Men In Crates

As you all know, because I complain about it every other post, I don’t have a man in my life, so I don’t tend to spend a whole lot of time looking for gifts for men. But if I did, I would head straight to Man Crates.

HOW SUBTLE WAS THAT?

Fo’ realz, though, it’s pretty cool. Obviously I’d never heard of it before because I never know anything cool, but I was pleasantly surprised. Personally, I love shopping for boys’ clothes, but I know that that’s not always a present that they want, even if it’s something that they desperately need. Guys are categorically hard to shop for. It’s just a fact. So Man Crates does all the hard work for you! They have a selection of different themed crates which you can choose from, and they’re shipped with a crowbar to open them with! A CROWBAR! My faves were all the alcohol themed ones, surprise surprise, but especially the Personalised Whiskey Crate. I do have to say, though, I’m not a massive fan of their outright disregard for bows, ribbons, and fluff. Never underestimate the power of a well placed ribbon!

They have quite a few ‘survival’ themed crates (zombies, duh), and in that spirit, thought it would be fun to see what people would want to see in a crate if they were marooned on a desert island. I think we’ve all played this game, so you know the drill. This is what I would want, please!

#1  A man. A man would serve multiple purposes. There’s obviously sexy time, because, what else are you going to do on a desert island? But he’d also be useful for building shelter, protecting me from anything that might try to kill and eat me, finding food for us, and just generally taking care of me. I am not capable enough to be a feminist in this scenario; I would genuinely die within 24 hours. I think my top pick of man would have to be Thor – I know he’s not technically a ‘man’, or ‘real’, but no one’s really shipping me men in a crate either so we’ll just allow it. Plus, he’s a total babe. And I’m not just talking Chris Hemsworth in general here, I specifically want him as Thor. Okay? Good.

What. A. Babe.

#2  Alcohol. This would also serve multiple purposes, I believe. Primarily, it would be used for drinking because fuck being sober. But also as a disinfectant or as something flammable to get a fire going, perhaps? I would like red and white wine, bourbon, tequila, gin, and rum. Mixers are for pussies. Thanks.

#3  Ice cream. I’m not entirely sure how proficient Thor is in the hunter-gatherer way of life, though I imagine he’s pretty much amazing at everything, so I’m not too worried about starving. BUT YOU CAN’T HUNT OR GATHER ICE CREAM. In my opinion, ice cream is essentially it’s own food group and probably the greatest thing ever, so I couldn’t do without it. Flavours I would like include, but aren’t limited to: pistachio, lemon, coffee, and mint chocolate chip.

#4  Pen and paper. This counts as one and I would like an unlimited supply, please. Apart from having dirty, dirty sex with Thor, I imagine there is very little to do on this island. I would say that I’d use the time to start exercising and get really fit, but I think we all know that’s never going to happen. If anything, judging by my intended alcohol and ice cream consumption, I’m just gonna pack it on. I mean, what’s Thor gonna do? Cheat on me? GOOD LUCK WITH THAT, THOR. So, the simple pen and paper will provide endless entertainment. First off, I’d make a calendar to accurately log how long I’d been stranded with a literal god. Then it would be used for writing stories and making games. The usual.

#5  Tampons. Because this is the real world.

This list could have been a lot more exciting, but, as you can see, I’ve really gone down the practical route. Genuine essentials only!

What would you like to find in a washed up crate if you were marooned on a desert island?

“I write for the same reason I breathe – because if I didn’t, I would die.”

A few months ago, Angelle posted a lovely piece called ‘Why I Write‘. Reading the post and all the comments that followed it, it was so nice to see all these people that had the same kinds of feelings and motivations as me, people that I could really relate to, as it was never something I ever talked about with friends. I sometimes feel like, even if you’re not very good at it, writing is this really visceral thing, and that if it’s in you – and I mean really in you – you have no choice but to do it. It’s somehow both the most cathartic and exasperating thing you can do. It’s almost masochistic. But, really, would you have it any other way?

I have been writing since the moment I learnt how. Reading and writing were literally my favourite things to do as a child. Sure, a bit of colouring was nice for those rare moments where I wanted to switch off my mind, because, let’s be honest, what do you really get out of colouring? Maybe I was just bitter because I couldn’t draw for shit, but that ish was for babies; I was a grown up because I had all the words. I clearly didn’t subscribe to this ‘a picture is worth a thousand words’ idea, because, you know what else is worth a thousand words? Yep, a thousand words. I didn’t understand why almost no one else in my class found it as exciting as I did. With age, I have obviously come to understand that there’s more than this one creative outlet, but when I was a kid, it genuinely baffled me why anyone would want to do anything else.

I started with writing about writing. I had a little Hello Kitty notebook that was full of Mr Men and Little Miss book reviews, because fuck reviewing Biff, Chip, and Kipper. I would rehash the plot, and then use up to three ‘describing words’ to illustrate how I really felt about it. My mum was the only person who would read them, after I badgered her to, but I was okay with that. Everyone knew how the books went, I just felt like my opinion was worth being recorded. Some things never change, eh?

Writing about writing quickly turned into writing about everything after I watched Harriet The Spy. Yes, I watched the movie before I read the book – I was, like, six or seven years old, I didn’t even know there was a book. Let’s just take a minute to remember how awesome both were, though, shall we? It spoke to me on every level I had. It was the first time I realised that writing was something I could do. I could have my own words, not just write about other people’s. In the movie, Harriet says, ‘I want to learn everything I can, and I write down everything I see. Golly says if I want to be a writer someday, I better start now, and that is why I am a spy.’ So, naturally, I became a spy, too. So, off I went with one of my little Hello Kitty notebooks (we’d given them out in party bags and had shit loads spare) and I wrote down everything I saw. I was never without that notebook. I would sit on the stairs and listen to my parents’ conversations, scribbling down anything I thought I could later use as ammunition against them. I would sit in my classes and watch all the other kids; I’d write down which ones were picking their noses and sticking the evidence under their desks, who was talking to who about what, who was getting in trouble for using an ink eraser – you know, all that really important stuff. Luckily, unlike Harriet, I never got caught.

Then, through school and through reading more, I caught the fiction bug. It was fucking glorious. Nothing had ever felt so right in my little life. Like most kids, I had a crazy imagination and, up until then, I had channelled it into playtime. Not to brag or anything, but the games I started for my group of friends would turn into whole class shindigs within two lunchtimes. I was that good. So, once I understood how to turn all the thoughts in my mind into something tangible, so that I could truly share them with other people, I was all over it. I wrote short stories, I wrote plays, and I wrote fucking poetry. We all had a poetry phase, didn’t we? My house is full of shit like this:

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Let’s just take a minute to appreciate that I thought my play was worth £19.99

It started with stories about princesses and the like, but, as I got older, everything got a little bit more sinister. When I was in Year 6 I wrote a story about a woman being skinned alive and her killer using her intestines as a skipping rope. My parents may have been a little too liberal with the remote. It got to the point where someone would always die in whatever I was writing. I really couldn’t tell you why, though. In retrospect, I think maybe I thought that if I broached the subject of death, my writing would feel more ‘grown up’. I hated my voice. Everything I wrote felt like a child had written it. I wanted to write something that I would want to read, but that just wasn’t what I was producing. When I was 14, my English teacher, a woman I really admired, told me that I was writing about things that I was too young to understand, and that my content and voice were too mature. It was exactly what I wanted to hear, but in a negative light. I was too young to properly understand what she was saying, and even though I really looked up to her, I basically ignored all her advice and carried on with what I was doing.

Then, when I was at a new school with a new English teacher that didn’t know me, and the time came to do our creative writing coursework for our GCSEs, I was hella nervous. I tried to tone it all down a bit, I mean, someone obviously died at the end, but the rest of it was very hopeful. I handed it in and was pretty sure I’d done alright, but when everyone was getting their pieces back, I didn’t get one. Instead, she told me to wait and see her after class. I was scared shitless. I thought I had failed the whole thing. I thought I was going to bring shame on my ancestors. Who fails English?! It was the longest lesson of my entire life. Eventually, it ended and I went up to talk to her about why she had kept my paper. It turned out that I had gotten full marks and she wanted to question me about it because she thought I had plagiarised my whole story. She asked me where I got the idea for it, where I got the ideas for the names of the characters and why I was making pop culture references that were fifty years before my time. It was so surreal. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. I knew that, ultimately, she was praising me, but I didn’t believe her because I still hated my voice so much.

You know that feeling where everything you put to paper is just disgusting and you don’t know why you bother? I had that. All. The. Time. I couldn’t catch a break. So, instead of pushing through, I slowly started to give up. Then I went to university and writing became about essays and free time became about being drunk. I completely stopped writing for me. I told myself I was too busy to write stories, but, in reality, I had shit loads of time. I could’ve written a bloody novel. I’d just fucked up my priorities and confused being drunk with being happy.

I started up this blog after all my schooling was done, because as soon as my thesis was written, I missed writing. There was nothing left that I had to write. I’m not brave enough to share my fiction, but I wanted to put something out there. I wanted to find my voice and I wanted to share it. I’m not the most vocal person in real life, I don’t know how to express my feelings or show what I’m thinking, but I know how to do this. Maybe not very well, I don’t know, you can decide that. But, honestly, it’s the best decision I’ve made. I started writing fiction again, and it’s the only thing in my life right now that makes me really happy. I still fucking hate my voice, but it makes me really happy, and that’s all we really want, isn’t it?

Angelle asked, so I figure I should, too – why do you write?

Why Snapchat Is Your Enemy

If you still don’t know what Snapchat is by now, there is probably no hope for you. Snapchat is an app available on phones and tablets (Android and iOS) that allows you to send pictures and short videos that will ‘self-destruct’ after a set number of seconds. In addition, you can also add captions and draw on the snap you have taken, meaning you can get as creative as you want with it. Unsurprisingly, Snapchat’s key demographic is young people, or ‘youths’ as I like to call them (I’m actually about 80 years old) and if you show me someone between the age of 14 and 24 who doesn’t have it, I will be genuinely surprised. Then I’ll call them lame because Snapchat is fucking awesome. Misleading title, eh?

The prevailing reason for why I am such a Snapchat lover is pretty simple; I just really enjoy making weird faces. If there’s anything you’ll come away with from spending a few hours with me, it’s these two little things: I make a lot of faces and I make a lot of noises. As they are generally weird and unattractive, I’d rather not have concrete evidence of them in the forms of pictures and voice notes for people to mock me with – I have already provided them with an abundance of ammunition. So, enter Snapchat – the perfect medium to allow me to express myself whenever and where ever I want. Just last night I sent out a little video of me singing the Oreo chant from Wreck-It Ralph, because, why not? I won’t lie, it wasn’t well received, but, whatever, my friends are lame.

I know what you’re thinking. Awesome, right?

Of course, you always run the risk of someone taking a screenshot of whatever you have sent them, but, as you can see, I tend to keep it pretty PG so have nothing to worry about. Snapchat, or ‘Snatchchat’ as the cool kids call it, quickly took off as the ‘safe’ way to send dirty pictures. But, as we all know, due to that pesky screenshot function, there’s a solid chance your half naked selfie will end up on a poorly named Facebook page. Being the respectable and graceful young woman that I am, I don’t send dirty Snapchats. Whether this is because my mama taught me better than that, or because I’d rather not scare boys away with my abundance of jiggle straight off the bat, we’ll never know. If it’s something you’re into, though, good for you. Just don’t send me a picture of your dick. I don’t want that.

So, obvious screenshot issues aside, why is Snapchat your enemy? Why would I even suggest such a notion when I’m clearly all over it like Pooh Bear on a jar of honey? Could I have used a more innocent simile? Do you believe that I just Googled simile to make sure I had the right word? So. Many. Questions.

#1  Snapchat makes you forget that there are boundaries you shouldn’t cross. It makes you feel like you’re Bradley Cooper in that movie where he keeps popping pills. It makes you feel like the answer to everything is the same as the answer to the last question in the Mathlete competition in Mean Girls. But I have news for you; you are not limitless. The limit does exist. Just because you sent a picture of your balls for two seconds and then it disappeared, it doesn’t make it okay. Just because you sent a picture of you in your bra to a boy you know has a girlfriend, but then it disappeared, it doesn’t mean you’re not a homewrecker.

#2  You can’t see what you’ve sent once you’ve sent it. For the casual alcoholics amongst us, this is a real issue. I can’t tell you how many Snapchats I’ve drunkenly sent, which means I can’t tell you what they’re of or what they say. It’s entirely likely I have sent a couple of dirty ones, because, let’s be honest, I’m neither respectable nor graceful, but I genuinely have no idea whether I have or not. It’s pretty clear what the problem with this is; just because you were drunk and woke up having forgotten that you sent anything inappropriate, it’s more than likely that the recipient of said Snapchat wasn’t and didn’t. Subsequently, this can go one of two ways; it’ll have either piqued their interest and you may get laid out of it, or they’ll feel embarrassed for you and your relationship will never be the same again. But you were drunk, right? So it didn’t count? And it disappeared? So it’s like it never happened? NO. You dumb slut.

#3  Snapchat is not a loophole. Again, no more of this ‘it disappeared so it doesn’t count‘ malarkey. I won’t lie, I’m more guilty than Oscar Pistorious when it comes to this. I know it’s easy to think that a Snapchat conversation is harmless and you’re not actually engaging with someone you shouldn’t be, but you’re wrong. It 100% counts and you 100% won’t feel good about it. Cutting a person out of your life means cutting them off on Snapchat, too. Dramatic, but true.

#4  Snapchat Bestfriends. One of Snapchat’s fun little features is that it shows who your three ‘best friends’ are, ie, the three people you Snapchat the most. As my real life best friend found out recently, people (especially girls) actually look at who these best friends are. The girl that he is currently seeing looked at his Snapchat best friends, saw that she was one of them, and asked who the other two girls were. One is a girl he slept with whilst seeing her, and the other is his ex-girlfriend of a bajillion years that he never stops talking about and is still in love with. Awkward. Although I don’t have a problem with this feature, I don’t at all understand it. Whatsapp doesn’t inform all your contacts who you talk to the most, why does Snapchat? Bizarre.

Are you a Snapchat lover or hater? Have you had any mishaps with the app?

How To Avoid The Night Bus

If you are a regular human being, it is fairly likely that you have had to take a night bus home at least once in your life. If you haven’t, it’s exactly like the Knight Bus in Harry Potter, give it a try!

I hate the night bus. I hate that 80% of people on it are drunk (it doesn’t matter that I am, too). I hate that 90% of people on it are just plain fucking weird (it doesn’t matter that I am, too). I hate that if you fall asleep, the person next to you will try to steal your wallet out of your pocket. I hate that 18 year olds think that it’s okay to interact with you. I hate that it smells like McDonald’s (it doesn’t matter that I probably contributed to that). And I hate that it stops a 20 minutes walk away from my house and I have to run the risk of being raped and stuffed inside a suitcase to get back to my bed.

So, here are some handy tips to avoid all that!

#1  Get a taxi. Lol, jk. If you’re anything like me, you’re basically destitute and ‘taxi money’ is actually better utilised as ‘three more drinks and a shot money’. If, by the off chance, you are a fully fledged functioning member of society and you still, for some unknown reason, read my blog, a taxi is undoubtedly your best bet. But you already knew that.

#2  Stay with a friend. I know what I just said, but if there is a group of you, you can forfeit one drink and share a taxi. As there is also safety, and comfort, in numbers, you could also take the dreaded night bus together. They will be there to act as a buffer when weird boys try to get you to go back to theirs and ask if you and your best friend are ‘beating’. They will also (hopefully) make sure that you don’t get raped and suitcased on your way home. Sometimes travelling in packs doesn’t work out, though. Sometimes one of you will get off at the wrong stop whilst the rest of you have fallen asleep, missed the right stop, and ended up at the end of the line where you have neither your shoes nor your phone. Don’t worry, though; this is fairly rare. After all, you don’t turn 23 every day.

#3  Stay out all night. When you are young and excited about the world and your body bounces back like you’re part of the fucking Marvel Universe – this ends, and gets progressively worse, at the tender age of 22, by the way – staying out all night is a great idea. It helps that there are also a number of ways to do this.

  • Late, late, late night clubs. I’m talking like 6am close, here. Just drink like you’re in Mad Men and dance like you’re in Footloose until the sun rises, and then hop on a tube home to bed. You may think that sleeping during the day is a waste of your youth, but, really, what else have you got going on?
  • Food establishments. I’m talking 24 hour Starbucks, Subway, McDonald’s – all great shouts. When we were 18 and thought we were really cool acting like we didn’t have homes to go to, my friends and I used to stay in the 24 hour Starbucks in King’s Cross. I won’t lie though, if I saw people doing that now, I would judge the fuck out of them. Maybe I have grown up a little.
  • Public buildings. Okay, so I don’t really know what public buildings are open all night, but I’m assuming that if you’re out and trying to avoid the night bus, it’s likely you’re a student. So hit up campus! Last summer, after I finished my last exam, casual drinks with my two best boys turned into bar-hopping around Soho and flashing a boob at G-A-Y Late. As my friends don’t live in London, and I couldn’t rock up to my Asian household at 5am with two beautiful boys in tow, we decided to brave the city at night and took to the streets. After eating our Subways sitting on the curb like the hoodrats we are, it dawned on me that the library is open 24 hours and we could find shelter there. So, off we skipped to UCL. However, the feds campus security was on to us and we got turned away from both the Science Library and Foster Court (yes, I’m name dropping buildings you don’t care about, deal with it). According to the ‘Overheard at UCL’ Facebook page, we may have pleaded with security to allow us into the building because we just wanted to have a threesome – but who knows. Eventually, we stumbled our way into the main building and took cover until the trains started running again. My body hated me, but it was so worth it.

#4  Get lucky. Going back to someone else’s and having a lil bit lot of sexy time is the ideal way to avoid the night bus. Why? Because you’re getting laid, duh. So, you have two options here – a) you get your flirt on and find someone in da club to bang, or b) you booty call a big bootied hoe. Be warned, though, both may lead to a bus journey of shame in the morning..

a) to be honest, if you’re a girl, I don’t really recommend going back to some strange boy’s house – you know how I feel about being put in a suitcase. However, this doesn’t mean you can’t use them to buddy up and share a cab or bus with you. If things like stranger danger don’t cross your mind, though, by all means, go back to theirs! I actually really enjoying seeing different boys’ houses and bedrooms – and have more than once been told to stop looking around like I’m judging them. So, just remember, don’t be nosey in a way that may get you stabbed.

b) if you’re out and you already have a slice somewhere more convenient than your house, call them. There’s literally no shame in it; I did it a couple of weeks ago. It’s a win-win situation, you avoid shitty travel and you get laid – what more could you want?! If you’re really lucky, they’re also out somewhere nearby and can go back to their’s with you, because, let’s face it, it’s never particularly classy to turn up at someone’s off your face when they’re completely sober. On the other hand, if you’re worried about being classy, you’re reading the wrong blog.

So, there you have it! Some super simple ways to avoid the night bus! Do you ever partake in any of these? What kind of travel do you hate?

23 Things I (Ir)Rationally Love

I’ve seen a few variations of these listy type posts going around – Aussa, Angelle, Samara – and as I’m one to hop on the bandwagon, I couldn’t resist. I’m stubborn as fuck so I refuse to accept that anything I love is irrational, but, here ya go..

1  Making weird faces. Smiling is so mainstream.

2  Sugar on white rice – don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.

3  Purposely making situations more awkward than they need to be for my own amusement.

4  Quoting The Big Lebowski whether any one else gets it or not.

5  Playing with fire.

6  Playing with wax.

7  Sitting under my desk to read.

8  Blow jobs.

9  Dressing up and playing with my teddy bears. At the age of 23.

10  Beauty Blogs + buying make up. I wear 3% of what I own.

11  Picking at my nail polish. After I’ve spent hours doing really cool designs.

12  TYPING IN CAPITAL LETTERS.

13  Writing things by hand instead of typing them.

14  Shots, shots, shots, shots, shots.

15  Complaining about my period pains.

16  Doing my eyebrows. What’s more important than eyebrows?

17  The moon. I just love it.

18  Side ponytails.

19  Wandering around Selfridges/various department stores, putting all the handbags on my arm and asking, ‘Does this suit me? Is this a good everyday bag for me?

3.1 Phillip Lim Mini Pashli – every time

20  The smell of library books.

21  Picking scabs. My legs are more scarred than a ten year old boy’s.

22  The E! Network. Sorry not sorry.

23  Eating ice cream outside in the cold. Bliss.

Do you relate to any of these things? What are some things that you irrationally love?

Sisterhood of the World Bloggers Award

Having only been blogging for four months, I was unaware that there were awards and the like for this shizz! It was such a sweet surprise to be nominated by dudesandshit, who is, by the way, hilarious – check her out! I think this is a lovely way of creating awareness of other women’s writing and such a fun way of showing someone that you love their stuff!

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To accept the award:

  • link the person who nominated you
  • nominate and link 10-12 other women’s blogs that you love to read
  • and answer the [random] questions below

Your favourite colour? Green

Your favourite animal? Giraffes, elephants, owls, penguins, monkeys

Favourite non alcohol drink? Coffee

Facebook or Twitter? I check both constantly

Your favourite pattern? It’s not something I’ve ever considered.. floral?

Do you prefer getting or giving presents? If we’re being totally honest.. getting. Same applies to oral

Your favourite number? 3, 13

Your favourite day of the week? post-MSc life, ie, unemployment, makes every day pretty much the same

Your favourite flower? Lillies and orchids

What is your passion? I DON’T KNOW. Hence my current predicament

Here are the lovely ladies that I nominate

Incurably Curious

Hacker. Ninja. Hooker. Spy.

The People I Have Slept With

thingsmyexsaid

Yoonanimous

Girl, Intoxicated

wanderingwalls

My Disgraceful Life

sophiaspeaks

Young & Clueless

I hope you enjoy them as much as I do!