Small Pleasures

I met someone recently who lives by the rule that it's the small things in life that make you happiest. Like you can have a big flash motor, but you know as well as the next (wo)man that there is no happier place found than that in a pack of Malteasers in your Jim Jams.

Who needs millions of pounds and a Lambarghini when we have some of the following ey?

Life's Small Pleasures 

- Finding a pack of biscuits you forgot about when you've just put the kettle on. Getting your dunk on. Then the feeling of championship when the biscuit doesn't collapse into the bottom of your brew.

- Finding a fiver in your purse that got shoved in between all those receipts. Winner winner chicken dinner.

- Talking of chicken - that little 99p menu they have in KFC. Small but perfectly seasoned treats on any budget. 

- Also whilst on the chicken subject - when you finally reach your 1/2 chicken in Nandos AND you remembered your card. All of the free meat. 

- Basically - just chicken in general. 

- Cleaning your ears. Ok, a bit rank but that feeling of getting to an itch you can't scratch is just world changing. 

- Cheating a self checkout. Yes my courgette didn't scan and I've walked out of here like it's nothing. Boom. 

- Ikea Market Place. Kit out your flat for £3.50 and have a hot dog. Say what!! 

- Waking up on a Saturday thinking its a weekday. Realising. Doing a little bed dance and turning back over. 

- Turning over in general. Lovely. 

- The smell of a fresh out the machine washing. Unless you use crap fabric softener. But on the whole. Bliss. 

- Cold pizza. Banging. 

- The removal of ones bra after a long day at work. Double Banging. 

- Clean sheets. Game over. 

- Finding an episode of Friends that you haven't actually seen yet. That's a proper treat. 

- Chicken chow mein on a hangover. Hello world! 

- Getting a seat on your morning commute. When that shit happens you've convinced yourself your in for a promotion by the time you've got to Victoria - cos YOUR LUCK IS IN.

-Potato waffles. Smiley Faces. Any kind of fried potato based merriment.

- Taking your time on a shower. Really getting involved with it. Having a little sing. Getting a bit pruney. So good. 

- Stretching. Everyone LOVES a stretch. Defy anyone not to have a little grin when they're getting down with their morning, still in bed, stretch. 

- Waking up a good couple of hours before your alarm is due to go off. That's lush that.

- Winning your money back on a scratchcard. Cash. Back. 

- Back to chicken. Chicken nuggets. At any time of day! 

- Finally going for a wee when you've needed one for AGES

& last but not least (this will loose me some fans) 

- Doing a burp a little while after eating a McDonalds. I don't need to say anything about that that blissful little flashback 

LLx 

What Emojis Really Mean

LLx 

Girl Pain

After waking up super late, with hair that looked like I'd done ten rounds with a bush this morning, I was running behind. Well behind. As way of a change. As such, I was forced to apply my make up on a packed London Victoria bound train. Not OK.

I looked up, whilst using my iPhone camera as a mirror (all of the class, especially when your camera takes a photo of you by accident, see above) to see a bloke staring at me. 

It wasn't through lust (clearly - 8am Jo aint a sight to behold), it was through pure and utter bewilderment....Bewilderment, that on a moving train, I was painting my face in with some precision using a non reflective surface as a mirror. He looked on in agony as my mascara wand reached my eyeball. The train halted and the wand went into my eye. Like a true pro, out came the face wipes, away went the tear and on I carried. By this stage my man looked like he wanted to weep.

It was in that moment that it dawned on me, that there are many painful things in life that only females will understand.

Boys. Read. Take Note.

The things we go through. 

Here's some of them. (credits to our Shezza Webb for her help on this one today)

The Mascara Wand In Eye

The reason for this post. No sting quite like the entry of pure black liqud into your pupil...on the end of a sharp bristled stick. Once the pain passes, along comes the 3 hour fear that you'll contract some sort of eye infection and loose your eye. Because you're a woman, so as such are completely irrational. 

Nail Varnish Remover In A Cut

Oh hey pure acid in my blood stream....how do?! Que... jumping around your room like a complete fruit cake whilst still managing to not smudge or knock your recently applied Barry M.

 Girl...you got this.

Tweezing

Ohhhhh. The one by one removal of every hair in your face. One at a painful time. Whilst you hang your head under a bright lamp to make sure you don't miss any strays. All because it's the week before payday and you can't afford a thread. Pain.

Threading

The joys of having a small grandma lean over your head with cotton in her mouth whilst she slices your face apart. Like the eyebrows aren't bad enough...roll on my girl getting one knee on the arm of your chair and starting on your top lip. TOE. CURL.

Deodorant

Deodorant on a freshly shaved armpit. 

Holy. Mary. Mother. Of. God.

Catching Your Leg On A Razor

Oh yes. The removal of one's own skin on a Lady Bic. Now that's bad. Putting cream on your leg afterwards. I said GOD DAMN!

Getting Your Hair Caught In A Zip

No lads, clean your minds. Your head hair getting caught in your coat zip. Tears on a train mate. Tears. On. A. Train.

When A Bloke Bites Your Lip And Thinks It's Sexy

To a degree, we can all get involved and enjoy the odd nibble. When matey starts chomping on that thing like it's a corn on a cob and you're just sitting there thinking...I gotta put lip coat on that shit tomorrow and man is that going to sting!

Underwire Appearing From Nowhere

Oh hey old bra.

 Oh hey underwire popping out the side and straight into your breast. 

Oh hey paranoia that you might end up without a boob by the end of the day.

Chaffing

Come on we've all had it. Especially the larger thighed amongst us. You wear an older pair of tights, the elastic isn't what it was and low and behold your dear old legs rub together like a pair of bastards. Ever so red. Ever, ever so sore.

Roll on the ritual humiliation of having to Sudocream them bad boys like you've got nappy rash!

Hairbands

When you leave a hairband on over night. And you wake up with a trench in your arm. And a female irrational fear that you might loose your hand. Yeah. That. 

Touching Of A Tender Boob 

That sensitive time of the month...and someone goes for a grab of the boob. And as much as you don't want to ruin the mood, you want to suckerpunch them in the head. Then fall into a heap on the floor.

Mother Nature

That time of the month in general. When you are a rank, sweaty, bloated mess with a lower belly that feels like it's having a knife run across it. LUSSSSHHH. 

& last but by no means least.

Our favorite..

Waxing

As if the ripping of one's hair and skin onto strips of paper isn't agony enough, nobody quite prepares you for the hot shower afterwards, when you feel like you're nether regions are going to explode. But above all that is the agony of having to have a conversation with the woman who is in between your legs with a lollystick and a hot pot of wax.

'All the way back dear?'

'Please...and why not just strip off the remainder of my pride whilst you're there babe'

Cheers

LL x

Life Lessons Eastenders Has Taught Us All

In celebration of the 30th year of everyone's favourite soap, and to celebrate an epic run of live episodes, here are some of the best things Eastenders ever taught us.

Being a murderer is pretty run of the mill stuff. Everyones killed someone at some time. Casual like.

You can run a successful, long standing, second hand car business that will run for years with a customer reach of only 30 people.

No matter how well off you are, how big your house is or how many kids you have you'd never dream of buying a washing machine....Launderette Massive.

You can get through life with only ever shopping in a Mini Mart. All. You. Need.

It's ok to sometimes sleep with people you're related to.

You can afford London rent just working 3 mornings a week in a caff. 


Whenever you get in a cab, a theme tune will play. And you'll be forced to stare out the back window.


You'll only ever drink in one pub. Ever. In your whole life.

If you set light to your family home, but you're a nice guy, you'll get away with it. 

If you do have a massive fire, it's fine because your house will look exactly the same again in about two weeks. 


Sometimes you'll go away for a while, and when you come back you'll look like someone completely different. Because you are someone completely different. But nobody will bat an eyelid.

You'll end up in prison at least three times in your life. It's cool tho. Cos Phil's brief will get you off
. 

It's a normal occurrence for an arson attack, a kidnap, a murder, a birth and a comical interlude to all happen in half an hour and all within a square mile of each other.

Peggy Mitchell took magic tablets at birth and as such will never die. Ever.

If you're called Tracey you must spend your life standing in the background and never speaking.

& last but not least 

If you die, it doesn't always mean you're dead for always. You can come back to life.

 Also pretending to die is fine. Totally OK and normal. 

Loosing Your Shit

As you probably gathered from last week's post....I'm bloody knackered. For the last four or five weeks of savage working, I've managed to keep on going.

This week I hit my wall. 

I went at about 60mph into a 6ft breeze block monster of a wall. 

I've been walking around most of the week feeling like I've got jet lag, my reactions are stupidly slow and trying to muster the power of speech has been a challenge at times. Hair washing and make up application are a thing of the past.

In fact it got so bad this week that this is a picture my esteemed colleague took of me on Friday afternoon. 

Yes, yes I am asleep on a desk. Yes, you'll be pleased to know that I went to the gym this weekend because I hadn't realised that my back had become ever so wide from my diet of full fat coke and toast.

The tiredness has made me quite irrational. My reactions to stuff aren't as sane as they were at the beginning of January. I find things are aren't even funny, so hilarious I'm sure I've done a little wee at my desk. I've also found myself completely and utterly loosing the plot at mundane things that would normally never bother me. 

Do you ever get that?

Of course you do. And here's a list of the most common things that make a tired girl loose her shit. All of which happened to me this week. Enjoy. 

Slow Walking People.

Slow walking people on the way to station. People that dither when boarding the train. People that stop and look up at the sites on my way to the office. All of you need to immediately get out of my face, out of my way, out of my life. Before I am forced to sucker punch you in the back of the head to SHIFT YOU ALONG! 

The Breaking Of A Favourite Nail. 

You all know that nail that you have, that's a good length, and nice shape...would look great in a jewellery catalogue. Yeah when that breaks....

Shit. Storm

The Spilling Of A Drink.

When all week you've been longing to be sitting down, in good company, in a nice pub, with a chilled glass of wine. And on the way back from the bar the wasted tramp girl knocks your elbow and it spills on your boots. That you just cleaned. Yeah - you, me, outside. Right now.

The Missing Of A Train.

Alright Southern Rail, at no point in the last 3 months have ANY of your trains been on time. At the very least you're always 2 minutes behind schedule. Oh yeah, except today when I chanced another 30 seconds in bed. Today you decide to be punctual and actually provide the service you promise. Whatever. 

The Noise Other People Make When They Eat.

Oh you think that munching on that salad with your mouth open is an acceptable way to go about lunchtime do you? YOU SOUND LIKE A HORSE. Kindly remove yourself from my presence.

Getting Caught In The Rain.

It's actually quite useful as it washes away the rage tears. But when you arrive at your final destination and your hair resembles SideShow Bob's...that's when the red mist really kicks in. So, so pleased I got up an extra ten minutes early to straighten my white girl afro.

 Chuffed. To. Bits. 

Questions.

It's lovely when your Mum pays such an interest in your working week but by question 765 of a ten minute conversation the red rag/ bull mentality descends. I'm fine. Work's fine. My general health is fine. Now...silence. PLEASE.

Queues 

I mean, there's nothing really to say is there. The pure bloody audacity of people wanting to shop at the same time as me, let alone wanting to purchase more than two items, is enough for me to commit third degree murder. Go home. I want to shop, purchase my goods, pack my bags and leave said establishment without stopping walking. When I stop I find it really hard to start up again!

Dressing Yourself

Why is getting changed when you are K-O'd so hard? I'm not being funny but putting on a bra when you're rolling on minimal sleep is pretty much like completing a Mensa entry exam and is more frustrating than words can really explain.

ARMS. WON'T. REACH. ROUND.

STRAPS TWISTED
RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

& last but by no means least.

The dreaded.

The Non Reply To A What'sApp.

I CAN SEE YOU'VE READ IT - JUST ANSWER MY BLOODY QUESTION. How hard is it just to have basic manners? I mean really, did your parents just drag you up or what?

Jesus.

LLx

Things You Believed Were True At 15.

It's been a week of throwbacks.

Firstly, we had an email from a guy we went to school with wanting to set up a secondary school reunion because it's been 10 years since we left delightful Harris City Technology College. I haven't seen this guy since then, but apparently Laura & I's Facebook feed makes us ideal candidates to get a load of practical strangers in a pub together and get them suitably pissed. Offensive? Accurate? You decide.

Then of course everyone on Facebook started sharing their first ever profile pictures. Here's mine, just to make you laugh. Also - whoever OK'd me to have them highlights needs shooting.

And last but by no means least, an old friend of mine (I won't mention how many years it's been that Kara has had me in stitches) shared this Buzzfeed link with me on Facebook this week that depicts 25 pictures that will take all Brits back to secondary school...it's hilarious.

http://www.buzzfeed.com/robinedds/haha-it-says-boobless#.siwZ0z9QmL

Nostalgia well and truly kicked in and got me harping back to my 15 year old, hooped earring wearing, slicked back hair self.

As well as the fashions, catchphrases and out and out stupid things we used to do, it got me realising how many things you genuinely believe are true when you are in your mid-teens....here's some of them.

The 20 Things You Believed Were True At 15.

1. If a boy had his right ear pierced, he was homosexual. Left and he was a hard nut. Both? More than likely on a suspended sentence for some kind of robbery.

2. Being thick was attractive. End.

3. Being rude with no manners was even more so. Boys that got thrown out of class for abusing the teacher were 9/10 times more likely to get laid before their 16th birthday. Scientific fact.

4. If you had mates that went to another school you were cool as fuck.

5. Doing your homework well and on time basically meant you deserved no mates. If you weren't in Friday night detention you would never get an invite to any party.

6.Snogging was more important than anything. Ever.

7. Actually, no, your virginity was. And having sex when you were still pretty much a child wasn't only acceptable but encouraged.

8. Braces were a hindrance on life. No thought given to how grateful you are now that you don't look like Stone Henge. The day you got them tightened was the worst day EVER. That actually was, I to this day have never known pain quite like that.

9. Walking around your local shopping centre with no money, or purpose, was a perfect way to spend a Saturday afternoon. Let me just sit on this bench, with my mate, near that group of lads. Let's not talk to them though. Cool? Cool.

10. SIMS WAS REAL LIFE. You felt like an absolute boss when you discovered a new cheat.

11. Bunking fourth period RE with Mr Dane to have a fag at the back gate was your human right.

12. All teachers were dickheads. No bars held or respect given for their patience and ability to nurture your very few skills.

13. Your A3 Design & Technology folder was a perfect place to reflect your personality. Mine had a massive picture of Usher on it...and some badly pixelated pictures of fashion brands logos that I found on Google (I was doing Textiles so was well fashion init). I also asked Jack Moorcroft to tag my name in the corner of the card during one tutor time because I was beyond cool....not as cool as him mind. He carried a Sharpie everywhere just to 'tag' stuff.

14. Talking of tagging. Boys that had a 'tag' were fit. Boys that 'tagged' the desks at school with their compass were basically husband material. Boys that 'tagged' train station walls? Well they just made girls pregnant by looking at them.




Again. Scientific fact.

15. Being selected for competitive sports was as important as the general election. The day I got chosen to play Basketball in one of our Faculty Tournaments was a Dear Diary moment. I now realise that my selection was only due to the fact that I was weirdly tall for a) a 15 year old, and b) a female, but...Nick Mathius, wherever you may be, you really made by 2004.

16. Asking people out was limited purely to MSN messenger. Some shit don't change - have you met What'sApp?

17. Dial up internet was sent to earth to ruin your life. What do you  mean I have to stop talking to Tyrone from the year above because Mum needs to use the phone? Such a piss take
.

18. As a girl, you were only allowed to be funny if you were ugly or had braces. Or you were fat. Actually, if you were fat you didn't need toe even really bother with the jokes. People still laughed. It's fine, I can say it..I was ever such a large teenager, but ever so funny.

19. Mopeds were a perfectly acceptable mode of transport. No concerns at all about putting a hormone ridden boy on a what was essentially a hair dryer on wheels.

And last but not least.

20. These backpacks were a tardis...without fail you WOULD get everything you needed packed into one. And if your books didn't fit, you just wouldn't take them to school that day.

LLx

Honestr

I'm not sure how I feel about online dating. I really can't make up my mind.

I've friends who are engaged to, are living with and are in perfectly contented relationships with people they met on the world wide web. I have others who are currently going on four online dates a week, often to realise that the guy over the table actually was the inspiration for The Hunchback of Notre Dame and isn't the Ryan Gosling look a like they'd be swooning over in the kitchen at work. Or in some stranger cases, they do look like Ryan Gosling, but when they speak they sound like Sloth from the Goonies.

On the surface, online dating seems pretty damn harsh if I'm honest. The likes of Tinder allowing you to merely swipe the prospective man of your dreams out of your life purely based on one crappy picture of him posing in the gym and his first name all seems very final and cruel to me. Granted, it's unlikely that I'll ever end up with someone called Elvis (really?!) or somebody that genuinely deems it acceptable to remove all clothing in the 'Free Weights Zone' and take a selfie, but these could be genuinely nice blokes that aren't going to get a look in because we're all a bit nameist.

I understand that the game has changed quite considerably of late and many singletons agree that 'pulling' or 'getting chatted up' or even worse 'chirpsing' on nights out seems to be something that's dwindling. Mainly due to the fact that every time an opportunity arises to make eye contact with somebody you find attractive in a bar, you realise they are looking down, down at their phone....more than likely "swiping" the living shit out of you and everyone in a 5km radius leaving minimal opportunity to chat.

I also have issues with the fact that you can say pretty much anything you want about yourself on an online dating profile and lead someone into a false sense of belief that they are about to embark on a romantic journey with a 5'7" leggy blonde with an incredible sense of humour, a cultural range of hobbies and an appreciation for fine art when, in fact, they are about to meet 6'8" Doris from Merton who literally goes to the Whoops! section in Asda for entertainment.

It got me thinking that maybe this whole online game would be better if participants were forced into being completely honest. I understand this is completely unachievable and there is no way of policing it, but it my head I think it would be good to launch a new app.

Goodbye Tinder, Grindr, Happn & OK Cupid!

Hello, Honestr - The Ugly Truth

Want to see what I mean in real terms? Using myself as a willing example, see the difference between the two profiles. I can really see this catching on.

Standard Dating Website Profile (also written as if I am the dullest of dull females)

<<Insert customary Instagrammed photo that makes me look far more attractive than I'll ever be>>

Name: SexyJo898

Age: 21-29

Occupation: Fashion

Height: 5'8" (no short guys need apply)

Hair: Red.

Eyes: Blue

Body Type: Curvy

Hobbies: Nights out with my girls, gyming it, cinema, nice restaurants.

From: South East.

Dislikes: Carbs, scary movies, dishonesty

Anything else: Just ask *winky face emoticon*

Honestr Profile

Name: Jo. I'm not putting my surname on here in case you are a nutter and I come home tomorrow to find you hiding in my bin.

Age: 25. Nearly 26. Had a mild meltdown on my last birthday because I would now be classed in the 'Overs' category on the X Factor. That stung.

Occupation: Admin. All of the admin. Yes, I work for a fashion company, but I spend a large portion of my day sending emails. I see the actual clothes about once a week. At most.


No, you can't use my discount.

Height: 5'8" - but don't sweat it too much. I wear heels, on average, 4 times a year and even then they stay on my feet for about 3 hours maximum before I burst into tears because I either have blisters or have taken a tumble down a flight of stairs.


 This is probably the only time I really cry. Except when I watch Home Alone. That bit when the mum finally comes home just ends me.

Hair: Red. Completely unnatural. It's completely red for one week in every 6. Then I get a really fetching mousy brown strip down my parting that stays there until I can face the arm ache attached to an at home hair dye kit. That coupled with the bleach fest that has to happen on the bathroom afterwards to stop it looking like a murder scene.

Eyes: Blue. Unless I have a hangover, or have been working like a dog. Then they are kind of reddy/pink. A bit like those you'd find on an albino rabbit. Oh, and you'll rarely get to see them properly as they are often barricaded behind a rather fetching pair of specs, that I have to wear all the time to stop me getting on the wrong number bus. Fitty.

Body Type: I use curvy as a loose term. Let's put it this way, I have hips that people of a certain age would refer to as 'child bearing' and an arse/thigh combo that seems to only attract comments from 70 year old, Jamaican drunk men on the street. Also, I sometimes look pregnant for about an hour after I eat pasta.

Hobbies: I go out a fair bit. Less than I used to but still more than I should. And when I've had that final glass of wine/bottle of beer/double gin, I do tend to start to believe I am Beyoncé. I then begin to two step around whichever establishment has welcomed me and more often than not give myself whiplash trying to teach people how to do the Dutty Wine.



Yes, you read correctly I like beer.



 No, no I'm not a lesbian.

However I do spend a LOT of time in gay bars with my mate Ben. He pulls and I get drinks for £1.50. Problem?

I do go to the gym, but then go home and eat the fridge. I don't run, I don't do pilates, I lift. I like lifting weights. So the food may make it all worthless but rest safe in the knowledge that I have some strength on me so I would bust your arse in a pillow fight.

Cinema? I personally prefer an illegally downloaded film and a pizza. Just easier init really. Oh and Netflix. If Netflix was a drug, I'd literally be in a squat somewhere.

From: I grew up in Brixton and now live in  Croydon. Which means a few things. Firstly, I don't always (read 'never') speak the Queen's English and if you're from 'good stock' your mother probably will think you're too good for me. Secondly it means that my music tastes centre solely around 'Smooth R&B' and 'Garage' and 'Rap'. I sadly know all the words to most Boyz II Men & Ja Rule songs. Thirdly, I think gangs are funny because most members went to my school.



 And finally, it means that I'm hard. Well 'ard.

Oh and an absolute pisstaker.

Likes: Trainers. I love trainers probably more than I'll ever love you. Soz. And toast. And tea. And knitting. And watching films I've seen 20 times over and over again, mainly because I'll know I'll enjoy them. Secondly, because my attention span is similar to a 5 year old. Thirdly, because complex story lines take me a few goes to get hold of. I'm not thick, I've just got a lot going on in my head.

Dislikes: 'The Game'. I have zero 'game' and have a near incomplete ability to ever tell if someone fancies me. So if you do, I'd advise painting a sign or maybe taking an ad out on ITV because subtle hints don't really work for Mrs 'Ah we're all just mates'. I don't get the texting game that people who are flirting play....I reply in a timely fashion because, well, I was born with manners.



 And mushrooms. I really dislike mushrooms.

Anything else: I wear unmatching pyjamas and on Sunday's I don't really like to leave the house. I can cook, but only if the meal contains chicken. Other than that I'm lost. The word 'Brunch' freaks me out (just make a bloody decision) and I have a mild phobia of whispering (don't ask).
I sing in the shower and whilst in my head, I am the female Sam Smith, in reality I sound like the noise a balloon makes when it's deflating.


 My mates are like a small army and as such will probably terrify you on sight.


Oh yeah, and my Dad won't let me go out with you if you support Arsenal. Sorry.



And just to put the final nail in the coffin, here is a a picture of what I really look like. Hashtag no filter.


 In the back of a cab, being an absolute fag hag. And incase you were wondering that's Ben on the left, he's an absolute piece. 

 So, yeah. How about meeting up sometime?


LLx