Happy Jesus Zombie Day!

Well, I’m aware I’m a bit late on the Happy Easter thing. But I’ve been moving back to my university house and doing coursework (4am, drunk in the library) so I can be let off!

So over the Easter holidays, I’ve been back staying with my parents. I have little brothers and as everyone knows, kids come out with some of the best lines. A couple of days ago I got:

You’re very heavy aren’t you? Even Spiderman can’t lift you!

Well thank you, I’m aware I’ve gained a little chocolate weight -_-

Over Easter, I also received my souvenir photo from Miranda Hart! Still cannot believe I ended up on stage with her! Massive love ❤



I want her to be my BFF.

That boy in the picture with me who was my “date.” That is not wine in his wine glass. No sir, it is coke. Poor guy was only 16 aha. We had a list of questions about our most embarrassing moments. His was, “I got drunk and woke up in a bath. But please don’t say that on stage, my mum will kill me!” Bless.

I’m sure everyone’s also seen about Britain’s youngest parents! 12 years old!!! Can’t even be called a teenage mum! Children having children. How weird. I was thinking about this on one of my very boring shifts at work. When I was 12 the only thing I was looking after was sea monkeys. And I purposefully stopped feeding them because they got boring and just wouldn’t die.

And now I’m back at uni. Exams start next week, but I have managed to get me a job behind the bar and brought myself a celebratory hammock. Hurrah!


Oh, such a bad, bad day.

Today has been a disgustingly long and very bad day. And it started at 8am. I should’ve known I was doomed from the start. I don’t do early morning starts. But it started so well! I didn’t even press snooze on my alarm… I was even 5 minutes early to my tutorial! And then things went downhill…

My tutor is not an interesting man. And my attention span is not great when it comes to boring people. I end up noticing things. Picking up on annoying habits instead of actually listening. And what I noticed was that my tutor says the same word over and over again. “Obviously.” Even when it is obviously (teehee) not relevant or even grammatically correct. And there is nothing I hate more than bad grammar! So I played a little game. I counted how many times he said it.

62 times in half an hour. 62 TIMES!!!!

Every time he used it incorrectly (62 effing times), I felt a little blow to my soul. So already, by 9.30, my mood was going downhill.

So, I went home, revised for hours (AKA watched 10 episodes of How I Met Your Mother) and decided to tidy my room. I thought I’d put a wash on, running low on clothes and all that. Bad idea. Now I have even less clothes. THE WASHING MACHINE DOOR BROKE AND MY CLOTHES ARE STILL STUCK IN THE MACHINE D: We tried putting it on spin, tried kicking it, even tried prising it open with a knife. No such luck. So now I have slowly moulding clothes stuck where I can see them but cannot wear them! The landlord better hurry up and get round here.

Then to make matters worse I went to the library. Already a pretty risky move. I needed to print some stuff off and I was 4 pence short. So I tried topping up my university card using my debit card. Surprise, surprise the website was down so I couldn’t. So then I thought I would change up my £5 note into 50ps. That machine was also not working. I went to the front desk. They were “cashless” and so could also not change my money. So I had to leave, go to the shop, buy a muffin, get some change, go back to the library and finally top my card up. I then attempted to print my work. THE PRINTER DIDN’T BLOODY WORK! It took my money but didn’t print my stuff off. So I had to go to another printer, spend more money, finally printed my work to find out… wait… I don’t actually need this. Half a fricking hour. 

After all this I decided to limp home in the rain (limp because of an injury, not because I fancied it). Then… hang on… my foot started to feel really wet. I looked down. Oh my dear baby Jesus. The sole of my favourite boot had come apart from the shoe. My big toe was hanging out the front. How did this happen?! Why did this happen?! Why does God hate me?!

And then, to top it all off, I realised that I also could no longer go to a party I was very much looking forward to going to. I was going to dress up as a hobbit. Hairy feet and all 😦

Reasons behind a twisted mind.

I’ve decided to have a long, hard and incredibly deep (ooh cheeky) look at myself with the ultimate aim to work out why others might perceive me as amazing weird. And thinking about it, I really don’t know how I haven’t had to have therapy yet.

Oh wait…

For starters, I blame my mum for my sick sense of humour and lack of compassion. As you might have read from my previous posts, I am a constant source of amusement for her as she relishes in my- all to frequent- pain. She abuses me. Not the regular sort of beating me up abuse (although she is quite violent and has a nasty pinch on her) but the sort of playground bully abuse. The sort of, kick you when your down abuse. One of my first memories was of when I was three. I had this standard, red, plastic chair. One day, I decided I would quite like to see if I could fit my whole body underneath the arm of the chair. Well, to cut a short story even shorter… I couldn’t. I got my head and one arm stuck. I cried out for my mum,


My mum came rushing towards me, I was her first born child, stuck, oh God, what if I was stuck forever? She was hurrying over, quickly, quickly and… ooop… she went straight past me… straight to the telephone… where she called her mum to laugh. LAUGH!?!? I was stuck in a chair as a toddler and rather than help me get free, she laughed. It was only until my Nan reminded her that I was still stuck that she bothered to phone my dad to get him to come home from work and saw me out.

And I blame her for passing this trait onto me. I realised what she had done when I was at this rugby match. There was this old man sat on his fold-out chair close to the sideline. In hindsight a little too close really as one of the big rugby lads missed a tackle and ended up tackling the old man off of his chair instead. I thought I was going to die with laughter. I am ashamed. And I blame my mother.

I’ve also come to the conclusion that my complete crapness with men is because I’m scarred for life after a serious of weird and terrifying experiences with creeps. There was this one particular man who genuinely used to scare the shit out of me. He was this little, beardy Asian man in a hat who used to always pop up wherever I would be. He’d shout at me, blow kisses at me, wink at me, pretend to hide from me then continue following me down the street. And then one time… one horrific time… he snuck up behind me- my so called “friends” being the bastards that they are, decided not to tell me- and put his head on my shoulder (!) and, whilst sniffing my hair groaned…


Oh my dear Baby Jesus.

Needless to say, I ran. As fast and as far away as I could in HMV. With my “friends” crying with laughter behind me.

So I’m blaming this inability to trust, this paranoia, this analysing and reading too much into every situation involving a male on these freaks that used to follow me around. Either that, or it’s just because I’m a woman.

Kids say the funniest things

Don’t kids say the best things sometimes? Being kids, they get away with saying things adults can’t; they say things without thinking about how they can come across. Sometimes they can be evil. I feel bad now, thinking about the times when I was a shitty little kid and I would shout “I hate you” when I didn’t get my own way. Sometimes they can be sweet. Like my little brother who is always telling me that I’m his best friend (we even have a best friend handshake. And what?) or when I come home after work or from being out with my friends and he says that he really missed me. He can make me feel really guilty though. When I told him I was going back to my other house (uni) he went dead silent and wouldn’t speak to me for about five minutes. Until he piped up with, “I’ll really miss you.” D: Whyyyy?

Other times, they can be downright hilarious. Like me. I was a hilarious and modest child. I remember when I was younger and me and my family were driving behind this really, really slow old woman. In my naive way I shouted, “Oooh she’s such a kerb crawler!” Just, you know, innocently thinking that meant she was a really slow driver and was, well, practically crawling along the kerb. It was actually only in the last few years that I finally understood why my parents laughed at my joke so much. And why they told all their friends. I had, inadvertently, suggested that the poor, frail, old lady was trying to pick up a prostitute.

My little brother very recently said something very funny as well. My other brother, Ryan, the oldest of the three, is sixteen and, as most boys of that age, not very blessed in the acne department. Both my youngest brothers also have chickenpox. So Samuel, being three years old and bloody hilarious said to him,

“Ryan, do you have chickenpox?”

“Urgh? (It’s the generic grunt that teenage boys put before every sentence- or use instead of) No, I don’t.”

“What are all them spots on your face then?”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I think I nearly died. And so did my mum. Ryan didn’t find it quite as funny, he slammed up to his room in a sulk with another grunt and a “shut up.”

Another kid today at work amused me. She had to be about seven years old and her mum was buying “5o Shades of Grey.”

“Can I read it?”

“Erm, no darling, it’s a grown up’s book”

“Is it that book they were talking about on the radio?”


“Dirty mummy! You dirty woman!”

50 shades of grey? Doesn’t turn me on :S

Today, I can’t be bothered to write much.

I don’t really have much to blog about today so instead, I thought I’d upload some photo’s 🙂

If you’ve been following my blog, you’d know that I have a dog. A very stupid, but very sweet Golden Retriever called Harry. And I sometimes like to wrap him up in a duvet. Just, you know, for the jokes.

But doing things like this makes him go a little weird. Actually, he just does this anyway…

It’s so irritating when he decides to roll around like this when you take him out on the lead -_-

I’ve also got four cats, one of which is still a kitten really, who has currently been banished to my room for being annoying. She keeps doing this…

Poor kid’s just trying to sleep!

So now I have her yowling at me as I type :/

And I also have three younger brothers (kill me now). Sometimes they can be sweet…


Samuel is the one on the left, he’s three years old and William is the one on the right, aged one.

A lot of the time messy…

Don’t ever feed kids chocolate cake…

We play in the park…

William playing on the swings 🙂

Samuel pulling off the pink 😛

And pose for pictures 😛

Sometimes regularly they get grumpy…

Attitude problem already!

We read stories…

Avid reading… not at all posing 😉

But, the best time of the day is BEDTIME!

Urm… cute?

The Good Customer Guide

Working on checkouts in a supermarket has made me hate people.

Hate people.

Not all of them. Just a lot. There are some funny moments. Like the kid who pulled out a tampon from her mum’s handbag, started waving it around and yelling “What’s this!?” I thought the woman was going to pass out from embarrassment. Or the other kid who kept asking her dad what the F word is.

But, in general, people piss me off. If you are shopping and get to a till and want to be liked, simply follow this good customer guide:

1. DON’T be a smartarse. If the cashier asks you whether you would like a bag, just say yes or no. Do not reply with some some sarcastic comment like, “Oh, well where else am I going to put my shopping? In my pockets?” My God, it’s our job to ask you. You’re supposed to reuse your own you moron.

2. If the cashier holds out their hand for your money DON’T put it on the cashier belt next to it. Why would you do that? It causes unnecessary struggling when you can’t pick the coins up. Why else would I be holding my hand out? For you to shake it? I don’t think so.

3. DON’T be rude. When the cashier says hello, bloody say hello back! Manners do not cost a thing. You might not particularly want to talk to the cashier but trust me, they sure as hell don’t want to talk to you either if you’re just going to be rude. You only have to talk to the cashier for five minutes out of your day, they have to talk to people for 8 hours of theirs. Have some courtesy.

4. DON’T get stroppy if you get an offer wrong, or picked up food without a barcode or forget to use your voucher. Your fault, not theirs, so quit yo whining.

5. DON’T bother getting the cashier to call their supervisor over if you get ID’d. They have to back up their staff so not only are you wasting their time, you’re also wasting your own and the queue of people behind you. So either have ID, or don’t bother trying it.

6. Not being racist, but seriously, when I’m on checkouts I get so many rude foreigners! You might not speak very good English, but I’m sure you can say, ‘please’, ‘thank you’ and ‘hello.’ I wouldn’t go to your country and ignore you, flap my hands and click at you, so don’t do it to me. Language barrier is no excuse.

7. DON’T try and chat the cashier up. Another personal experience that has happened an unnerving number of times to me. No, they will not give out their number to you, you creepy 40-something year old man.

8. DON’T tell the cashier to ‘cheer up’ or ‘smile’ when they are simply sitting on their till with no customers. Would you sit on your own grinning to yourself? No. It’s weird. Stop trying to get them to do it then.

9. DON’T, when someone underage has to shout ‘alcohol,’ reply with ‘yes please!’ then laugh like it’s the most original joke ever. The cashier would have heard it about 20 times already that day. Guarantee.

10. The shop shuts at 4 yes? So get out at 4! DON’T carry on your shopping then slowly mosey on over to the checkout at twenty past. The cashiers want to go home! Go shopping earlier, or go somewhere that is still open, stop taking the piss!


Rant over.


Awww, don’t you just love the misunderstood tweens of today? Especially the girls. You see them swaggering down the street towards you, skirt so short you can practically see their ovaries, faces caked in make-up trying and failing- miserably- to disguise the fact that they probably haven’t even hit puberty yet. You can’t help but let loose a little giggle when they turn their scowl towards you and look you up and down in disgust. You can’t help but laugh at their attempts to be “hard.” They don’t seem to like it though, when their attempts to be intimidating fail and so shout a lovely, “fuck you” at you as they walk off. Unfortunately that’s even funnier so you have to leave pretty sharpish before they decide to bitchslap you. Not that that would be particularly worrisome as they barely come past your waist, but you would still rather not get arrested for assaulting a minor.

Whenever I end up engaged in a conversation with one of these charming human beings, I can’t help but speak like I’m from eighteen hundreds. I don’t know why it is, maybe because I find it funny when they can’t understand or that it makes me feel more educated but a typical conversation would go something like this:

“Oi, yeah, wot you lookin’ at?”

“Oh, you little ruffians, I was merely gazing upon your visage with wonderment at the paint you seem to have applied to it!”

“Are you takin’ the piss or sumfink?”

“Good Heavens no! But hear? where has your skirt gone? You do appeared to have picked up a belt to wear instead. It barely covers your buttocks! Such attire is not suitable for a young lady!”

“D’ya wanna slap!?”

“Are you challenging me to a duel you scoundrel!?”

*Obvious poetic licence. I’m not a complete freak with a death wish. But I do speak weird.