Things That Fill Me Up With Pure, Unadulterated RAGE

Things That Fill Me Up With Pure, Unadulterated RAGE

People walking slowly:

WHY are some most people so unaware of the space around them? They just dawdle along completely oblivious to you RIGHT behind them, trying your hardest to get passed. Because that’s another thing – they dawdle along IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PAVEMENT. And whenever you try and pass them on either side, they dawdle sideways and block your way. Fuckers.

People walking too quickly:

This one’s a bitch too. Sometimes you just want to dawdle, take in the sights, breathe the summer air, listen to the birds but you CAN’T because some most people are too busy rushing through life and getting all impatient and huffy right on your heels. People need to learn to CHILL.

Space hoggers:

People who get on buses, planes, and trains and take up your seat space. People coming towards you on the pavement who refuse to move. People who put theirs bags and/or coats on the chair next to them in the hairdressers/doctors. People who think they’ve got a God-given right to more space in the world than others. MOVE THE FUCK OVER.

People (excluding my mum, boss, or some sort of instructor/mentor) who try and tell me what to do:

I won’t listen. And if I do, I’ll do the opposite of what you say. I can’t help it.

Vicious gossip:

We all gossip. It’s a natural part of being a human and I think that most of the time we gossip about people we actually care about. We like talking about them. We like worrying about them. We like them. But then there’s that other kind of gossip. The vicious kind. The kind where people discuss someone they don’t even know and get pleasure out of making fun of them. JUST STOP.

Queue jumpers:

GET BACK IN LINE BITCH.

Judgy McJudgersons:

Ugh. People who make other people feel this small for doing something that isn’t harming anyone. Like eating pizza with mayonnaise or wearing clothes that don’t match or the way you walk or your accent or your hair or your tattoo or what you have for lunch or the shoes you wear or basically anything that ISN’T HARMING ANYONE. Just leave the poor people alone and let them do their thing!

Scotrail:

The most pathetic excuse for a train company in the world, and big stealing bastards. Their tickets are EXTORTIONATE and you NEVER get a seat! You just curl up in the bike rack and try and eat your £3.00 meal deal in peace. Is it really so difficult for them to put out seat reservations?! EVERY OTHER TRAIN COMPANY IN THE WORLD CAN DO IT. Incompetence, thy name is SCOTRAIL.

People who talk about being on a diet while you’re eating a crisp sandwich:

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People who don’t order anything to eat and then want to eat your food:

I’ve started telling these people outright that under no circumstances are they getting any of my food. They usually look pretty shocked. I think they’re quite horrified about how selfish I’m being, but like Joey, JOSIE DOESN’T SHARE FOOD. It’s a flaw, I’m not working on it, get over it.

Oh yeah, people who just want to order a big selection of Chinese food and share it all:

No.

People who look at what I’m eating and say “ew”:

That’s rude, isn’t it? It feels rude. 

Passive-aggressive monkeys:

If you’ve got something to say, either say it outright or don’t say it at all. Being passive-aggressive is a sure way to get me NOT to do what you want.

Bad manipulators:

Please do it better. I’m much happier when I have no idea I’m being manipulated.

People who are horrible to their mum:

She gave BIRTH to you, fed you from her breast (maybe), answered your every needy whim, ALWAYS put you before herself, clothed you, educated you, loved you when no one else would so STOP taking her for granted and treating her like she’s a moron. You’re the moron.

 

MY GOD THAT FELT GOOD.

 

 

Psychopaths, Bikes, and Soup

Psychopaths, Bikes, and Soup

Yep, that’s pretty much been my life for the last couple of weeks. I’ve been having a LOT of soup in a desperate attempt to rid my body of the excess fat it’s gained. What the hell happens to bodies in their 20s?!?!?! I used to be able to eat WHATEVER I wanted, but now the weight is just piling on! I mean, it’s probably all the sausage suppers. And the crisps. But no, my point is that I used to eat all the sausage suppers and crisps in the world and it made no difference to my weight.

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Storm Doris. And my legs. 

Getting older sucks, doesn’t it? Is it really just downhill from here?

The thing is, I know it isn’t. I think your body goes, you get wrinkles, there’s fat on your thighs THAT JUST WON’T BUDGE, but emotionally you probably get better as you get older, don’t you? Like, you’d become more confident in yourself and stuff? You don’t care so much about what people think about you.

I’m sorry. I have a feeling this is going to be a crap, rambling post. I blame P.M.T.

Speaking of the menstrual cycle, I just downloaded a period tracker app for my phone. It feels a bit suffocating to be honest. My next period’s just blaring out of the calendar in dark red numbers. It’s like it’s mocking me. If it could talk it would say, “I’m coming for you, you can’t hide from me, I will find you and I WILL destroy you”. It’s basically Slapsgiving. Yeah, that’s exactly what it is: Slapsgiving.

I just read The Psychopath Test by Jon Ronson. I enjoyed it, although I got a bit worried that I was a psychopath. Well, it’s sort of strange because I wasn’t worrying that I was a psychopath, but then there was a passage that went, ‘Oh by the way, if you’re worrying that you might be a psychopath then that means that you are definitely NOT a psychopath’ so then I thought Shit, I haven’t been worrying that I’m a psychopath so does that mean  that I actually am one?!?!?!?!?!?! But then I calmed down. It’s weird. I’m the kind of person who’ll read symptoms and then be like, “YES THAT’S SO ME”. Like I’m listening to ‘The Guilty Feminist’ at the minute and I finally feel like I know what I am (although deep down I know I’m actually just guilty). But with psychopaths, I haven’t been able to relate at all. I know – it’s crazy, isn’t it?! And you know why I can’t relate? Amygdala. Psychopaths don’t have enough of this chemical and anxious people have TOO much of it. So that’s nice, isn’t it?

Every cloud.

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Psychopaths and Weetos.

Oh and speaking of ‘The Guilty Feminist’, I would just like to point out that I don’t MIND my extra weight…I’m totally comfortable with my body shape.

OKAY YOU GOT ME I HATE IT. I JUST WISH I COULD EAT ALL THE FOOD AND BE A SIZE 8 AT THE SAME TIME. AND BE TALLER. AND HAVE EYES THE SAME COLOUR. AND SMALLER CANKLES.

God, I am a TERRIBLE feminist. I told you I was just guilty! I guess the point is that I KNOW I should be okay with my shape and I’m working on it. I mean, there are some benefits to being a bit bigger. No one can give me birthday bumps anymore.

That’s nice.

Bikes. Bikes. Bikes. Bikes. The greatest thing to have happened to me since sliced bread and full fat butter. Bikes! Having a bike has been SO good. I love it. I feel like I’m ten years old again (well, apart from when I have to go up steep hills). Cycling to work puts me in such a good mood in the morning!  And now I have a BASKET. I don’t really have anything to put in my basket though. I normally just throw an extra scarf in there or something. And lip balm.

I’m going to go and check on my bike now.

 

SANTA’S COMING!!!!!!!!

SANTA’S COMING!!!!!!!!

Merry Christmas Eve, folks!

Man, I think this is the most excited I’ve been for Christmas EVER! It’s for a number of reasons, really. I’m off work for 10 WHOLE DAYS, family are coming over from Holland (Barbara sure gave them a rough time on the ferry last night), and old family friends are joining us tomorrow for Christmas celebrations. OH and I’ve also brought home the best board-game in the world: Cranium. I’m going to wrap it up and put it under the tree so it looks like I’ve got my family quite a lot of presents, but it’s really just a present for myself. Everyone in my family hates board-games, but when it’s Christmas they HAVE to play with me. MWHAHAHAHA.

Mum’s stewing the ham right now. When I got up this morning it looked like little cooking elves had been working in the kitchen all night. There was food everywhere, recipes sprawled across the kitchen table, sausages defrosting in the sink…it was a lovely sight to wake up to. Then Mum came hobbling into the kitchen, all frizzy hair and crazy eyes, and said that she’d been up since four in the morning planning.

I feel kind of bad. For about two months now I’ve been telling Mum that I can totally help with all the cooking, but so far since I’ve been home, I’ve just been looking at all my old childhood books and getting emotional. It’s only ten, though. There’s still time to help. Although deep down I know I will just end up watching Christmas cooking programmes and getting hungry.

I’m the worst.

SO. Last night on the way home, we stopped off at Kinross services for a toilet and coffee break and GUESS WHO WE SAW?!?!?!?! BLOODY TILDA SWINTON!!!!!!! It. Was. Insane. I always thought that if I was ever to see a proper famous person that I would totally play it cool, but that did not happen. I couldn’t stop staring at her. And I wanted nothing more than to go and congratulate her for her role in About a Boy. Then the BF then told me that that the woman in About a Boy was in actual fact NOT Tilda Swinton. I’m so lucky I’ve got him — he’s stopped me from entering many an embarrassing situation.

We’re at Mum’s for Christmas this year. We were at Dad’s last year and it was…an experience. I arrived at his on Christmas morning to find him, my brother, and my sort of brother DRUNK OUT OF THEIR MINDS, and the Christmas turkey upside down in the oven. I have since heard, however, that putting a turkey upside down in the oven helps it stay nice and moist. And you know what? It was a particularly delicious turkey that year. I felt sorry for my brother. He’s a vegetarian and my Dad doesn’t really have time for that sort of thing so he just got stuck eating a bunch broccoli and Brussels sprouts. He couldn’t even have any potatoes or gravy because they were cooked with or in animal fat. My brother’s a nice laid-back chap though. He didn’t mind too much.

Uh oh, me Mam’s needing help with the spuds. Better run.

I can already feel the finger cramp.

 

 

Hands Up Who Loves The Weekend!

Hands Up Who Loves The Weekend!

Hello Party People!

I’m in a pub just now. With the boyfriend (who’s watching the football). This is the third day in a row we’ve been to this pub. It’s really lovely. Dark and dingy and down some steps so it’s kind of hidden away. And the people who come here seem nice, although I haven’t had much to do with them. There was one old man who hoped I wasn’t going to put sugar in my tea.

I liked him.

So. It’s November (17th? 18th? 19th?), and its starting to feel a little bit Christmassy. We put on some Christmas tunes at work the other day and although it felt too early, it was quite nice. But then everyone got really busy and stressed and sort of forgot about the music. It was a truly manic day yesterday, which was why when I passed the pub last night I thought, Gosh darn it I really need a wee glass of wine. 

And so I did.

The boyfriend joined me. And then our flat-mate came along too. We all got suitably tipsy. My flat-mate’s a bit stressed about life just now. I tried to reassure her by singing Taylor Swift’s song ’22’, but I’m not sure how much it helped. Then I got sad because I realised I’m going to be 24 in a few months and SHE had to reassure ME that that wasn’t old. Which I know, but we all like to complain about stuff that doesn’t really warrant any complaints, don’t we?

Please say you do.

I woke up really early today. Sods Law. You spend the whole working week DREAMING of a lie in and then when the weekend actually comes you’re wide awake at 7.00am. I don’t really mind though. I actually love getting up and watching tv in the living room on a Saturday morning. I especially love watching Rick Stein. He uses so much salt and olive oil in his food!

Ok, Arsenal are losing so we’re thinking about going into town and starting our Christmas shopping.

Sigh.

En Route to the Best City in the World: Glasgow!

En Route to the Best City in the World: Glasgow!

Although, there are many people who wouldn’t call Glasgow the best city in the world. A lot of people actually seem to think pretty bad things about it. Like, when I was at school and everyone was applying to University, NO ONE wanted to go to Glasgow except myself and ONE other friend! What was that about? And whenever I told people that my first choice was Glasgow, people would sort of look at me in disgust and ask why.

And you know what?

I had (and still have) no idea. I didn’t know anything about Glasgow and I think I just wanted to go there because no one else did. I was probably just trying to do that cool thing of doing the complete opposite of everyone else.

Ah well. We all make important life decisions in our own way, don’t we? Doing the opposite of what everyone else was doing was probably better than my other way of making important life decisions: The Tingles. That was when I would write my options down on different pieces of paper, scrumple them up, close my eyes, move my hand above them and then when my hand tingled I would pick the piece of paper that was nearest.

Shit. No wonder my life’s a mess.

Jokes. It’s actually alright.

ANYWAY. I actually do love Glasgow. I especially love the bars – they always play such good cheesy music. And I love the middle aged women. I love the way they dress. Anything goes with the middle aged women in Glasgow. The higher the heels, and the spottier the leopard print, the better! And they’re all so freakin’ friendly! And not in the fake, way overly nice way (that’s my kind of friendly), but in the good fun, slagging off kind of way. The kind of friendly that I could only dream of being.

Well, since I’m on the train and since the next stop is Glasgow Queen Street, I should probably go.

P.s. It’s absolutely chucking it down. Classic G-Town.

The Voice of Guilt

The Voice of Guilt

I think I’m slowly coming to realisation that I prefer the working day to a day off. I know this is mental, but I really think it’s true. Like, when I’m working, I can let myself get so excited about my day off that’s coming up. I can think about all the things I want to do, dream about my lie in, and get trashed (if I want to). But then when the day off actually comes, I’m overcome with the voice of GUILT. And out of all the voices in my head, this one is by far the worst.

Ha, I sound pretty nuts.

If I’m hungover my guilt’s way worse, but it’s bad even when I’m not. I mean, I didn’t get too drunk last night (the trick is to fill a large wine glass to the brim and then not look at the bottle), but I’m still feeling panicky today. Panicky that I’m not using my day off to the best of its advantage.

But what is using a day off to the best of its advantages? Surely it’s doing WHATEVER it is that you want to do because your day off is your OWN day. You don’t have to answer to anyone, you don’t have to be anywhere, you don’t need to get out of bed at the crack of dawn, and you don’t need to make sure you get a good nights sleep the night before.

But the thing is, I KNOW all of this. I know I can do whatever I want, but I still can’t help feeling like I should do something useful with my day. Like go to a museum or spend the morning wandering around a local farmer’s market or going for a swim or painting a picture or baking a banana loaf or learning another a language.

HA, check the alliteration above! Baking a Banana loaf, Painting a Picture, and Learning a Language…that’s pretty cool, isn’t it?

It’s the little things.

But back to the day off thing, knowing these things doesn’t help. Logic is just something that will NEVER quash those annoying voices, is it? And I’ve even tried to do things on a day off. Like one day, I walked to the top of Arthur’s Seat, but it SUCKED ASS. It started raining, I was freezing, everyone else had someone there with them, I got lost, there was a dog that scared me, and when I went back to work the next day, I was sore and cranky. I should have just stayed in bed and watched t.v., which I vowed I would do on my next day off, but here I am, feeling all guilty again.

Meh.

Scotland Doesn’t Suck

Scotland Doesn’t Suck

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Contrary to popular opinion, I think Scotland is the absolute bees knees and I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else (well, except maybe Ireland). Yes, it’s cold, wet and dark pretty much 97% of the time and yes, the majority of people suffer from SAD, Alcoholism and/or Obesity, but that’s WHY it’s so special.

Like, think of Gran Canaria or Florida or California or somewhere else like these places. They’re beautiful, sunny, sparkling, they have bright flowers and warmth, and you’re able to sit out at night without it being necessary to be absolutely TRASHED.  I mean, all of this is great for two, three, maybe even four weeks, but imagine living in these places FOREVER. God, it’d be hell. Your legs would constantly have to be shaved, you’d always feel guilty for not being out in the sunshine, you could probably NEVER have a duvet day, and you’d have to work/shop for food/go to the post office in horrendous heat. But what’s even worse, the sun, warmth and general loveliness would become the norm.

You see, I think it’s important to live in places like Scotland so that you actually get to experience a holiday. When Scottish people go on holiday, they NEVER take the sun for granted. Until maybe at the end when their skin’s all blistered and sore, and they’re dying to get back to the wind, rain, hail, and snow. But for the majority of the time, they’ll be filled up with bubbly, champagney, fizzy happiness at it all.

Although, thinking about it, I guess it’s possible that the people who live in Gran Canaria, Florida and California view Scotland as a holiday resort – that they get off the plane to be met with a wind that could freeze ice, and rain that could kill a ox, and go “Aaaaah, isn’t that refreshing?”

Doubtful, but it is possible.