Sunday, 29 December 2013

The Chop Chat

... I hate having my hair cut.

Unfortunately, a while back I was the victim of an excruciatingly bad hair cut. Much like a magpie to anything shiny, I am a sucker for any sort of posh or fanciful looking salon - on this occasion, the rainbow room was my shiny. Little did I know, less than an hour later I would emerge with less than half the hair I went in with. And £40 lighter. And, well - BLOODY MISERABLE.

But that's not the worst of it. 

Picture this - I'm sitting there with soaking wet hair, under a hairdressing cape that might as well be steel chains pinning me to the seat - and the hairdresser starts talking about her failed marriage. Wait, I'm not ready for this. Ten minutes ago I was reading a gossip magazine from 2008 in reception - now I'm Dr Phil? I was torn between crippling under the immense pressure to comfort this jilted young woman, and fearing that she was going to picture her ex husband on the back of my head and start hacking. By the end of the appointment, she had told her story, vented her feelings... and I looked ah-mazing. Seriously, I felt like tracking down this good for nothing ex-husband and high fiving the bastard. I admit, I continued going to Karen for some time - but with time and acceptance over her divorce, came mediocre haircuts... it was time to cut her off.

My next hairdresser was promising. A young woman named Cara with a pretty face and beautiful hair. I probably would have hated her had she not been the nicest person ever. Everything started out so well - she understood me, laughed at my jokes, washed my hair... until BAM. Her Army boyfriend sent her a dildo from Afghanistan. And she was ready to tell me all about it.
WHAT IS HAPPENING. I had to play this cool. Anger and bitterness brought me a great haircut from Karen... but I wasn't sure how Cara's horn was going to fare on my do. Thirty minutes of sex toy chat later, with one word answers, and the occasional "I'm-pretending-to-agree-with-you" nod, I made it out unscathed. I never saw Cara after that - nymphos aren't really my thing.

I was almost sure it was third time lucky with Craig - a twenty something guy with a blonde afro and a nose ring in a trendy west end salon. I figured less shiny, more trendy might work for me. I now had to include a subway ride to the price of my haircut though - what's a girl gotta do for a quiet life? Craig was just what I needed - he liked talking about movies, and music, and his band. Yes, I had to fake a little bit of enthusiasm when he spoke about his latest performance with Fire Exit, or Exit Stage Left, or Exit through the gift shop or whatever they were called...but it was a worthy sacrifice. Then one fateful day, I showed up for my usual cut and dry - hold the emotional baggage - and something terrible happened. Craig's friend Jay had gotten engaged. Why Jay? Why are you doing this to me?! I'm sure Craig wouldn't have felt the need to bring it up - but his girlfriend was less than pleased that Jay had been with his fiance half the time she and Craig had been together. Where was her ring, Craig? Craig seemed to think I held all the answers. I did not.

I left that day knowing I would never see Craig again. I think - on some level - he knew. But it didn't make it any easier.

Female, 23, seeking highly skilled and emotionally vacant hairdresser.

Saturday, 21 December 2013

Staying in.

"Oh the weather outside is frightful" - but my bank balance is even more terrifying.

Christmas is lovely; the fairy lights are pretty, the food is great, the family time is oh so precious - but the financial side of it makes me want to take Santa outside for a swift boot up the arse.

Even after cutting down on the presents this year, I think I've still overspent a little... so it's Saturday night, I'm sitting with a mouthful of Ferrero Rocher, playing backup singer to Mariah Carey's All I want for Christmas is you - and I'm having a ball. Honestly, if Ryan Gosling himself asked me on a date right now, I'd have to rain check his fine ass. I don't know if living with a boy has made me adopt more female tendencies or if I'm jut getting boring in my ripe old age of 23, but sometimes a girl just needs some time to herself to... be a girl!
Even though I'm not defined by another person, I'm with Oscar on the alone time. It gives you time to reflect, to relax, to give yourself a stern talking to - whatever you need at the time, you can count on yourself to deliver. Sure, socialising with friends is a huge part of my life - but while it might sound boring to others, nights like these roll some of my favourite things into one. Sex and the city, Elle magazine, Bloglovin, Pinterest, chocolates and hilarious conversations with my best friend via text (because I'm not a complete introvert) are just a few of life's good stuff in my eyes - and I get a whole evening of it!

Throw in a puppy and I'd probably wet myself. 

Tuesday, 10 December 2013

Not crying over spilt cancer.

No, that wasn’t a typo.
Earlier this year, I landed my dream job, moved to the city my long-term-long-distance boyfriend was living in – and my mum was diagnosed with breast cancer. I’ve spoken before about looking back and remembering exactly how a memory felt at the time, but it isn’t until now that I realise – I have never had a memory as crystal clear as my mum telling me she was diagnosed. The jilt in my stomach when I clocked the tissue my dad was holding sheepishly in his hand. The feeling of confusion while trying to make sense of the glass of wine she was passing me, and the sombre look on both her and my dad’s face. The pause that felt like an eternity while I watched her take a breath before delivering the news. I can see every single movement in my head even now, months on.

Obviously the tears came, the questions soon after… and hugging. There was lots of hugging. Fortunately or unfortunately – I’m not too sure – I was the first out of the three daughters to be told, so it was up to me to be there and help my mum stay calm as she broke the news to my sisters. I think, had I not still been a little in shock, I would have found it much harder than I did.
Once everyone had been told, and we’d hugged each other silly, it was time to return to work – my new job that, only a couple days before, had been my only great concern. I worried about telling them, and wasn’t even sure what I was telling them. I didn’t know how bad the situation was, what treatment she needed, when it would all start, if I would be needed at home – it just felt like words. Like it wasn’t really happening.

I arranged a chat with my editor in private, and was sure that I could manage through the opening line without crumbling – I was wrong. Before I’d even explained what was wrong the tears were falling. Albeit slightly shocked, she looked at me sympathetically and said something that has stuck with me throughout these past few months of hospital appointments and 'how are you feeling' text messages:

“Oh sweetie, tilt your head back so your mascara doesn’t run.”

At the time, I tilted my head like she said – but all it did was keep the tears off my bottom lashes and instead running freely into my ears. But it soon became planted somewhere in my brain, ready to recite itself whenever I could feel myself getting emotional about the situation. It reminded me that crying wasn’t going to change anything. Ruining my mascara wasn’t going to take away the cancer. Crying over spilt milk wasn’t going to clean up the puddle. There was no point in crying - it was part of our life now and I had to realise that.

One operation, one round of chemo and numerous blood tests later, she has just started new treatment, due to finish by the end of January, and has been the same old lovable loon that she always was. Apart from telling us about the diagnosis, I’ve not seen my mum cry once. Not after her operation, or when I came home to her shaved head sitting atop her beautiful face for the first time, or on any given day that she decides she could cry – all day if she wanted to – because she had cancer.

 But she never did. For that, and for so many other things, she’s my bloody hero.
Oh god - here come the tears again... *tilts head back*

Monday, 2 December 2013

Life - according to my wardrobe.

A pair of shoes can change your life. A new haircut makes you feel like a new woman. That LBD makes you feel like a MILLLION dollars. 

I’m not sure if any of these are true. I’ll tell you one thing though. An old pair of shoes, the same ol’ haircut, and a lack of LBD in your wardrobe makes you feel like the 1p change that no one waits around for. 

I love shopping. I also love non-shopping. Non-shopping, in short, is when you spend hours at a time looking at clothes you want – but would never bother buying because you know you’d never wear them. So, a waste of time, basically. Take the midi skirt (or don’t, in my case). I think these are nifty little things – not too short, not too long, casual and formal... what’s not to like? Well, I’m pretty sure if I was wearing one, I’d look like one of those piping bags used to decorate the tops of cakes. Can I imagine myself wearing one with a cute blouse and ankle boots to work? Yes. Can I see myself pairing one with a crop top and some heels for a night out? Absolutely! Will either of these situations ever materialise? Doubt it. 

I have such a Love/Hate relationship with my wardrobe that I’d go as far to say it actually affects my mood in everyday life. Healthy, right? Who else wakes up in the morning with plenty of time to get ready for work, but then stands staring aimlessly into their wardrobe for 25 minutes in the hopes that something, anything is going to catch your eye that you don’t totally hate? That in itself will put me in a bad mood before I’ve even left the house. Sometimes, on particularly fragile days, I even get mad when I can’t find matching underwear.


 So that got me thinking – does an organised wardrobe make for an organised life? I’m very much an impulse buyer – buy now and find something I already own to pair it with later. Maybe if I was more tactical in how I shopped, I wouldn’t find it such a task to get ready in the morning/succeed at life. I can see it now… 

Oh yeah – I’m going to get this “I made my lunch last night so I can sleep in this morning” shirt and wear it with these “all the housework was done at the weekend, so I'm spending tonight watching Made In Chelsea and drinking wine” trousers. Not forgetting the “I bought this art for the lounge straight from a gallery” shoes and a “I'm totally over that relationship – and you” matching set. 

Anyone fancy a shopping trip?

Wednesday, 27 November 2013

A New Look!

Look at my pretty new blog! With the help of Serena at Pretty Wild Things my page has flourished into something that is totally my own - and I looove it. As someone who hates Primark and the likes, you can imagine my despair when I started out and had to style my blog layout in a 'default theme'. Ugh.

She was so easy to work with, really friendly and gave me just what I was looking for! I know right- get a room! It's cool... I asked her out, she said no - but I'll always have this blog to remember her by. 

Thanks again Serena!

Tuesday, 12 November 2013


To most, I don’t exactly come across as a touchy-feely person. To Ewan, I’m probably the touchiest feeliest person around. I imagine I resemble some sort of koala bear – strictly in the clinging to a tree sense, not the chlamydia sense. But to the majority of others – I’m an arms-length kind of gal.

Want to know when I like to get my stroke on? When I’m SHOPPING. I can’t help but weave in and out of shops having a right good feel of what’s on offer. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not in Aisle 7 of Asda caressing the furniture polish – this is strictly clothing related.
At first I didn’t notice how much I did it -  a sleeve here, a collar there – until Ewan called me out on it one day, after witnessing me almost going to second base with a particularly beautiful jacket. I laughed it off at the time, and probably stopped doing it for the duration of the shopping trip – but the next time I went out I couldn’t help myself. I love me some sleeve.

It wasn’t until a recent trip to Topshop that I got stuck in a rotation with another feeler (that’s what I’m calling us – creepy right?), and as we flirted with half of the items in the shop, I couldn’t stop myself from realising how ridiculous we must look.

Image from Pinterest
A feeler in action...
“I like that jumper there…”
“Ooh yeah, that’s gorgeous! You should get it!”
“Hang on, best have a feel first… NOPE, IT’S LIKE A BED OF NAILS. Get it away from me.”

I mean, what do we really expect from copping a feel? I know I’m not the only one who does it… there are at least two of us out there.

Another thought that has crossed my mind is how much my own items of clothing have been felt up. It’s one thing masking yourself from the idea of your partner having been touched by someone else before you – but my clothes?!

I can’t bear the thought. 

Friday, 1 November 2013

My H2Overdose.

I’ve decided to drink more than 3 sips of water a day – I hear it’s good for you.
This has been long overdue. I know that I don’t deserve a medal for treating my body to the water it needs, and I should probably get a swift clip round the ear for not doing this sooner - but I’ve decided to blog about this incase there are people out there as daft as me.

Preach it, Shakira.

I have some serious skin issues, so I’m really hoping to hydrate my face more than anything else (take a back seat, digestion and internal organs), and I’ve decided to photo –document my face over the next 6 weeks to see if I notice a difference. The pictures won’t be shown until the 6 weeks is up, because my skin is so horrendous now – you’ll just have to believe that I’ve not doctored the images in any way before the reveal!

The health benefits of simply drinking water should make it a no brainer – better functioning insides, faster digestion, faster metabolism, more brain activity – and most importantly, it helps identify when you’re actually hungry and when you’re just being a wee fat pie. Genius!

The only downside to all this water consumption is the endless trips to the loo at the other end of the hall – but that counts as cardio, right?


Wednesday, 30 October 2013

Wearing the trousers.

I love that my last two words on the last post were: "I'll write."
Then... nothing.

Had you going for a while there didn't I? Apologies for staying away - the combination of moving house, no internet in the new flat and working through my lunch hours has resulted in complete radio silence recently. But no more! I have returned to bring you a ramble about relationships and some pictures of pretty clothes - hurray!

So my issue today is with being a psycho girlfriend. Or in my case - not being a psycho girlfriend. Confused? Me too.
When it comes to who wears the trousers in their relationship, this is what I've noticed:
Those who say they wear the trousers are lying, because they know better than to upset their significant - trouser wearing, relationship ruling - other. Those who say they don't, do so in a smug manner that so obviously proves that they are never out of their favourite pair.

Pretty trousers: Courtesy of Asos.
I can honestly say that in my relationship - we're all about skirts. No, Ewan is not a crossdresser - I just think we're both chilled enough to not take control of the relationship and make it one sided.
I know - if we were chocolate I'd eat us, right?

One doomed day recently, when Ewan let words tumble from his mouth, unaware of what was around the corner, we found ourselves discussing this very subject. Then boo let slip that his friends seem to think I let him off his leash too much. 
Oh hell no.
Firstly - I'm dating a crossdresser, not a dog.
Secondly - If he needs a leash, then we have problems more serious than who wears trousers and who doesn't.
Thirdly - I'm just not a psycho girlfriend. Soz.

I know you might think I should jump to the defence of womankind here and say that we're not psychos, we're just misunderstood, men make us this way...but I won't. Bitches be cray.
My problem is, I now feel like I'm being criticised for not being a psycho. 
Are they all having a right good laugh about how he does whatever he wants and I just "allow it"? Does Ewan join in? Does he think he can do what he wants without considering me?
Suddenly, before you know it - you're psycho girlfriend personified. 

Take my advice - try out a skirt once and a while. It could make things a whole lot easier.

Friday, 18 October 2013

This Huge Pond.

When I started blogging a couple of months ago, I was never really sure if anyone would read it. As you all know, the Blogging pond is the biggest of them all... and I'm a teeny tiny little fish in it. A tadpole, even.

But now, I find myself checking on a daily basis if page views have gone up/comments have been left/Instagram has been liked as if my life depends on it. I'm really thankful for all the people who tune into Me, Myself And... 
but you're all a bunch of bloody teases.

I think if you've enjoyed reading a post, you should want to follow the blog, but I would hate to be one of these people who pesters other bloggers for follows ("follow 4 follow?" Gurrrl, please.). If someone is here, reading what I've written, I want them to actually take it in and enjoy it. Or have a bit of a laugh. Or even hate it and troll all over my page! The point is, they're reading it. That's what matters. 

It's quite an intimidating community to come into - always wondering 'how did she make her blog look like that? How does she have so many followers? Is my writing as good as theirs?'
But it's important when starting out to stay true to what you wanted to achieve with the blog. I wanted somewhere to write, because I love it. I also wanted to post about clothes, because I love them. Writing is what makes me happy, not page views.

So yes, I hope that one day my blog will find its way to some loyal followers. But until then...

 I'll write.


Tuesday, 15 October 2013

The Double Discount.

I'm in the process of moving, so my life is a bit of a shambles at the moment and I don't have an internet connection yet.

I'm supposed to be working through my lunch today... but I had to do a quick post for all the H&M lovers out there. I've just bought myself these amazing £20 autumn boots - for £10! 

Go to this link for the codes you'll need. Remember; one code will only work as a new customer, and you need to apply that one first. Somehow at the moment there are TWO discount codes working together on sale items... GO AND USE IT RIGHT NOW.

I apologise for the aggressive nature of this post - but it's too good to miss!


Friday, 11 October 2013

My Beef with Brief Encounter.

Why are guys such assholes? They weren't always assholes, were they?
Yes, they were. 
For those of you who haven't seen it, Brief Encounter is a b&w film from 1945. Here is the plot summary from IMDB:
"At a café in a railway station, housewife Laura Jesson meets doctor Alec Harvey. Although they are both already married, they gradually fall in love with each other. They continue to meet every Thursday at the small café, although they know that their love is impossible.

Laura Jesson and Dr. Alec Harvey spend each Thursday in Milford - Laura running her shopping errands and catching a movie picture and Alec doing rounds at the hospital - before each boards a train at the end of the afternoon going in the opposite direction to their respective homes. They meet accidentally enough in the Milford Junction refreshment room while waiting for their respective trains when Alec helps Laura remove a piece of coal dust from her eye. Over the course of a few weeks seeing each other only on Thursdays, Laura and Alec fall in love. The problem is that each is already happily married with a family, and neither wants to hurt their own spouse. Laura tries unsuccessfully to avoid meeting up with Alec as her emotional need to see him takes over. They have to decide how to deal with what looks to be a doomed but life long romance with each other, while hiding their encounters from anyone, especially their friends and acquaintances who may see them together in Milford. "
Okay, first of all I just want to say - I do love this movie. I am in no way bashing the film. Both characters are adorable and it didn't take long for me to start rooting for them. But when bitches be walking around train stations preying on other people's husbands... I just can't sit quietly!

While it's all very well finding love when you least expect it and embarking on a whimsical and exciting new journey of love - married folks are a no go! The way they sympathetically portrayed adultery in the film angered me a little...but as I thought more about it, it just made me laugh. If something like that happened in the present day, there would almost definitely be a public shaming on Twitter, a lie-detector test on Jeremy Kyle and ultimately, a double page spread real life story of some jilted lover in Take A Break.

I wonder, if the same sort of attitude was still held today, would there be more or less affairs?
More or less people finding their true love - albeit finding them too late?
Would people have memberships on trains rather than dating websites in a bid to find their suitor?

I know - I'm getting ridiculous. But my point still stands. Cheating = bad, no matter the generation.
Shame on you, classic black and white movie!  
Don't even get me started on An Affair To Remember...


Saturday, 5 October 2013

My Bangs.

So I've been toying with the idea of having a fringe cut recently, which is pretty out of character for me - I'm about as adventurous with my haircuts as I am with my choice of hairstyle (straight or wavy... that's your lot folks), but I decided to stop being such a big girls blouse about it and booked the appointment. Here's some before and afters!


Contemplating the fringe...

Why don't my curls always sit like this?!

Hello fringe!

Well? What do we think?


Friday, 4 October 2013

Autumn Crazies.

I can't say I have a favourite season. I look forward to one as much as the next, and then moan about each one just the same when it eventually comes around. There are certain habits though, that we appear to adopt at the turn of a new season that, to be honest, make us all seem a little mad. Here are just a few things that we deem completely acceptable when the cold weather sets in...

The first and most obvious - moan about the cold weather.
Drink copious amounts of tea or coffee to warm yourself up rather than just throwing on another layer.
Use the turn in weather as a valid excuse to buy an entire new wardrobe and shun everything else you have owned up until this moment.
Go to bed 2 hours earlier than usual because its ‘so dark outside’.
That run you keep saying you’ll go for? Not now - s'too cold. Maybe next year when Spring sets in…
Justify paying £4 for a coffee because of Starbucks' cute little red Christmas cups.
Soup isn't a boring diet meal anymore - it's a necessity to stay alive. 
Start popping the paracetamol on a daily basis in a desperate, but doomed, attempt to fend off the flu making it's way round the office.
Eat three times the usual amount of carbs now that we are a safe distance from Bikini Season and running into the arms of Sweater Season.
Stop wasting your time checking the weather forecast because you now know the answer will almost always be: Rain.
Buy a hat. Never wear it.
Nap. Nap all the time.

Image: Google

Does anyone else have some Autumn crazies they'd like to share? 
Every one of you who don't reply are dirty, dirty liars.


Thursday, 3 October 2013

Pull And Bear

Run bank card. Run for your life.
I've found Pull and Bear.
I've tried really hard since coming home from the holiday not to go browsing around clothes websites. The fact that I'm skint should be reason enough, never mind the fact we're moving to our new flat this month. But I'm my own worst enemy when it comes to the odd cheeky browsing session that inevitable turns into buying...
I call it "brying".
So here is the next temptress I have stumbled across - Pull And Bear.
The first thing I notice about potential new websites is the layout of the page - a poor website can put me off before I've even had a proper look because I think - poor quality website = poor quality clothes.
This isn't an issue with this website. It's simplistic but stylish, the models are babes and it's really easy to navigate around. I know, I know - how hard can a clothes website be right? But I object to anything that delays these brand spankin' new items from being mine.
On my Pay Day List (which is getting longer and longer by the day) this month is the Safari jacket with leather sleeves above. Not too pricey at £59.99, it's a much more sensible choice than some of the pink/grey coats I've been flirting with this season. Another thing I've noticed recently is my attraction to yellow. I couldn't have cared less about yellow before now, so why in Autumn have I developed such a craving for it? I don't know and I don't care... I just gotta get me some yellow.
I should also mention they do accessories, footwear, jewellery, bags, scarves...
Oh dear.

Wednesday, 2 October 2013

My Face

I've decided to do a quick post with a few things I've enjoyed slapping on my mug lately. I'm terrible for sticking to the same old makeup routine, but I noticed recently that I was still using my "better wear 14 layers of makeup to hide all my blemishes" materials, when actually... my skin had cleared up pretty well. So I decided, after being on holiday, that I would tone it down a bit and try let some of these pesky little freckles show through, and these are some of my new favourite products!
So first up is Georgia sporting the Rimmel Stay Matte Foundation. They've had many a variation of Stay Matte before but I'd never really rated them. This however, is a mousse consistency - which seems to agree with my skin more than liquid foundations do. 
  •  This foundation goes a long way - so don't be startled by the size of the tube like I was. I've been using it for two weeks now and it doesn't feel like it's getting any emptier!
  • The texture is so soft on your face, and it gives an even medium coverage that can easily be built up without 'caking on'. 
  • This stuff has staying power. Take it from the girl who used to battle the daily 3 o'clock oil slide when my makeup had decided it was done with my slippery face and headed for greener pastures on my neck. Not only that, it pretty much held its own all day when I was on holiday and the sun was out. 
Next is the Kiko Like Latex Lipstick. I hadn't really heard much of Kiko but their products are pretty reasonably priced so I figured I'd give it a go. And I'm glad I did!
  • Don't be put off by the condom sounding name and the condom looking box. Look past that, and everything will be fine.
  • There are a few colours to choose from, but I went for a really deep plum colour which I love.
  • When wearing a dark colour on my lips I would usually slap on some Lipcote over the top to seal the colour but with Kiko, there's just no need. 
  • Some lipsticks can dry out your lips after they've been on for a while (does anyone else find themselves biting their lips more with lippy on?) but not this guy! I guess that's where the whole latex thing comes from but, again, imagine their not comparing it to rubbing a condom on your mouth.
As you may have read in my last post, it wasn't particularly sunny on holiday last week, but I had already thought of that...
  • Holiday Skin is one of the only 'No Streaks' products I have used which genuinely have no streaks every time.
  • I wasn't keen on the smell at first, but once it has dried in you hardly notice it.
  • It comes in a few different shades, so that the colour will still remain natural as you build it up.
  • They also do a Face Moisturiser version -  it's in a much smaller bottle, meaning you can take with you on holiday and sneakily apply to face and body after a shower to give the illusion of a natural tan without your boyfriend spotting it. Thus leading to him admiring how well your tan turned out despite some bad weather when you return home...Ahem.
Finally, this is the Caudalie Divine Oil. I orginially got this in a Glossybox last year and wasn't entirely sure what I was supposed to do with it. It claims on the bottle you can use it on face, body and hair, but my face was feeling particularly thirsty at the time so I decided to commit to the face.
  • It smells amazing - I can't for the life of me remember what kind of lotions and potions are in it, but trust me - it's good.
  • For someone who has quite oily skin, I was apprehensive about using an oil on my face. But this product soaks in almost immediately and leaves your face soft as a baby's behind.
  • It lasts a long time. I have been using the sample size on and off for a year now and I have only just run out. At £18.00 a bottle it might seem a little pricey, but it's definitely on my list of things to buy next pay day (who needs to eat anyway?).

So that's it - a beauty ramble and a half! I promise they won't happen too often... the makeup routine has just recently changed so you're safe now for a good 5/6 years.


Tuesday, 1 October 2013

The Hollister Hoody.

I'm alive and well - although not quite as tanned as I'd like to be.
I'm sure you've all been shiftily hanging around my blog wondering what the story is - well, here it is...
With the sun on my face and a drink in my hand, I didn't even mind that I had spent the wee hours of that morning sitting on my suitcase, trying to trap the many outfits I deemed necessary for a one week holiday (every week is fashion week in Bulgaria - didn't you know?) from maxi dresses to leather skirts and everything in between.
What I did mind, was the fact that 90% of what I packed was never even worn. I was fully prepared for a few items to sit idle in the bottom of the suitcase - although I would never have admitted that to my 'three tshirts and a pair of clean pants will do me' travel companion.
What I did mind, was the icy cold wind that set in after the sun snuck off every night, making each and every one of my carefully planned evening outfits laughable. I made it halfway through dinner on the first night before deciding I wasn't hardcore enough to battle the cold in the name of fashion, and took myself to one of the many stalls on the strip to purchase another layer.

As you can probably imagine - my choice was limited. After a lap around the makeshift stall, I chose a maroon Hollister Hoody. The real deal, of course, setting me back a cool 25 leva (about twelve quid). As I wrapped myself up in all its counterfeit beauty, I didn't even care if it was going to disintegrate in the wash... right now, it was my best friend. 

The friendship quickly blossomed - we were practically inseperable. Not a single cloud could dampen my spirits when Hollister Hoody was around - she had my back. Literally. 
Little did I know our whirlwind friendship was doomed from the start. The next night I didn't think twice about wearing it, determined not to have my heart broken by the icy winds of the night again. But nothing could prepare me for what I was about to witness...

Sunny Beach was having a Hollister Hoody party - and everyone was invited. Not only was I walking past people my own age wearing the exact same hoody in an array of colours, I was also avoiding eye contact with the many freezing middle aged women in the same get up. It's like we were all a part of some huge cosy pub crawl. I was just thanking my lucky stars I hadn't gone all out and bought the matching joggers - I would have insisted Ewan left me there for the rest of my days.

Here is the little scoundrel on a particularly cloudy day (please ignore my lack of effort in the rest of my appearance - I was on holiday for gahd's sake). Oh, and a big ass ice cream. 


Tuesday, 17 September 2013


I had never given the term ‘flathunting’ too much thought until now. ‘Hunting’ is probably the most appropriate word in the English language to really sum up the aggressive nature of looking for a place to live. 
Photo: gbrosseau,
I’ve been seeking my own little haven for a couple of months now. Since moving to a new city for my new job I’ve been living in a room filled with football memorabilia and farts with my boyfriend in his parents’ house. Don’t get me wrong; rent is disgustingly cheap and I get on really well with his family, so I’m by no means hard done by. But I first moved away from home 4 years ago… to be moving back home - into someone else’s home - is more of a fall, than a step backwards.
Starting out my search I was very optimistic. I knew what I liked, what I was looking for, and how much we could spend. As with any city there are some areas better than others. This is important to me, but not as important as say… how big the kitchen is/what the tiles in the bathroom are like/how nice the view is out of the window. Safety isn’t something I immediately think about when I know I’ll have Ewan there with me, but if I don’t feel safe, can it ever really feel like home?

When I think of girls in movies who have moved to some dark dingy city apartment in the hopes of landing their dream job there’s something I find almost endearing about their struggle. Then my mind wanders to Coyote Ugly when Violet’s apartment is broken into and all her cash being stolen from her freezer. Looking at the bigger picture, it all worked out in the end for ol’ Violet – the robbery led to her finding a job, being discovered as a singer and falling in love – but I, on the other hand, can’t sing and am already in love. It’s a lose lose situation for me. I’m just left sitting on the floor of my dingy apartment with no money and an empty freezer.

Hm, maybe the farts aren't so bad.

Friday, 13 September 2013

My Inner Bride.

I’ve wanted to do a relationship post for a while but until now, I wasn’t sure how to write it without either sounding like one of those blissfully happy folk I’ve spent years mocking, or risking my boyfriend finding it, reading it….and dumping me swiftly after. To be honest, I’m still not entirely sure how to go about it, but I’m going to give it a shot.

As a little girl, I never wasted my time wearing tablecloths on the back of my head or having mock wedding ceremonies with my friends in the back garden. Nor was I the inspiring child who confirmed from an early age that I didn’t need a boy to make me happy. I was just a child. Doing normal childlike things. There was no time for fantasising about my future wedding when there were dolls to be played with/rollerblades to be rolled on/spaghetti hoops to be eaten.

Nowadays though, as a 20 something in a long term relationship, I feel like the time has come to put down the spaghetti hoops and pick up the bridal magazine. Okay - not quite… but I am getting closer, and that scares me a little! I try not to fill my head with visions of a ring, a dress, an aisle, a house, a bump… because the whole scenario almost seems silly to me and my life. That doesn’t mean that I don’t do it though; far from it. With so many television programmes documenting the do’s, dont’s, dresses and dramatics of a wedding, they are dangling the matrimonial carrot right above our very noses…and I can only resist for so long before I bite.But hang on there bride buddies! Switch the telly off. Step away from the wedding favours. Aren’t we forgetting something here? It’s all good fun picking every final detail for your perfect day…but you’ll only get so far without a groom. If he so much as spies a magazine cutting of a dress, a castle…even a cake with more than two tiers, and runs for the hills, you’ll have bigger problems than choosing napkin rings. 
So here’s my question; when you see yourself saying I do…does he? How much do we trust the stability of our relationships before he’s popped the question and wrapped you up in a security blanket of marital bliss? Should we try to stop ourselves from imagining a future with the person we love just incase we end up getting hurt? I don’t think so. Perhaps a question more daunting than wondering if you’ll find someone to one day tie the knot with, is that of knowing you’ve found someone…but wondering if he wants to tie his knot with you. Maybe he is the one. Maybe we marry the second one. Maybe the the third one. Or the tenth one. All I know is, if we’re truly happy now…maybe we should enjoy what we have, hide any and all wedding porn in a secret stash under the bed and keep these bridal thoughts as our dirty little secret…


Wednesday, 11 September 2013

My Savings.

Football is a terrible, terrible sport. Football… makes me shop.

There was a game on last night with a pitch and men and a ball and… whatever. So I amused myself by having a browse on Asos – as you do – and before half time, much to my boyfriend’s disgust, I had packed my Save For Later list with £600 worth of clothes, shoes and bags.

Save for later – now isn’t that a beautiful thing? I love that they don’t call it a Wish List, like so many other websites. The phrase ‘Save For Later’ just feels like I’m making a promise to the item – a promise that I’m coming back for the little guy, even if it takes a while … a promise that can’t, and shan’t, be broken.

I wish I could say that I use it to collect whatever tickles my fashion fancy, only to mull over my decisions later and remove everything after putting it down to “impulse buying”. However, this is not the case. Before I know it, I find myself making up a number of ridiculous scenarios in my head about when I would need said item, in a desperate attempt to justify the purchase.

 For example – I probably don’t need the floor length, ball gown-esque Grecian style maxi dress as we move into Autumn. But then I, somewhat frantically, start to think about why I DO need it. What if a friend gets married and I need a dress to wear? Oh wait, none of my friends are even engaged. But what if I make a NEW friend, who IS engaged and SHE invites me to her wedding? Before you know it you’ve created an entirely fictional character and married her off just for the sake of purchasing a dress that you know you don’t need.

At this point, when I’m breaking out in cold sweats and questioning my own sanity, there’s really only one thing for it…
Save For Later.
Dress – I'll see you next week.
Ps – I am available for any and all upcoming nuptials. Guest, ringbearer, reverend – I'm easy, as long as I can wear my new dress.

Monday, 9 September 2013

Last Night.

There I go again, wearing that “do I look fat in this?” expression in every single photo from the night out. It looks a bit like this; sucked in tummy, shoulders back, one leg crossed over the other, arm fixed on hip…and sheer concentration behind the eyes. Now don’t get me wrong, after a few jars on a Saturday night you’re more likely to get photos of me on the floor with my dress tucked into my pants, but at the beginning of the night I do make a valiant effort to look nice.
Image: Pinterest
I’m not one of those girls who turn every night out into a photo shoot, but on this occasion I was keen to have some photos while I was still in a semi-coherent state, even if it did call for numerous toilet trips for hair checks, de-smudging of eyeliner and re-applying of lipstick. However, as the night goes on and the alcohol takes its tole one must be careful not to over indulge…looking back at photos of yourself with enough bronzer on your cheeks to stock an entire Benefit counter do NOT fond memories make. Trust me. 

Checking my reflection and feeling confident that all three of my heads were looking preened I strut back out into the club to find my friends had cornered a photographer to snap us. Before I reach the table I am already reciting the stance in my head; tummy…shoulders….leg - and as soon as the photo has been taken I’m quick to snatch the poor unsuspecting photographers camera to check the photo. After seeing the photo, much to my friends’ annoyance, I demand another be taken and really get my head in the game this time. Tummy…shoulders….leg….arm - the attempt to make it seem like a casual stance can be exhausting at times. But behold! Second times a charm and the photographer is sent on his way. Looking back now, I stand by my decision to push for another photo; come the end of the night, we decided to encapsulate the moment in a keyring for all eternity. The thought of reaching for my keys every time I unlock my door and having to see my little misplaced, chubby arm and half shut eyes…I could never forgive myself.

Another hot spot for club photo shoots seems to be toilets nowadays. Toilets. Where we go to urinate. Am I missing something here? Maybe its the perk of having a mirror to perfect your facial expression for the next big Facebook profile picture, but when you look back on that photo and notice a girl in the background emerging from a cubicle with vomit down her cheek, you’re going to wish you took it at the bar.

Am I alone in this ridiculous behaviour? Surely not. I comfort myself in thinking that the majority of girls are in the same frame of mind on a big night out, but maybe I just need to put the camera down in favour of the jagerbomb once in a while. After all, everyone knows the inevitable end of night pants photo is coming…might as well give the people what they want, right?

Thursday, 5 September 2013

The Fitting Room Ideal

If there was a 'fitting room watt' bulb available - I'd use it in every room of the house.

I have a friend who point blank refuses to try things on in a fitting room. REFUSES. And it completely baffles me. Why would you choose to buy something to then try it on at home and, after deciding that said something makes you look like a crazed shoulder pad fanatic (and THAT, is where my love of fitting rooms comes from...) have to take it all the way back to the shop?

It got me thinking about the way some people feel about these compact little decision makers. While it is a handy thing to have, you shouldn't trust them too quickly. In reference to the fitting room bulb, I think we can all agree that you can prance around the 65x50" box like Kate Moss for a good twenty minutes - but as soon as it comes to wearing your new purchase at home, away from the fitting room, you hate hate hate it. 

So while some girls take issue with the many mirrors reflecting all their 'bad bits', my issue is that the fitting room makes me look BETTER than I actually do. I think I might start calling them 'Fixing Rooms' instead... little rooms that provide a short lived ego boost by tricking you into thinking you look amazing. Which is wonderful when I'm having my Moss moment - but not so great the other 23hrs and 40 mins of the day...

Wednesday, 4 September 2013

The 12 Stretch.

Like the majority of women in the world, I'm not that body confident. I do look at other girls wishing I had their legs/bum/tum and pick faults with myself when I'm looking in the mirror. But - you have to tease me into the gym. Yep, I'm one of THOSE people. The only types of exercise I regularly indulge in involve doing laps up and down the high street, the occasional persuasive lunge to squeeze myself into a pair of jeans within the strict boundaries of a changing room, or the somewhat contortionist yoga movements involved in unleashing yourself from a top that you realise, only after putting it on, is far too small for you.
 More recently I’ve found myself doing reps of a new kind; a stretch and hold exercise guaranteed to lengthen and tone the arm….I call it the ‘Size 12 Stretch’.
Image: Pinterest
I remember a simpler time; a time where I could leisurely feel around behind the 8s and 10s before finding myself a size 12 and heading on my merry way to the till. No more. Nowadays I have to weave past the 4s, avoid eye contact with the 6s, fight through the fleet of 8s taking up half of the rail and ask the size 10s for directions before reaching the tops flirting with the back wall…my beloved size 12s.
I’m not here to argue on behalf of the ‘real girls’. In my opinion, a girls weight doesn’t determine her existence. I’m sure to all of those born petite or for those exercising their way to the front of the clothes rail…being excluded from the 'real' gang just because of their weight must be pretty hurtful. However, I can’t help but notice a decline in anything above a size 10 being properly stocked in high street stores, making way for the petite parade.
4,4,4,6,6,6,6,6,8,8,8,8,8,8,8,8,8,8,8,8,10,10,10,10,10,10,12- BINGO!!
With all this excessive stretching, my issue is no longer finding a size 12….it’s finding a size 12 with a sleeve generous enough to accommodate my Popeye-lookin’ super muscly right arm.
Maybe I’ll just stick to online shopping ’til I can bump myself up the rail to the 8 Reach or the 4 Grab…


Tuesday, 3 September 2013

Stop, drop and roll...

Like I've mentioned before, one of the best/worst parts of my job is all the clothes/shoes/websites I'm exposed to. Sometimes I'm just sitting minding my own business when BAM! An email with so and so's new A/W collection comes through. And while I know I should stop, drop, and roll the hell away from it... I never, ever do.

I thought I'd share a couple of my finds with you - first up is Think a mix between Asos and eBay, but without the bidding. They do Free Trials with a few different items every week - all you have to do is like their Facebook Page and share the Trial Item on Facebook, and they pick a winner! Worth it for some new threads, right? 

Aside from the freebies, the rest of the website has a lot to offer. There's a good mix of copycat fashions (think Zara coats and Asos denims) and individual designs - all at shamazing prices. I tend to go for the free delivery, which can take 5-15 days, but you can also get Express delivery in a few days for about a fiver. They're really good at keeping you informed with when the item has been dispatched and give a tracking order incase you get antsy about when the beautiful little package is getting dropped on your doorstep. Finally - as if I've not sold it already - every time you make a purchase, you receive She Inside points which eventually land you a VIP status on the website. I'm not sure what that means yet, but c'mon guys! VIP! 

Next up is a sentence I thought I'd never say. I am a Nasty Gal. 

Oh yes, that's right! Well no, it's not right actually. I am a self-proclaimed nasty gal due to my strong love for fashion website and all there completely un-nasty pretty, pretty clothes. Admittedly, the name put me off before I even browsed the website (I'm a bit of a snob like that I guess) but man am I glad I looked anyway (even if it was for purely judgemental reasons at first). It's like Asos with all the catalogue-y crap cut out, and because it's a UK version of an American site it's different from stuff you'll find on its UK counterparts. Plus a lot of the staple items are slightly cheaper! I've not bought anything from the site yet (oh Pay Day, where for art thou?) but as soon as I do I'm sure there will be a post about it - I predict many a purchase in the future!