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, Etsy.com
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 Sheinside.com. 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 Nastygal.com 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!