Sunday, 1 November 2015

The miserable pumpkin...

You may have noticed it's been a few weeks since I last posted. My main aim is to not let this post be negative but the reasons behind such a delay is because October for me has resembled Adele's love life.

I like to think of myself as a half full kinda gal rather then bottle of wine empty... but sometimes life really does get in the way and unless I had the intentions of making your month as rubbish as mine I wasn't going to write. Unfortunately for my family and I we lost a very special man in our lives and grieving, being there for loved ones and helping to plan a funeral isn't the best material to work with when blogging.

This is the first time in my life that I've not felt festive with this months bollocks. I can't even begin to explain to you how much it has irritated me to see a photo of toes on a wet path way covered in leaves (Yes, I am normally that girl). Even the word 'Autumnal' has driven me insane, my entire social media timeline has been 'my autumnal scarf', 'love an autumnal leaf', 'look at my autumnal cat'. What I really think about your autumnal vibe is 'Go and carve your pumpkin, make pumpkin pie and choke.'

This really isn't like me at all, I am usually ALL over anything that involves buying pointless shit to make the house look 'themed' and then buying a candle to match but this month I've literally been dead inside. It really hasn't helped that I've decided to start working out with a personal trainer - In contradiction to him making me look like a Goddess he has made my life hell for the last few weeks and I've been eating the equivalent of toasted cardboard and throwing up in my mouth more times than I ever cared to imagine. It's also fair to say I am utterly shocked I still have a boyfriend and an incredible support network or friends because I've been like a dragon on heat for 12 days now. Show week was the ultimate test of the slim life. I was literally SURROUNDED by cake, McDonalds, Dominoes, sweets, mars bars dipped in coffee, KFC... I just kept walking around the theatre sniffing wrappers like some sort of possessed whale.

In order to put this month to an end I decided last night I was going to spend far too many hours on Pinterest relighting my inner candle for all things festive because I refuse to go into November slim and miserable. I pinned about 100 Christmas photos to my board and spent a good few hours roaming the internet deciding on my colour theme for wrapping, baking treats and table plans. As the time went by I was starting to feel like a reborn Elf in Santas Grotto and whilst I was sat (Fitting in it perfectly because I've obvs lost weight on the SD 'soul destroying' diet) in the chair my excitement was growing by the second. I've asked my boyfriend approximately 25 times since my Pinterest splurge if he's excited for Christmas just to make sure we're all aboard the same fun train. I am now feeling that the month of pumpkins has made me turn full circle. I am now ready to take Christmas on like the pro I truly am and my wine glass is feeling full (not that I can even sniff wine on the SD diet). I am two seasons deep into Prison break on Netflix and the appropriate time to inhale a mince pie isn't too far away.

So, my advice to any of you who have experienced a time in your life when it's not great and the pumpkin life isn't helping. Find the time to relight your candle, spend hours doing something you really love and try to start the next week or month fresh. If that means taking pictures of your feet in leaves then crack on but for me, a few hours on the John Lewis website abusing the Christmas section with a virtual basket is I need...


Thursday, 17 September 2015

Relationship Goals...

So I'm finally coming round to the fact that the world we live in is now ruled by technology and most teenagers confidence comes from an amount of like or comments... "Well fit, a good 8/10 hot or not rate that" (Not a clue) and although it's sad, there's nothing we can do about it. If you can't beat them join them, just choose to NEVER use vocabulary such as 'bae' which apparently means 'before anyone else'...please. However, the internet can be used for SO many positive things so I personally just take it for what it is, and worry about how I will raise my own children one day surrounded by such bollocks.

I remember a site called Bebo and when I was growing up, that and msn was what went down. I'd spend so long writing out a bio describing how amazing my best friends were and how much I loved leopard print (It was a phase). When I grew up it was harmless, surely now it's nothing but damaging? Out of all the posts, memes and videos we all see go viral if there's one trend I will never get my head around it's #relationshipgoals... What. The...

So I am pretty sure that with the posts I see, girls are growing up wanting a relationship like a certain celebrity because they posted a cute picture with their other half. Does that then mean they have a great relationship...absolutely not. My boyfriend happens to be a very private person and I respect that. And although I am quite happy for everyone and their dog to know about mine, he isn't the same (opposites attract babes). From previous relationships, I have learnt that posting the latest sentimental gesture they did for me on social media doesn't make it a 'happy' one. I only noticed it when coming out of my last relationship did I get endless comments from people I hardly knew telling me they thought what we had was 'real' and 'forever'...and it made me realise that because I posted a picture of a bacon sandwich I made him stating I was one day going to make a great wife (modest) does that mean what we had was perfect?

We live in a world of comparing and it is so easy to compare what we have to the next person on Instagram, but lets just put one thing straight, if you're the basic Barry posting a picture every god damn day of the flowers your boyfriend sent you as a 'surprise' we all know that...

A - it's not a surprise any more because he sent them yesterday which means he'll send them tomorrow
B - I don't give a shit. On a side note, flowers die and pizza doesn't.

Some of the pictures I see floating around with the title relationship goals literally make me want to face palm with a blade attached. The one where the couple are working out and whilst 'clean eating boy' is doing a bench press, 'clean eating girl' is straddling him in a minxy crop top and luminous Nikes. I would sincerely hope that my boyfriend would clean knock me out if I even got that close to him in the gym. One of my other favourites is the Calvin Klein one 'Beautiful boy' is carrying 'Beautiful girl' both wearing matching CK underwear. Put her down, put some clothes on, and tell the dick head holding the camera taking the photo of you to go and get laid.

The photos that I do love to see of couples on the internet are the ones of the old wrinkly bums jumping into the lake together and even that doesn't mean their relationship or marriage comes without scars. Just because a couple take a really good selfie, or post incredible pictures of themselves doesn't mean anything. It literally means that they would make really good looking babies or it took them at least ten attempts to get the shot (don't pretend that's never happened). I'm not saying that every time you see a photo of a couple it doesn't mean they're happy I'm just saying be careful what you compare yours too. Yes, I post pictures of my boyfriend but it doesn't mean we don't argue or disagree on things. It just means it was a nice picture, with great lighting, and that my Nan will 100% hit the like button.

If your boyfriend can't lift you in the air (ahem) or you both don't own expensive underwear it doesn't mean anything. If we spent the same time appreciating what we do have, we wouldn't have any time left to think about what we're missing. Only you can know deep down if what you have is right or not and a good photo posted on Facebook doesn't help that. So, if your underwear costs you a paycheque and your happy to straddle your boyfriend in the gym rather than running off the pizza then crack on, but don't think that posting a photo of that is going to get you to your diamond wedding anniversary...

Now that's a relationship goal


Thursday, 13 August 2015

Worst 23 year old EVER...

My inspiration for writing usually comes from stupid situations I get myself into and anywhere between the M49 exit and the toll booths at the Severn Bridge. So half way along the M49 I thought you might like to know why I am the worlds shittest 23 year old female...

1 - I would rather run into a brick wall 200 times than go to Ibiza on a clubbing holiday. Drum and base/house music (I don’t even know what genre it is?) is my idea of absolute hell never mind pissed, sweaty people getting in my space whilst dressed up as a sparkly Zebra.

2 - Whilst most girls my age spend hours a night watching how to create the perfect contour on You Tube, my search title for a great video is ‘funny bull dog’ followed by wasting way too much time on Pinterest searching ‘beautiful bedroom’ or ‘DIY home tricks’.

3 - Just thinking about having a night out in a club makes my skin itch. I can’t understand how sweat, overly loud music, getting drinks spilt over you and disgusting men trying to ‘grind’ is anybody’s idea of fun? Don’t get me wrong - I love a good night out with my girls but gone are the days of enjoying that literally lasted three months when I was 17 and ended  when I woke up naked in my best friends bed alone whilst her boyfriend and her were asleep on the floor (she wasn’t even out that night). Also, it’s never right if your favourite part of the night is the kebab wrap at the end, whilst sat on a pavement pretending to be drunk to make eating it look more acceptable.

4 - I would rather look like ‘Finding Nemo’ than Kim Kardashian.

5 - If you bet me £50 to name you any Jay Z song you would be £50 richer in seconds.

6 - I will never in my life have the desire to own a pair of Christian Louboutin heels. I’ve never met anybody who says they’re comfortable and I’ve seen every artistic shot possible on Instagram of the 'boy did good' red sole...  

7 - The closest I will ever get to trying drugs would be playing my dream role of Mimi Marquez in the musical RENT, and even then I’d only be pretending to make a crack addict look hot. I was 16 when I was first introduced to weed at a house party and my best friend Shelbs and I sat on the wall crying because of the smell in our hair waiting for my mum to come and collect us. Much like the time at a train station a group of lads asked me if I knew where they could get some ‘gear’, I told them to go to the information centre outside and that they could probably find someone to help them there.

8 - If my top 25 recently played songs on I tunes isn’t 99% contaminated with Musical Theatre then I’m ill.

9 - The fact that in the last two weeks our new Dyson hoover, custom made blinds and brand new feather pillows have arrived excites me more than any previous ASOS delivery.

10 - The hot girls you see minxing along the beach with parts of string placed all around the body. What the fuck? Body from the angels or not, how is it productive tanning by having half a boob on show and the top quarter of your back exposed? Get me plain boring; suck me in all the right places strapless bikini and I am good to sizzle.

I’m not boring I promise, I just like what I like and I am who I am. I’m literally so not cool and no amount of trying to fit in the mould of what you should be like at 23 has worked for me so far. Let’s hope I make it to my 100th birthday like this little love below, because if I’m gonna smoke a spliff and drink Dom Perignon for breakfast it will most likely be then!


Friday, 31 July 2015

The A Team...

Working in the wedding industry it was only a matter of time before this post was written. I'm a wedding make-up artist and I love my job. I have been self employed for one year, and I am pretty sure there are only two options for the way my future will be shaped -

1 - I'll be locked up for killing the entire bridal team before the first round of bucks fizz has been poured.

2 - I gain some serious level of sass over the years and become able to deal with any shit thrown in my direction by a variety of 'getting married' ass holes.

My mum Tracy is a hairdresser, and on many occasions throughout the year we bring our shit hot skills and unite to making quite possibly the most bad ass team I have ever come across. That being said it is the only time in my entire life that I listen to every word she says, don't chat back and put that roller EXACTLY where I'm told.

This morning - after leaving a wonderful wedding of gorgeous, calm, chilled out girls - we were done by 11.00am. This in itself was a rarity, and so we took full advantage and enjoyed a coffee in Clifton village reflecting on how lovely it is to be self employed and doing a job we love. In fact, we've nothing short of smashed it. Jokes, she paid for my cappuccino and being only one year deep, I'm still in minus. However, In five years time I'll own the empty shop I was staring at all morning running a Bridal mafia team.

On our way back we were discussing a family situation which is very close to our hearts and means that our loved ones are going through immense sadness. Made even worse by there being absolutely nothing we can do to fix it. Bad timing of the upsetting conversation we were having, Trace's phone started to ring and she asked me to take a message. She's often joked about paying me to be her PA but that would be pushing it on the being told what to do by my mum 24/7 front so I only do it when there's no choice. I actually have a top telephone voice if I do say so myself so these things don't phase me. However, dealing with idiots is something I'm not so good at as was made very apparent today.

"Hi, Please can I speak to Tracy?"

You know when you shouldn't, but you instantly judge someone by there condescending tone of voice and pretentious (big words) manner and think 'Bring it'...

"Hello, it's Sasha speaking, Tracy's daughter, Tracy is driving at the moment please can I take a message for her"

Lady - "Oh right, well I've sent Tracy an email and she hasn't replied, I'm trying to sort out my daughters wedding hair and as it's proving quite difficult so I thought it best I called."

"Ok, no problem if I could just take your name I can make sure she see's to the email ASAP and gets back to you"

Lady - "Right well the situation is, I need to know if she's available or not as I'm trying to get this sorted for my daughter this weekend so if you could ask her to reply to my email as soon as she's available that would be great" (you know when people finish their sentence with the word 'great' and the 'T' is the only thing you hear!

"When did you send the email?"

at this point I'm still managing to keep calm because for all I know she could have sent the email months ago and hasn't heard from Mum meaning she has every reason to be annoyed.

Lady - "I sent it this morning"

She's about to wish she clicked on the next link down on Google...

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, but we've actually been working this morning so there's no way she would have seen the email as of yet (lady did not need to know about the coffee break in Clifton delaying her email response time) We're currently driving back home and as soon as she get's to her computer I'll make sure she gets back to you before anybody else. What date is the wedding?"

Before I'd even put the phone down I'd decided that 31st October was FULLY booked whether Princess wants our services or not. Regardless of the the intense conversation we had previously been having - I did not want to be dealing with this shitty tone of voice whilst stuck in traffic. It's this sort of situation which literally puts me off getting married myself. It's every girls absolute dream to have the big perfect day. Whilst I can 100% relate to wanting those things, and don't take me wrong I am excited about spending the rest of my life with someone (could be you if you're lucky babes, I know you're reading), and not just the morning where me and my best friends will be getting pissed on Champagne and taking selfies, I don't see the point. Marriage to me is something very important and also very close to my heart. Having divorced parents, Grand Parents and just generally every marriage in my family failing, it's the one thing I'm determined not to screw up. Being confused as to what marriage actually consists of, I'm also aware it's not as easy as 'making it work' or not. Which is why I think it's important to make sure you know.

Working in this industry has really made me question how may people get married because they want to make that commitment or whether they want to look incredible for one day and get over 200 likes on a photo posted on Facebook (obvs can't wait for that also). It's OK to want both but if the commitment comes first then getting stressed about what shade of mascara you have on the day and how you're going to eat your croissant whilst the photographer 'captures the moment' is something I can't relate to. If you can plan the shade of mascara without stress then by all means, crack on - But don't live, sleep, breathe and eat wedding planning if it's going to turn you into a total dragon. The most important thing for me when I get married is the fact I will have the most special people in my life all together (just saying that makes my blood pressure go) for one day witnessing me make the promise to give my best chance at making a marriage work. The stunning dress, choosing bridesmaids and most importantly what everybody is going to eat throughout the day are just added bonus's that I refuse to let myself get stressed about. Because going back to our conversation in the car this afternoon, there really are much more important things going on in our worlds.

So to the lady with attitude phone voice, I hope you've found somebody to do your daughters wedding hair because the A Team are already booked (genuinely). And, if you're the next Bride and want you're wedding pictures to look on par with a Bridal magazine cover photo I suggest you do the following - Plan in advance, know what you want, be patient, and don't pick bridesmaids who will disagree with everything you tell them they're having and wedding services have bigger bitches to fry!


Tuesday, 28 July 2015

Waitrose eggs and my green grass...

I often wonder why Waitrose is one of my happy places - or any posh supermarket for that matter.

I had to pop to there today as I needed to grab a few things for dinner and it was much more appealing that doing my weekly food shop in Lidl where myself and my purse actually belong. I'd rather walk around Waitrose with a basket of milk and reduced items and pretend I belong.

I was stood in the aisle and as I went to grab a pack of six large eggs, I saw that they also do 'Extra Large' eggs. The level of excitement was worrying. I am twenty three years old and Extra Large Eggs excite me.

I walked out of Waitrose with a free coffee (My Waitrose card holders only I'm afraid) and a bag of items that will last me one meal costing £16.90 but I was a hell of a lot happier than when I walked in.

I've always been the type of person to wonder what life's like on the other side, and how it could always 'be better' until about a year ago. My life did a 360, I lost a lot of weight and started to invest time in myself rather than thinking what it's be like to be somebody else thinner with a chest that resembles a woman rather than soggy ice cream cones. I then made a conscious effort to stop wondering what other peoples grass looked like and start concentrating on my own. The thing is, it really doesn't take a lot to make me happy. Yes Waitrose makes me happy and Waitrose costs money, but in the grand scheme of things Waitrose is a lot cheaper than a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes which is what most people my age should be excited about. I've spent so much time wondering if I'm 'normal' for not wanting to do huge things with my life. I used to. I used to want to be a performer on the west end stage with a flat stomach and a husband that resembled everything Jude Law does. But believe it or not I actually quickly realised that even I couldn't bring enough drama to the real stage.

My three best friends could not be more opposite to me. One has just finished her masters in something I couldn't even write without texting her to ask how to spell it. Another lives in New Zealand working at an interior design company with big plans to move back to the UK and do the same. And the other has just landed herself a job with ELLE magazine in London...and I get excited about eggs.

But is that OK? Is it OK that for now I'm happy just going on expensive holidays I can't afford and writing a blog because it's cheaper than a therapist? I often wonder if there's something wrong with me and why I don't have any major dreams to become a famous make-up artist in New York City with an apartment like Julia Roberts and a beauty range that sells to millions.

Instead I dream of visiting New York and staying in an apartment like in Pretty Woman and being able to buy beautiful things. However I then want to be able to come back to my home and make the baddest omelettes with my extra large eggs. I'm starting to think that maybe there isn't anything wrong with that and whilst I'm super proud of my friends chasing their dreams it doesn't matter that mine aren't the same size.

Here's to loving the grass we all live on and enjoying our eggs the way we like them.


Wednesday, 12 March 2014

Not fit to be a Mother just yet.

I always thought having children was something I most definitely wanted. My thoughts haven't totally changed but I can categorically say that I have been scarred for a while.

My sister in law is currently carrying my first ever niece or nephew. 38 weeks pregnant, larger than me which nobody thought would happen and the little Pallari's gender will be a total surprise. I absolutely can't wait and don't remember being this excited on a count down for anything.

We had a lovely day out in London doing our standard shopping, eating and buying posh macaroons; followed by her last but one midwife appointment (unless the baby wants to come and play before) - I was really excited as I had never experienced anything like this before. I asked Andri about ten times during the day if she was going to have jelly on her belly and if I slipped the midwife a tenner would she let me have a peek at the gender. Much to my disappointment I soon discovered that not every midwife appointment is spent watching the baby swim round your tummy on the screen whilst getting emosh.

When we arrived we sat in the waiting room, and I don't know why but I was surprised to see that everybody in there was pregnant. I just found it really funny - everyone in there had some form of a round belly and as I kept looking around the room trying to work out 'their story' I then realised that everybody in there was probably thinking exactly the same about me. ALRIGHT I JUST ATE A BURGER AND MACAROONS STOP JUDGING ME!!!!

We then got the lesbian judgements - the lady at the desk when booking in the next appointment kept looking at us BOTH for reassurance and I just couldn't look at her in the eye encase she thought I was the other parent to this unborn child. I had no problem with her thinking I was a lesbian but for her to think that I was capable of bringing a child into this world was just too much to handle. I knew that if I had held that eye contact for any longer than half a second I would have needed to tell her I'm in no way responsible for any of this!

The midwife was really lovely: she went through the birthing plan with Andri whilst I sat there with my jaw on the floor listening to everything that was going on. I'm sorry but I just couldn't sit there and take it all in without asking a few cheeky questions: "So do you like your job?" "Do you have children?" "Do you work through the night" I just kept asking proper dickhead questions. Luckily she found it all very amusing and once she'd explained what 'skin to skin' meant the questions slowly came to a halt. She was asking for Andri's preference on whether she would like the baby to be cleaned before she could hold him/her or if she wanted the baby placed straight on gunk n'all. At this point I was quietly heaving. I just thought it slipped on out smelling of rainbows with a cheeky little smile, gives Mummy and Daddy cuddles and off home you go. No, no. She was whacking the questions out about cutting cords, removing placenta and bouncing on balls.

By this point I am thinking to myself 'fuck this' it is sooo not simple. The pair of us together aren't really the greatest combination for asking ridiculous pointless questions.

Then the real core of why I'm scarred came:

Andri - "Ok, so I'm really worried you're going to judge me for asking this and it's fine, I judge myself but...I really don't want to shit myself."

I literally nearly fell off the chair. Shit yourself? SHIT YOURSELF? Whilst giving birth to a child you can shit yourself?

The lovely midwife who had probably felt like she'd been abused with pointless questions for the last twenty minutes now had to explain why women shit themselves whilst giving birth. She related it to a tube of toothpaste...need I say more? I haven't been able to clean my teeth the same way since.

So there we have it, I have been put off having children because I might shit myself. I might shit myself in front of people I don't know, or even worse on my child, and welcoming a baby into the world that way was not how I ever imagined it to be. So until I can come to terms with it (or just until I grow up), I will no longer think about having a baby because they're cute and I'd like to dress them up as a bear cub every time my day goes pear shaped.

Here's to not getting knocked up until you are happy to uncontrollably shit yourself.