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.