my hilarious self. This is the link if you want to have a butchers. There's a webcam too.  http://ury.york.ac.uk/.

What A Mug

Play.com have once again proven to be a disappointment. I would like to know which chuffing moron in their despatch department thought it would be a good idea to send this mug in a cardboard box. Thats right. A cardboard box. A material globally acknowledged for its protective properties. Oh wait... THAT'S BUBBLE WRAP I'M THINKING ABOUT. Again it only cost me a fiver, but this time I was on the rampage and someone was going to get an earful. And someone did. 'Can you hear it rattle? DOES THIS SOUND LIKE HOW A MUG SHOULD SOUND? No. I don't think so either.' To add insult to injury, I have to pay to send the fucking thing back. Well technically that's not true; they'll cover £1.40 return charges. How very generous of them. When I pointed out however that it was approaching Christmas and I would have to stand in a queue for ten or more minutes at the Post Office (I went in to town today and they were queuing out the door at every post office I walked past), he didn't seem to care that this would be a massive waste of my time. I'm a very busy lady I'll have you know, and I can't really afford to be dilly-dallying around in Post Office queues. Quite frankly, I've had enough of play's shitty service and I won't be shopping there again. I advise you to follow my lead. Unless of course, you want to be taken for a mug.

This probably would have  happened when we were hanging anyway...

A Note on Fancy Dress

I find it really annoying when girls dress as 'sexy' somethings for fancy dress. Unless the invite specifically asks you to dress like a prostitute, it's not acceptable to interpret the theme as 'sluts and ho's'. Some of you might argue that if I had a great body I would also dress like a complete skank, but I really don't think I would. What am I going to gain from wearing next to nothing, except a lot of unwanted attention from pervy men? NOTHING. When I go out, it's not to find boys. I hate that clubs have become 'cattle markets', as it were, where girls go to look for boys and vice versa. All I want when I go out, is to drink too much, dance with my friends, and fall down in the street. Now that I've said my piece, here are some pictures of me in fancy dress; this is how you do it properly.

Geeks and Nerds -Probably my proudest achievement.  I'm also wearing the most hideously neon rucksack that used to belong to my dad but you can't see it in this picture. I may have 'accidentally' left it at my friend Hannah's it was so hideous. (Sorry dad, if you're reading this. I promise I'll buy you a nice, new, trendy one if you're that cut up about it).

I'm wearing crocs for goodness sake. CROCS!

This next one is from halloween this year. Instead of going as a cat (or anything that involves ears and whiskers for that matter), I went as a pumpkin. Yes, a pumpkin. AND the night before this was taken, I went out in Essex sporting very fetching neon orange face paint to match. I was a dedicated pumpkin. I would also like you to note my best friend Hannah (different Hannah from the one mentioned above). SHE'S DRESSED AS A WOOPIE CUSHION! Nowhere in the world would that ever be construed as sexy, but we got a lot of laughs and we had a really good time. This is proper fancy dress!

Finally, this one comes from my last week of Year 13. We had to dress up everyday that week, and this was, in my opinion, by far the best outfit. The theme this day was 'Stereotypes of Society' or something like that, and loads of people came as chavs or emos. I decided I was going to come as a toff/farmer.

I even have a badge on that says 'Bollocks to Blair'

So girls. Please take note. Fancy dress is not about being sexy. It is not about attracting boys. And it is definitely not about being so underdressed you catch a kidney disease in the cold.  So lets forget Mean Girls, and have some proper (old-fashioned) fun.

Bad Luck

I am a self-confessed crazy cat lady. I have two black kittens and there's A LOT of love for them in my house. Anyway, I was looking for Christmas presents for my mum on play.com, and I stumbled across this. It was perfect! Nicola would love it. Anything to do with cats, especially black cats, and bottoms, are a sure winner when it comes to my mum. So I added it to my basket and waited for it to be delivered.

This is what I ordered. It's funny.

Anyway. They sent me this. You can sense my disappointment. Its a brown dog. I don't want a brown dog. That's not funny. I want a black cat. Like my kittens at home. What am I going to do with a brown dog?! It only cost me a fiver and I really can't be bothered with the hassle of returning it, so now it sits on my desk in its packaging laughing at me. 

This is what I got.
It looks like a dog version of the Lindt chocolate reindeer.