Christmasss Time, Mistletoe and Wine, and beer, vodka, tequila, rum and ginnnn!

To say my body hates me, is an absolute understatement.

This Christmas has been one big blur merged into one big glass of vodka. Some may call me an alcoholic, others simply see it as having a bloody good time.

Christmas 2011 Highlights:

Christmas Dinner: Christmas day was an eye opener, the fact that I can't even remember to plate the veg on the Christmas Dinner was a winner, and my family spent the rest of the day laughing at my expense. Although there is enough turkey to have a turkey curry buffet everyday for the next year!!

Family Tradition: Each year on Christmas Day our family goes to Church, however this year, my hangover took a turn for the worst and gagging at ‘Come all ye faithful’ was not one of my Mums proudest moments of her child to date.

Life changing decision: For two days of this festive period, I have managed to wear a pair of matching socks; I’m still deciding whether to take this challenge up for 2012? This could potentially change my life forever as we know it.

My favourite present: I didn’t do to badly in the present department this year. Ok, so I got a pack of 3 paired socks, and I didn’t get a pen with my name on it, however I did get a pack of wrist weights in my stocking (yes I still get a stocking, and no I’m not arsed what you think). So I have decided that I am going to test them out at the pub tonight!!

Hope everyone had a fab Christmas!

H&L Trading Team

I work for an online retail company, and work under the title Retail Trading Assistant in the H&L team. It stands for Home & Leisure.

Funnily enough...when competing in quiz's or winning awards, our team mysteriously gets signed 'Horny & Lonely'.

......need i say more?

Dear Santa...

Please could you deliver me a new liver ready for Boxing Day? I feel this year's hangover may be somewhat of a special one...

(Sing to the tune of '12 Days Of Christmas')

12 Double Vodkas
11 Bloody Marys
10 Cava Rose
9 Strawberry Shooters
8 Jammy Dodgers
7 Margaritas
6 Jagermeisters
5 SPICED MULLED WINES
4 Brandy Fish Bowls
3 Shirley Temples
2 Pink Champagnes

Aaaaaaaaand all of this on Christmas Daaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!!!!

Also Mr C, if you wouldn'd mind dropping off a new man... I will leave you a nice mince pie out in return.

Yours faithfully,

Alice
xxxx

Idiots Guide

Tuesday 13th December 2011

Plan A: What should have happened!

6.30pm Body Combat

Okay, so not your most spontaneous of plans, but all the same the gym is screaming out mine and Stace's name!

Plan B: What really happened!

6.30pm Stace pics up Alice (Nessa) and we head to Pepes!

6.45pm Vodka is opened

12.30pm Vodka. Demolished.

Just a simple way to absolutely ruin your life. A way to think your about die or alternatively just have alcohol poisoning!!

40% spirit and a whole litre later...we were flat out, both having to get up for work in the morning, yet finding ourselves looking for the next adventure at the bottom of a vodka bottle!

Tomorrow, I'm talking to Frank.

Au revoir mudda fukkaaass

Chilli Challenge

It was worse than I thought. I opted to put on my 'hard' face and take it like a man, but the one taste of the awful, vile liquid and my face was falling off. I have a problem. I cannot back down on any dare. The stupider the better, and this was no different. This problem has a name...its called knobitus, and comes in many forms.

Chow. Alice....the knob

Work Christmas Party...

Needless to say you can pretty much guess what this post is going to be about. Although I can assure you that standing in the odd shoes of Alice, it will always be a different story. Never one to be normal, and this Christmas work night out, was definitely not to be any different.

A sophisticated meal, at one of Liverpool’s finest; Viva Brazil. After telling everyone all week that I was off for a Brazilian on Friday, not understanding the weird looks I was receiving, the night has finally arrived. I spent the majority of the day as a hyper mess, and the other pretending to do work. Getting drunk with people who you spend every single day with, will always be a night to remember... And this particular one was no different.

It’s always nice to look a bit different than you do in work, and compliments such as ‘Oo Alice, you do look like a girl sometimes’. Brilliant. And ‘Wonder how long you trying to be a girl will last tonight?’ Amazing. Two completely sarcastic compliments in the space of 90 seconds, yet at the same time, surprisingly flattering. I can safely tell you now, that the act of trying to be a girl lasted precisely 35 minutes and 40 seconds, until we arrived at the restaurant and the waiters brought out the sausage, and after a tequila and two cocktails I was already telling the poor attendant how much I love sausage.

With the drinks flowing, and my voice getting louder, it was no surprise that me and my friends were not on the same table as the managers, although I did make the mistake of sitting directly behind them. As some of my colleagues had decided to drive and not drink, I thought it would be economical to drink their drinks also and not let anything go to waste. You can see where this is going can’t you. I would also like to point out, that around this time it was approximately 6.15pm, and I was bladdered. The bill got called quickly after this. Can’t understand why? All we were doing was sticking serviettes on our heads and playing thumb wars with the miniature meat tongs. Although, looking back, it could have been the point when we got so involved in the game that a drink flew across the floor and made a massive bang, causing everyone to turn and see us with white serviettes placed on our heads like two wayward nuns.

The managers left after this, well accept mine. Hes more of a party animal and this is why our team, half the time are a little crazier than others. We next head down to the karaoke bar. THIS IS BRILLIANT. Were my exact thoughts. I had been wanting to show my team my err talent for quite a while. Although they are well aware of my vocals, from being a crackin’ duke box 24 hours a day J I got onto the mike, and right before the song began I quickly changed the song to ‘No scrubs’ absolute classic....if you’re a girl, my friend Stace always does it, and if she can then so can I?? Pitchy and tone deaf, I sang on. Like an absolute pleb.  My manager got up next to sing ‘Sweet Caroline’, and it was like a light bulb flicking on in my head....we can do a duet. It didn’t take much persuasion (after tequila)... Barbie Girl. It started off well until we realised that the screen was only showing the girls part, and my manager didn’t have a fucking clue. The next scene was like something off of the X Factor-ish. I stopped the song and quickly shouted to the DJ to stick on ‘Journey’. Outstanding. Couldn’t hit a single note with being tone deaf, and my manager was having a whale of a time. Night going well. So far.

We head down to Alma De Cuba, to find half of the corporation were dancing and drinking in this very bar. After a few more drinks, we were working the room. I remember telling each and every person the same bloody story about the serviettes, sausage and a thumb/tong game ending in disaster. I can’t half chat some shit when I’m drunk. After a massive blur, and one vague memory of grabbing a guy in my works arm as though it was the bar helping me to stand up, we decided to drag ourselves home as the pathetic hour of 1.15am. Tragic.

The next day was filled with many memories and flashbacks I wish I had not remembered. Here they are:

•       To the head of Electricals: ‘Why are you so miserable? Your young aren’t you? Oh yes your 31 and have got this far as you keep telling everyone. Why don’t you loosen up a little and remove that pole that’s shoved so far up your arse!’ Fuck.

•         ‘Please don’t tell anyone I told you that!’ Who to? Not a fucking clue. Why? Not so sure either.

This is all I have.

I am absolutely dreading Monday. Oh one more thing, Monday 4.30pm, at the brand teams desk, I have put myself forward for the chilli challenge. A cocktail sticks worth of a sauce which is 1,000,000 Scoville (hotter than a vindaloo). Yano easy peasy. Not shitting myself one bit. Nooo not at all.

Will write again next week. Thats if my dignity or my insides haven’t failed me by then!

Walking in a Wedding Wonderland

Sunday evening I attended the Wedding of two very special people, two people whom had been waiting a long time for their special day. As the night arrived, it got me thinking about my own Prince Charming, not the cartoon kind, riding in on his white horse with perfect hair, and a rose which you can practically smell from inside your TV, but the standard Joe Blog waiting to meet his erm...Princess Fiona. This is the first name that popped into my head, until I realised that it was the ugly ginger one from Shrek. Brilliant.

Arriving at the Wedding, although an intimate affair and more chance of pulling a muscle than a young bachelor, I still decided to give my face justice and try my hardest to look like a girl. Thinking I’d done a good job, I walked into the beautiful party with a spring in my step. It wasn’t long before I had spotted the bar, and felt a bit of Dutch courage wouldn’t go a miss to show all of these party people that in the words of Maroon 5...I got the moves like Jagger. After failing to show off any of my secret moves, I suddenly decide it’s time to bring the big guns out with non other than........THE CONGAAAAAAAAAA!! Doo doo doo, come on and do the conga.

Oh. Dear. Lord

The DJ never fails to recognise Uncle Knobhead at the party (being me), and after asking for my name (ok, yeh so I did think it meant he was hitting on me) then decided to let everyone know, that I was the person to thank for the God awful song. Not to mention standing on the Brides dress as we carelessly ran around the building. Swiftly moving on from this.

The gorgeous affair not only had a DJ for the later party, but began with a cute little orchestra, playing the country sounds, you know how it goes. The little old singer had everyone up, dancing round in partners, and as us single ladies do, take along our girl-friends. Oh Goody I thought a simple circle dance. It wasn’t long until I realised that well one of us had to be the boy in traditional country dancing. You guessed it, “Ladies to the left, Gentlemen to the right”. Fuck. Even this little old man can spot my boyish ways a mile off. I had been caught out and my plot to be a girl for the night had fallen, back to the drawing board for me. Ah well, it had to be an unlucky day, after all, I stood in dog shit that very morning.

Hopefully I will have more luck next time. And where the bloody hell is my Prince Charming???

Day in, day out, weight in weigh out.....

So Christmas is coming and the Goose is getting fat....

Christmas is coming and Alice is getting fat.

Thats better. Yes you guessed it, it's that time of year where I am squeeeeeezing into my favourite party dresses and just by looking at cakes is piling on the pounds.

Tonight I took the almighty step in attending fat fighters once again. The dreaded talk. The dreaded class. The dreaded weigh in. Not only am I 5lb heavier than when I originally joined but I am officially a.fat.fuck.

The class was filled with old and new faces. Old faces, still on the same weight but coming back week in week out with the same chubby disappointed faces on them. This time, I don't feel the motivation of getting back into it for a healthy lifestyle, I now feel like it is almost life or death. The shamu of the whale family. The T-Rex of the Dinosaur family. And finally that little round fat Christmas pudding of the cup cake family. There we go again thinking of food at every chance I get.

Little Betty still can't understand why after her 4 takeaways this week she has had a weight gain (good choices of course), GOOD CHOICES? What by leaving it in the container till it grows mouldy and not eating it at all?

My favourite moment tonight: I'm big boned. No lovely, your overweight.

My instructions to my friends: From now on they cannot refer to me by my name, but simply by the name 'Fatty' all the way up till Christmas. Anything else, they will not get a response. What will this bring you may ask? Well what do you think it will bloody bring...a cake? A McDonalds? A Subway? NO. Ok a few tears and tantrums waaaaaaah, but worth it in the end guys when I'm so skinny we will be walking down the street and I disappear....down the drain pipe. Not really an ideal goal, but my real goal? ... Is to lose a roll.

I'm gonna eat the shit out of those lettuce leaves.

Fat Alice x

Alice’s Fitness Routine

Please note: This routine provides great techniques for slow weight loss, sometimes weight gain and exercise which ensures you don’t endure any pain, what-so-ever.

The arms

This is mainly used within a public house environment or around the dinner table. Ensure that when eating, you take a tight grip of your cutlery, and get ready to flex. Whilst eating your dinner, the calories are just burning away and your arms are so tight, they will make Ollie Murs pants look loose. Same process at the pub. It’s best to use the same arm for the whole drink and when moving onto the next pint or what not, to change arms.

The legs

This one is a tad easier. It’s called the fridge walk. Pretty self explanatory. When feeling hungry, stand and walk to the fridge, when the food has been chosen, turn around and walk back to your destination. Sometimes, depending on how hungry you are, you may run to the fridge. It could also be the case that there is only one cream bun left, in this case, stretch before performing this exercise as an injury could occur depending on the speed at which you run. Although always remember that fridge pickers wear big knickers, in this case to carry on with your weight loss, just take your journey to the cupboard.

The bum

This one we will call the Beyonce. It is best to be performed to Sean Paul’s 'Get Busy'

“Shake that thing miss Kana Kana

Shake that thing miss Annabella

Shake that thing yan Donna Donna

Jodi and Rebecca”

Put both arms out in the oooo come here and give us a hug position, and start to shake. Shake the boobs, shake the bum, shake the head, arms and legs, just shake shake shake, if your brother walks in and calls you a knob, ignore him. Infact scrap that. Tell him that jealousy gets you nowhere in life, and he will always have a bum like a cheeky girl. Nonexistent.

Whether or not this gives you the perfect bum, who wants one of those anyway? Ok we all do. But I am telling you now, this dance will give you that sexy Beyonce feeling, one which you can take to the dance floor next time you’re out.

Never strain. Always refrain from anything strenuous and enjoy life. I call these my words of erm wisdom, or okay not wisdom but yano, having a good time without the worry.

So for anymore tips or advice just tweet me @girlinoddshoes always happy to help.

Stars in my eyes

Feeling a little lost at the moment, and had decided to get a collection of magazines together sit down with a cup of tea, and read my fate through my horoscopes. Not only is this a waste of my time, money and brain space, but it’s also a pile of shite. Some could call me bitter, others may refer to me as cold hearted, but either way, the slightest inch of cheese, love or ounce of soppiness in my star sign, goes in my ‘this is a load of bollocks’ pile, and can stay there until my prince charming sweeps me off my feet. Never then.

Star Sign Number 1: Looking for love? Matters of the heart are amazing for Pisces like you and JLS Marvin. An inspired idea boosts your popularity.

So obviously after reading it, we all know that we think of anything possible to compare with what we have read. My inspired idea: I added jalapeño’s to my roast dinner? The inspiration came from wanting to add a bit of spice to my life. Felt a tad boring, and only thing I can do is add a green vegetable to my meal.  So by putting this ‘excitement’ into my life...there were fireworks. Well, in my stomach. And let me tell you...this did not cause my popularity to soar. Rubbish. NEXT.

Star Sign Number 2: Looking for love? Matters of the heart are amazing and this is one week you won’t forget in a hurry! A message is music to your ears and Friday blazes a new trail.

So once again they feel the need to highlight that I am single. Are you looking for love? Well no, not really. Where exactly am I meant to look? I love tequila. I love dancing. I love singing in the shower. Thinking back to what has happened this week, nothing exactly jumps out at me. Although, I did chip my nail varnish and colour it different to all my other nails. Ooooh living on the wild side!!!! Apologies for my extreme sarcasm today, I have no excuses. Infact, apologies for my sarcasm and bitterness every day. Let’s blame the dog. Why the dog? The dog always gets the blame. And as for my message on Friday, I did get a text off my mum asking me if I was in for tea and whether I wanted lasagne or jacket spud. I chose lasagne by the way. So what exactly could the trail be? Exactly. What a loada crap. NEXT.

Star Sign Number 3: Looking for love? Matters of the heart are amazing. With passionate mars sparking up your relationship, this is a week you won’t forget in a hurry.

Let’s just take a moment to collect our thoughts!

**********************************************************************************

ARE YOU SHITTING ME!!!!!!!!!!!!

YES I am single

NO I am not looking for love

NO I am not in a relationship. The only thing hotting up...is my roast dinner.

I’m not reading them anymore. All I am looking for is a little guidance. If anyone feels they have some words of wisdom let me know. You can tweet me on @girlinoddshoes

Or if you want to ask me if I am looking for love, just to piss me off, feel free, I will return the favour with a knuckle butty and a bloody nose.

Spinster is out in force today!

My First Lesbian Encounter

So it’s been a while since I have written. Not because I have nothing to say, but to be quite frank, I don’t yet think I have got over the trauma of recent events.

I’m going to set the scene as I feel like you should take this journey with me.

It was a cold dark night; and all was quiet in the town. I made my way to the beauty salon, for which was going to be an eventful, yet rewarding evening...or so I thought. Sweaty palmed I sat nervously awaiting my fate in the salon, when finally my time had come.

Making my way through to the back room, a muffled classical song played in the background, although it started to really piss me off as I felt like it was mocking me, playing all sweet an innocent sounds knowing exactly what I was about to endure.

After my recent ‘Hair Today, Gone tomorrow’ post I thought it would only be fair to put my words into action, and take the plunge of choosing a hair style, and to get ‘re-shaped’ or lets re-phrase that to: a number one all over please.

I think at this point I was more nervous about getting the old vajay out in front of the girl more than anything. She asked to see whether I had grown the garden enough for a trim.... so I thought here we go. The knickers came off. I think in my head I thought, a quick look, then the knickers would go back on. No. Couldn’t have been more wrong. She started stroking, I repeat stroking the welcome mat. Not only was she stroking my hair for a whole minute, but carried on talking to me like it was completely normal. Oh my god. That’s it. I’m a lesbian.

So she left the room so I could get ‘comfortable’ her words, not mine. The vajay was out. Blatantly just there, chillin out on the bed. Ok, so I’m not exactly shy, but I don’t go running round with my Minnie out. She came back in the room and started the removal of the hair. Wow, it buuurrrrns. As she made her way up my leg (this is normally kinky in a porno), but no, absolute worlds apart. I think this is the part where she said ‘Sorry if I seem weird when I saw it, but I love a good challenge.’ Are you shitting me??? Don’t call the sacred temple ‘it’ and also a CHALLENGE???? Ok. Breath. As she made her way around down below, the thought of someone constantly down there had disappeared and I had started to relax....until...possibly one of the weirdest moments of my life....

Now picture this....legs in the air, head on the pillow, girl? Nowhere to be seen until, PEEK A FRICKIN BOO...she pops up between my legs...to say...and I quote ‘Sorry about where my head it, but this is great’. Great? Great? What exactly could be great? Oh my god, I really am a lesbian.

So now, 2 weeks later. The ability to walk has slowly crept back into my life. My vagina? You may wonder. Put it this way, it has seen better days. The hair has gone, along with my dignity!!

The awkward moment...

Unsurprisingly I have had countless awkward moments in my life. I spend most of my time convincing myself that everyone else has them too.

We all know they don’t.

Fondue Dance

The awkward moment when you’re convinced you fancy one of your friends.

Never before has an attraction struck until the moment the tequila hits your lips. A sense of lust enters your head, and you become convinced that they are the one (well that night anyway). You do everything in your power to ferociously flirt with them, using weapons of mass destr... I mean tools of luuurve. For instance, it’s normal to use a chocolate fondue (which the friend bought for your house, may I add) as a connection between the two of you, right? Then, continue to dance sexily in a bollywood style to a dance track in order to pursue them to the bedroom? Oh yeh, erm, me neither. This was obviously after I decided to do a seductive dance with a pizza tray on my head, and attempt to do the splits, only landing myself with cramp in one leg, and a gaping hole in my tights. Sometimes, I really can’t understand why I am single???

Lucky Charm

After attending an all girl’s school for my teenage tantrum years, it was time for me to open my wings, not my legs, and begin college, with none other, than the other specie here on earth, guys. Dum dum duuuuuum. The first day of attendance was always going to be the most daunting; a school dance is how I imagined the first day to be like. Girls checking out the boys, boys checking out the girls, teachers checking out the girls, I mean checking their schedules. Lunch time arrived and after spending 3 hours getting ready that morning, I was strutting my stuff through the car park to the back sheds (where all the cool kids hang out). Whilst on my little cat walk, I feel a sharp pellet to my left shoulder, “what little immature shit has thrown something at me” until I turn to find no-one there, but do find a hard stench of bird shit up my nostrils. Brilliant. First day of college and I’ve been shit on by a pigeon.

Bucket List

Ok, so I wouldn’t exactly call it a bucket list but a firm desire to try at least everything once in our lives. After a heavy night in town, me and my friend Stace decide that when all the clubs have closed, we were not ready to go home. After a few naughty glances of ‘we will regret this one in the morning’, we continue on our journey to the next bar, to find that only one bar is left open. We decided to check it out. As we walk in to find half naked girls walking round with money strapped to their ankles, the mortified look sweeps across our faces. But as ever, pride takes over as we move to a booth with our bottles of beer (only bloody things we could afford). After being approached by one of the girls asking if we wanted a dance, after a lot of umming and arring we decide to just go for it and get a lap dance, not really thinking it through. We are ushered to a booth with curtains draped around the sides (seedy), when the girls entered with a bottle of champagne. After downing two glasses, we were ready for the girls (in a non lesbian way). They start to strut their stuff and do the bend and click a few times followed by a few hula hooping of the hips, I was thinking “I do this at Zumba”, but when reality steps in, I can be confident in saying that I definitely do NOT look as good as they do when they dance. As the dance goes on, they continue by removing their bras. Oh.My.God. I could not stop staring. Perfect (silicon) boobs, round nipples, not a nipple hair in sight. All of a sudden I realise what we were doing, and start to feel a little uncomfortable. Almost frigid. Also, like a pervert. Unlucky for us, we have to wait the dance out. As boobs and bums are jiggled in our faces, the dance comes to an end, and the cheeky bitches grab a glass of our champagne, tuck the £40 YES £40 in their ankle straps and leave. No high five in sight, just a look between friends to say never again. Although it is one to tick of our ‘things in life to do’ list.

Tune in next week, for ways to not live your life, by Alice.

Or tune in next week for how to make yourself look like a dick 24/7. Yeh, I prefer this one. Bold, blunt and totally Bridget.

Hair today, gone Tomorrow!

 Everyone remembers the nursery rhyme ‘The wheels on the bus’. One of the versus was always my favourite as a girl...

‘This is the way we brush our hair, brush our hair, brush our hair, this is the way we brush our hair, early in the morning.’

Today, it’s more like... this is the way we back comb, spray, tie, extend and rag our hair, rag our hair, rag our hair, this is the way we rag our hair, to make us look half decent!

Being a child was so easy; all we had to worry about was who we are going to play with in the playground, or who has the best Barbie or who has the nicest bobbles. I suppose I never really had to worry about looking like a girl, thanks to my mum sticking a bowl on my head and cutting round it. Not to mention the fact I had no teeth for a long time, so my elder days came too early, and I tended to look like a little old man at the age of 5.

But there is something worse than deciding how to do your hair for a night out...

Hair. Down there. Every-girls-nightmare. The make or break of a date. The unexpected night of passion with a leg like a Gorilla. The ever growing garden down below. YES. The same stressful decisions to be made on the style of your vagina hair, as your head of hair:

• ·      The Afro – self explanatory
• ·       The Arrow – for Guys needing to expand their names to ‘Guidance’
• ·        The Brazilian – apparently a landing strip? For all the planes flying around your vagina???
• ·        The Charlie Chaplin – I must admit, this one intrigues me the most. Can’t imagine asking for it, may have to be a try at home style. Basically a tash on the gash.
• ·        The Hollywood – Zilch. Zippo. Nada. NOTHING. Not a single pubey there.
• ·        The Mohawk – or translated in Japanese モヒカン族 this again is self explanatory.
• ·        The Patchouli – Or as I like to call it ‘The single style’. All over the place. Au naturelle. MASSIVE BUSH.
• ·        The Princess Cut – The oval shaped style, quite like American or Rugby balls. Recommended to sluts, those who love a ball permanently on their privates.

Once this is decided, you are definitely ready to rumble. Literally. Guys don’t realise how easy they have it!!!

Flashbacks (Not for the faint hearted)

Mondays – Another dreary day spent pondering over the weekend’s events. Usually a day spent hanging my head in shame remembering the dance off I had with the street dancer popping away, while they stand having a war, when captain cock (me) strikes a roley poley smack bang in the middle of the circle, only to be rewarded with a round of applause, obviously my cue to do another. What. A. Knob. Or could my shame be from running down the road removing road signs which some chavs have kindly placed in the way screaming ‘I’M SAVING LIVES, I’M SAVING LIVES’. Mondays from now on are going to be placed into my ‘this day should not exist’, along with Valentine’s day!!

Most Mondays start with a photo album...the one your friends had ‘promised’ would not appear on Facebook, and with all the new updates, the little man sat in his wooden hut in China can see them too. So for all you ladies who like me, apparently have no shame on a Saturday night, enjoy the following collage of a night out with Alice...

Please note: The images are a mere idea of what happens, they are not real life!

Mondays Memory

I remember once being sat in Piccadilly Gardens, home to homeless and Public House to the deprived, sipping on a tangy Luke warm espresso. The sun was shining meaning the vagabonds were out in force. Minding my own business, one guy, looking like he hasn’t slept in days, with a crusty beard approached me, he could obviously tell I had the curious/agitated look on my face therefore he started his sentence with, obviously to “reassure” me, ‘Don’t worry I’m gay as well’... ‘I was just wondering if you have 11p as I am going travelling.’

Number 1) I am not bloody gay, I was just having a particularly bad hair day. That day.

Number 2) If I can’t save for travelling myself, I’m not going to help you!!

Number 3) Let’s face it, you’re not really going travelling are you!!!!!!!!!!!!

Bending Trends

Considering when starting this blog, I swore it would have nothing to do with fashion, but the more I think about the idiotic things I have done, the more I realize the extent of my fashion de-za-sters!

I’m not talking your average double denims....

The first...

Muffin Top – Major. Size. Denial. When your jeans are too tight and you use a top to cover the middle doughnut. Sometimes this can also be passed off as a rubber ring, but let’s be realistic you don’t spend all your life in the swimming baths, therefore it is highly unlikely you will get away with this.

Builders Bum – Again, buying hipster jeans (something made for sizes 0/4/6) bending down to stroke the little pussy and BOOM the moon has risen. Or if you have a rear the size of a baby hippo like mine, you may find your French holiday friends nick naming you ‘La Lune’ – which for those of you who do not speak French this means, the moon.

Sleek Chic – Oh yes. That time in High School when it was the ‘in’ thing to get a cupped hand full of gel and slap it on your head leaving the wet effect. Not forgetting to leave the too random pieces of hair at the front to appear ‘sexy’, the two pieces which may I add, serve no purpose in the hairstyle what-so-ever.

White Top Black Bra Scenario – what girl hasn’t, right?

Fanny Pack – Forced Fashion by the rents on a holiday in Devon, but as a teenager finding the word Fanny highly amusing.

Holier than thou – Huge gaping hole in your tights. I would advise not to try and do a roley poley in the middle of the club, or the splits for that matter. People do not pay to see the sun shining from between your legs!!!

MASSIVE COFFEE STAIN ON YOUR WHITE SHIRT. Feck.

Dress tucked in knickers – Freshers Beach Party. A time in your life where you want to make the best impression possible. A new independent woman, dancing to impress...with her dress tucked inside her knickers! Look away if your eating your breakfast.... The following image is a real life photo taken moments before the realisation that I am an absolute idiot, and will never meet a man with stunts like this...

So thats me Alice, on Fashion for now. Tune in every now and then for Fashionasters. Goodnight.

Fat Fighters

Pants poppin, tops rippin, sex stoppin. There is only one thing for it...DUN DUN DUUUUUUUN....

Yo getting fat!

After finishing Uni and countless times of ordering take aways, not only had I Graduated, I had also Graduated as McDonalds most loyal customer. Starting to look like a beach whale, and 75 curries later, it was definitely time for a change, a large change. When your nephew mistakes you for Sonia Jackson (Eastenders) on the TV you know it’s really bad!

I decided to join Slimming World, and as everyone does had the upmost enthusiasm in the first week. I could almost smell the success.  My first weigh in...WTF...literally 2 stone heavier than ok, well I’ve pretended to be for the past 3 years. I blame the arse, as I can’t actually see how much it is growing and growing and growing.

The first week back and my first weight loss...BRUCEY BONUS. I am definitely celebrating with a take away and glass of wine. If you are raising your eyebrows right now...it’s not confession. Put your opinions back in the box.

My favourite part is when the weight loss/gain is announced amongst the group and the leader says in the most patronising way imaginable... ‘so where do you think you went wrong?’

Oh I don’t fucking know...the age of 6?

The best excuse I heard whilst going – ‘I’ve been really ill this week, I think I’ve been sucking on too many lozenges’ - Don’t lie love, you ate too many doughnuts, and don’t want to admit it.

 Theres always one stuck up cow who loses 7lbs and its still not good enough.  ‘Judie has lost 4lbs this week. Well done!!!’ *Cue the applause* ‘Well actually I went to the gym everyday so I thought I would lose more’, that’s it bitch, make all the tubbies feel even shitter about their 1lb weight gain. Skinny twat.

My other favourite story from Fat Fighters is the daunting question again...’So where did you think you went wrong’, with the answer....

‘Well I don’t know really, I’ve only eaten 4 packets of crisps, 7 McDonalds, 3 Doughnuts, 8 sandwiches, 30 biscuits, 5 curries, 2 buffets and 9 fry ups, and I don’t know where I’m going wrong?’ Yeh me neither?!?! Her exercise consisted of walking to the fridge and back on her ass.

One day I will be skinny. And that very day I’m gona eat what I want.

Revenge of the Toothbrush

It’s never easy having your heartbroken, so what better way to not only get revenge, but have a ‘spring clean’ at the same time!

Here is a step by step guide on mending your heart and cleaning the house at the same time.

Step 1) Get Angry – You can do this through many a way, shouting, screaming, smashing plates, updating statuses (this is not advised – can be highly cringe worthy and embarrassing not only for yourself but also the whole of Facebook)

Step 2) Getting In – Make sure you have kept the spare key that the stupid bastard forgot to get back off of you. Enter the house at a time you know they are not in... But you know they are having lad’s poker night that very night!

Step 3) Get rubbery – ensure that you have brought a pair of yellow marigolds, this could get messy.

Step 4) Stay focused – you must ensure that you stay angry at all times. Remember...he is an absolute twat (said in a welsh accent for more emphasis).

Step 5) Salt or sugar...who knows? – Swap the sugar for salt. Easy. Hide all grains of evidence. This is for the saps who want to drink tea/coffee on lad’s night...or the fat shits eating a chippy after the gym. (Always good to get their friends involved – the more the merrier).

Step 6) Let the cleaning commence! – Enter the bathroom with caution, if necessary use a nose plug, as after you left the bathroom will not have been cleaned! Take a firm grip of the toothbrush. Stick the toothbrush down the toilet... bristles first. If you feel you want to make aeroplane noises as the brush enters the toilet, this is okay also.

Step 7) Clean as a whistle – rub the toothbrush rigorously in a up and down motion until all brown stains are removed. Do not stop until it glimmers.

Step 8) Take a long hard look at your handy work and pat yourself on the back.

Step 9) Don’t forget to pop the toothbrush back into the pot ready for use. Theres a love.

Step 10) Leave in good time – As you are leaving, make sure you put on your biggest grin. There is no better feeling than revenge (all in good measure of course). Don’t forget on your way out, to pick up the silver poker box on the windowsill, the one you are going to mistake for your errr ‘violin’.

Remember, women were made for cleaning., or so the men say.

Kitten Heels...

...Even the words offend my eyes! Ever since I have been old enough to iron my hair, paint my face and match my underwear... infact I still can’t do that now... (most probably one of the reasons I remain single) Kitten Heels make me want to vom. I will admit that once in my life I have worn a kitten heel, but I tell you now, the only reason is because I was held at ransom and told if I don’t wear the kitten heels then the cat gets it.

Ok so I don’t have a cat. And I was never held at ransom. But I did wear kitten heels. Again, one of many reasons why I am single. Because obviously every guy on planet earth saw my feet that day. This fashion ‘statement’ – just states they are utter idiots, infact it is forbidden in my friendship circle.

One friend – Jasmine, is not a fashionista like me – comfy and confident could be our motto. But against all ethics, religions, and friendship rules she wore a pair of kitten heels on a night out. Not just any pair of kitten heels, but KH... to the extreme.

The three S no no’s. Silver. Sparkly. Strappy.

For your entertainment...please feel my pain by staring long and hard at the monstrosity that is below!

Kitten Heels are the Smart Cars of the vehicle world. Ugly. Unnecessary. And did I mention totally pointless. I hope you're picturing them right now, and mentally walking over to your wardrobe, picking up your KH’s and throwing them straight in the bin!

I could be on my own with this phobia/hatred, but I think it’s something that will haunt me forever.

After righting this post, it’s got me thinking about Kitten Heels, therefore I need to let out a little anger. So I have made up a song to the tune of ‘Smelly Cat’ from Friends.

“Kitten Heels, Kitten Heels, why are they making you?
Kitten Heels, Kitten Heels, you really piss me off!
You look like a fat persons squashed the heel,
you don’t understand the way I feel,
So kitten heels, kitten heels why don’t you jump off a cliff and dieeeeeee”

Phewf. Glad I got this off my chest. 

Fashion Faux Pas

My idea of fashion may be of some peoples idea of hell.

Nil taste. Nil style. Nil clue.

I know it Christmas when I manage to wear a pair of matching socks (usually been given by a relative....one which doesn’t really know what to get me, and if they knew me at all, they would soon realise I DON’T WEAR MATCHING SOCKS) I should be grateful really, nothing worse than opening your present to find a pen. A pen with my name on. Like I don’t fucking know my own name already!

I could compare my fashion disasters with natural disasters. Major(ly wrong) sight for sore eyes and unexpected.

The inspiration behind the title for this blog, as you may have guessed, is the day I wore odd shoes to work... you may be asking yourself did I get dressed in the dark? No! Did I do it on purpose? No! Did I close my eyes when I grabbed them out of the box? Maybe. And for those fashionistas reading this...yes I do keep my shoes in a box.

3 hours into my working the day, washing my hands in the loo, the fashion Gods must have spoke to me as before I left the cubicle, for some weird reason I decided to look down at my feet. Oh. Dear. Lord.

My shoes. Odd Shoes. Two different shoes. Feck.

I had two options... A) I could not say anything to anyone and hope to God that no-one would notice...or B) Tell everyone and hope that someone has a spare pair of shoes in work with them! Ok so you definitely know I chose the latter.

I left the toilets and luckily there was a girl walking past, I decided to walk directly mirror image behind the girl...because obviously everyone would be staring at my feet  :/ Once back at my desk it took approximately 30 seconds before my whole team knew. I suppose it may not help that I work for one of the UKs biggest online retailers...a company which focus heavily on Fashion.

From then on it could only be natural to follow this disaster up with another, and another, and another.

My phobia of opening yoghurts derived from my lack of ability to open them without yoghurt flying onto my face/desk/leg/chair/keyboard/colleague. Every lunch, the time would come for the opening of my yoghurt, along the row it would go for the lucky sod who got to open it. One busy day at work, desk dinner it was. I had a quick meeting scheduled in at lunch but luckily they brought along their lunch too. My last mouthful of salad was quickly inhaled when I remembered about my yogurt situation, I decided to man up and open the yogurt myself. I told the girl about my ‘phobia’ and proceeded to open it.

Sliiiiiiide and rip. It was off. Not one splish. Not one splash. Not a drip of yoghurt in sight. I go on to do a little and im talking two steppin kinda celebratory dance when SLAP the lid is on my leg. ON MY LEG. ON MY FUCKING LEG. and let me tell you people...it did not look like yogurt on my leg. 

The phobia remains an issue. The disasters are still apparent. And my wardrobe consists of years full of memories but non which will not appear in Grazia anytime soon!

Doppelganger Day

With football season upon us, the WAGS are out in force. There is so much hype around the Wives and Footballers in the UK we forget about the boys playing with their balls.

It got me thinking about my time on placement when I had the chance to become a WAG. Ok, total bollocks. But this is how the story went...

Quite happily sat at my desk on a sunny Friday morning when my phone rings...

“Hi, is this Alice? You have been nominated for the WAG look-a-like competition, and you have won as Abbey Clancy, please can you come down and collect your prize.”

Bear in mind, I am a short, voluptuous lady with red hair. Not exactly your average beauty queen. My team thought it would be amusing to put me forward for the look-a-like competition knowing we couldn’t be any further apart looks wise.

My initial thoughts?? WTF!!!!

Panic sets in at the thought of having to collect my prize and the puzzled looks I will receive. So wasting no time, I set off to the canteen with a few followers from my team who wish to witness their sneaky prank...

I walk over to the lady and one of the girls on my team tells her we are here to collect the prize for Abbey Clancy, so she looks over at me “Ooooh yeh, congratulations” again...WTF! She ruffles around in her bag grabs a goody bag, and starts to walk over. By now am starting to analyze myself in my head, okay so my nose is a bit wonky and I have enough freckles to look cute, minstrel coloured eyes...but a model???

She walks straight past me. Like a ghost. Cold. Heartless. Bitch. Ok she wasn’t to know that the midget had come to claim the prize by accident, but the fact I had to move out the way so she could place MY prize in the hands of blondey. Like a stab in my heart (slight exaggeration).

Didn’t want to be a model anyway!!!

PC Plod

So after finally starting my blog, I knew it wouldn't be long until inspiration for a post would come along....

Friday Night, after a long dreary week at work, I am off into town with the girls and my friend Dave to celebrate his new job. As per usual we are out for a 'few quiet ones' a quote which usually ends with 3 girls missing, one producing their tea in the toilet and so many tequilas we automatically become break dancers appearing in a dance video.

A few i.e. 10 vodkas later and I'm feeling in a flirtatious mood. Anything with a pulse needs to steer clear. I decide to stop and try my chances with three clearly underage police officers, looking all fresh faced and more to the point sober. Please stop me. Here. I suddenly feel the need to tell the youngest looking one, he looks like a tiger in bed. Kill me now.

My chance comes when one of them asks if I will fill in a form for a lost or stolen phone, I decided that either they are passing the time, or cheeky cheeky hes trying to get my number. Of course it was neither as they proceed to ask all of my friends. I laugh it off. The morning draws in as we leave the club at 6.

Waking the next day, my eyes glued together, I wake to find the police officers has added two not one, two of my friends on Facebook. Brilliant. Next time maybe.

I wonder if there is a ‘how to’ for fabulous flirting? I need to get me some.

Profile of a real life Spinster:

*Height: 5ft 1.5in - Obviously the half always counts. Being small is fine until your out in flat shoes with all your friends (who thankfully are all of a similar shortness) and BOOM some arse in the bar shouts 'who invited the seven dwarfs'

*Weight: A rear you could park a bike in, arms which should never wave and hips that are "good for child birth" or those of us who have inherited the 'hour glass' shape know that really if we could photoshop away our hips forever...we would.

*Eyes: Brown

*Hair: Red...thanks Mum

*Age: ...too young to be Bridget, but just as much experience

*Marital Status: this ones not obvious. SINGLE (/) the box i always find myself ticking on forms. Yes i do know this is not the meaning behind the question, although ticking this box, makes it all the more real.

*Friends: The best.

*Family: Nutters

*Boyfriends: Nil

Hello People!!

Hey Guys,

So I have decided to create a blog providing a good read on what really goes on in a woman's mind. For us 'Spinsters' out there....this is the blog for you.

I have spent two years thinking of material which should go into a book, therefore what better way to give us ladies a laugh than to create a blog where 'freedom of speech' can be read word.by.word. Or alternatively guys can read this an be writing down some very helpful tips along their way in life.

The blog is also going to show an insight into my life, as I most definately see myself as a real life Bridget Jones, Friday nights in with a bottle of vodka, getting eaten by Alsatians.

Finally, this blog is just meant to be an easy read, with a hint of the film 'Hes just not that into you' for good mix, all inspiration provided by my bestest of friends.

Peace

Alice