Monday, 28 June 2010


Remember how I said the other day I was sick of the World Cup? Well, I'm getting more sick of it now, even though there are less matches per day now and slightly less talk of it. Football (or soccer!) may be a novelty to some people, but I live in Glasgow and are therefore caught up in the middle of all that Celtic/Rangers crap the rest of the year (included in my Guide To Scottishness Part 2, if you missed that) , so I'm really not so enthused about it.

There are various reasons for not particularly caring about the World Cup:

1) I don't understand football. (Although Kirsty has put together a handy guide to help you LOOK like you know your stuff - check it out here!)
2. The footballers run about too fast for me to eye them up - which, let's face it, would be the main attraction of football to me. Apparently, I've been told, the trick is to check them out while the National Anthem is playing. I keep forgetting to do that. Oh well.
3. Scotland are not particularly great at football (sorry to be disloyal, but the fact they aren't in the World Cup is pretty strong evidence of that. Then again, we ARE a fairly small country and aren't known for being a particularly healthy one at that, so there you go.) For more information on that, this post by The Vegetable Assassin makes it all pretty clear.

On the upside, I am doing REMARKABLY well in the work's Predict The World Cup game. In the space of a few days, I have gone from being 11th out of 12th . . . to 4th!!! I'm the only girl in it, and I know NOTHING about football. Girl power or what??? :P

(I doubt I'll be that far up the rankings for long.)

AND I've made a little bit of money on betting on the matches. Small change really . . . I'm not a big gambler (it's another thing I don't really understand) but a couple of quid here and there, and I won 12 quid from a 1 pound bet on the Mexico-Argentina game yesterday. Go me!

So I suppose even though I am bored to tears with it, at least I'm benefitting from it financially . . .

But seriously, I will be glad when it's over. At least then, all the speculation about what country is going to win will be over BECAUSE WE WILL KNOW THE ANSWER BECAUSE IT'S ALL FINISHED FOR ANOTHER FOUR YEARS. YAY!

Thank God for tennis and Wimbledon at least. That's where I get my fix of men running around in little shorts . . . Yum.

Are you remotely interested in the World Cup or would you rather it just disappeared off the planet too?

Sunday, 27 June 2010


I went blonde when I was 15 in the summer between my fourth and fifth years at school.

It was a gradual thing but it was also a bit of an accident. I had bought Sun-In to give myself some highlights. You can obviously put Sun-In on and lie in the sunshine, but let's face it, it's SCOTLAND, the sun wasn't really strong enough to do any damage, so I used the alternative method of a hairdryer. I didn't really notice an effect so kept using it. And by the time I went back to school after the holidays I was significantly lighter.
My original hair colour (I am obviously the one on the left)

And I realised I preferred it that way. I sure as hell got a lot more attention than I had before.

So I've pretty much stayed blonde ever since, with the exception of a point around about the age of 19 where I was a bit darker for a bit.

Can you believe I didn't actually realise how dark my hair was at the time? I still thought I was blonde. (One on the right this time)

People sometimes ask if I'd go back to my natural colour and the answer is no. Don't get me wrong, I know my hair would look shinier and healthier and would be in far better condition were it dark again. But I don't think I SUIT dark hair. I feel like I was meant to be blonde really - when I look at pictures of myself with dark hair I look pretty washed out - it seems to just drain me.

And okay, it's a hassle when the roots start to grow back in but I am a DIY colourist so I can get it dealt with fairly quickly. Phew.

So it's blonde for me. (And now, sadly, some grey). For the forseeable future anyway. :)

Do you dye your hair a lot or is your hair its natural colour? Any hairdyeing disasters? (I accidentally dyed mine green once.) What hair colour do you feel most comfortable being?

Saturday, 26 June 2010


(I haven't personally, by the way.)

Yesterday, as I walked to work, a girl overtook me and the first thing I noticed about her was that she was doing the whole "leggings as pants" thing. Despite the fact that pants actually mean KNICKERS over here as opposed to trousers, I do tend to use that phrase rather than "leggings as trousers" because it sounds far more fun.

So basically she had on a short top which stopped at her waist, and black leggings. Oh no. Oh NO.

To make matters worse, as she walked in front of me, I noticed there was actually a small HOLE in the ass of the leggings. Underneath she was either wearing flesh coloured knickers, or going commando.

But that's not all.

It took me a moment to realise she wasn't in fact wearing leggings. She was wearing TIGHTS (or pantyhose as some of you may prefer to call it.)

Soooo . . . she was wearing a short top, black tights and ballet pumps. And the tights had a whole in them, and she was possibly wearing no knickers.

At eight thirty in the morning.

Do you think she had just clean forgotten to put her skirt on that morning? Was it some sort of Lady GaGa experiment to see if anyone commented (er, excuse me, you appear to be missing any sort of bottom half apart from your tights, just thought it was only polite to let you know")? Or am I missing something here?

Is it just me that thinks the whole thing was just a bit WRONG?

Thursday, 24 June 2010


When I was down in London and heading back from meeting Angela in Camden, I got on a crowded subway train. So crowded that I was fairly convinced a guy kept pressing his hard-on into my back. Everytime I moved, it prodded me again. But that's irrelevant to this story really.

The crowd started to disintegrate about one stop away from East Finchley and that's when I saw The Hot Boy.

Yup, he was that hot that he deserves extra capital letters in his title.

He was across the carriage from me so, bored, I watched him. From the moment I saw him, I forgot about the possible erection in my back (in fact, I neglected to notice if the guy behind me was even still THERE), I just eyed him up instead for the couple of minutes it took to get to my stop.


Cosmic moment? I was somehow in front of him as I left the station, but within approximately ten seconds of getting outside, he'd managed to slip past me and disappear up a side street. Sadly, not being from the area (in fact, it was a miracle I'd even managed to find the tube station in the first place), I lost him pretty damn quickly.

Our relationship was over before it even started.

Le sigh.

And that's why I wish I was a better stalker. Because I could have followed him home and broken in and done dirty things to him while he slept . . .

Um, sorry, I got carried away there.

But it would be so romantic wouldn't it? Not the stalking part, but the idea of eyes meeting on a crowded train, a whirlwind fling (well, it would have had to have been, I was going back to Glasgow the following day) . . . perhaps he would have chased me at the airport to try and stop me from going home even.

I like to make up scenarios in my head. Can you tell?

Like the whole stalker thing. Which is completely made up. Honest . . .

It would be nice to have that kind of story, wouldn't it? When your friends ask how you met, to be able to have this brilliant tale to spin them.

When I think of the stories I could have had about how I got together with guys in the past, none of them are particularly brilliant. A lot begin "we worked together and . . ." There's another that "began with an email flirtation where we jokingly talked about getting each other naked . . . and next thing we were", there's the cliched "I fell for my best male friend" and then the F scenario - "got drunk on Facebook, started talking to a guy i fancied in high school FOR EIGHT HOURS and it turned out he'd liked me too, and then he asked me out."

I think that one was my favourite.

Maybe that WAS my big romantic "how we got together" story. Maybe nothing can top that one.

In the meantime, I'll just keep wishing I was a better stalker . . .

What's YOUR most romantic/funny/ridiculous/surreal "How we got together" story?

Wednesday, 23 June 2010


Dear cyclists

(If you are a professional cyclist, or not one who goes out of their way to annoy others while getting from A to B, you can look away now. But if you are one of the cyclists who are a plague on the rest of us, pay attention, please!)

I have been planning to blog about this for a while, but then other more interesting things always come up for me to talk about. But reading a post by Amber where she talked about being a bit scared to cycle to work brought it back into the forefront of my mind. And the events of earlier today meant I HAD to blog about it like right now before I burst.

Why am I picking on you? I hear you ask. I'm sorry if you feel that way. It's just I've not had many good experiences with you.

My major peeve? Is of course the fact you change from motorist to pedestrian with the blink of an eye, or the same speed that Tiger Woods can drop his pants and shag another ladyfriend. (Both fast, obviously.) The rules of both the road and of pedestrianism (if that is a word) do not apply to you. You are impervious to both. You'll go through a red light if it suits you, despite of the fact that people are crossing the road because it's a GREEN light in their favour. You might not be a car, but you could still hurt others, and yourself, by doing that.

Or the way you'll suddenly drive up onto the pavement when you're stopped by a red light on the road. "Oooh," you think, "I'm wasting my time just waiting here. Let's just annoy the people trying to walk instead."

"In fact," you continue. "Let's ring my bell because they are all in my way! How DARE they all be in my way, despite the fact I'm on the pavement, a place that cyclists probably shouldn't actually be after they are actually GROWN-UPS." And then . . . "Well, I'll just drive over them if they don't move I guess! Oh well, it's their own fault!"

And, to add insult to injury, why don't you ALSO ring your bicycle bell to tell the pedestrians to get the fuck out of your way? You know, despite the fact that most of them are probably, I don't know, WEARING I-PODS AND WON'T HEAR YOU ANYWAY??? Didn't think of THAT now, did you???

You twats.

I spoke to a guy once who started cycling to work, and he admitted in his case, he DID become a different person when he got on a bike. Like, he thought it was okay to cycle on a really narrow pavement between scaffolding and then have a spot of pavement rage when some people walking in the opposite direction (walking? On the PAVEMENT? How very novel.) wouldn't get out of his way immediately. He said he knew he shouldn't have been cycling along there in the first place, he knew he was in the wrong, but he couldn't help himself.

So maybe it isn't YOU as such, perhaps it's the bike that turns you evil. Or selfish. Or . . . PERVY???

Case in point: this morning. I was walking over the bridge near to my work. It is a PEDESTRIAN footbridge. In fact, I'm pretty sure there are even signs which tell cyclists to dismount. Not that they EVER pay attention to those. I digress. As I was walking up onto the bridge I saw a cyclist riding on the footpath underneath, so assumed he was probably coming over the bridge too (and more than likely not dismounting.) All the same though, I made sure to walk along one side (the BUMPIER side! See, I'm nice like that, despite everything!) of the bridge so the guy could get past me okay without having to ring his bell or do anything stupid.

A minute or two later, I felt a presence beside me, floating along in my left line of vision. It was the bike. And it was cycling alongside me, keeping pace. Assuming it must be someone I knew trying to say hi, I turned. Only to find a complete stranger who looked me up and down in a way that was so creepy it gave me shivers and stopped me from producing my world renowned "Hairy Eyeball" dirty look in its full glory. After several long seconds of just LOOKING at me (and not at the bridge that he shouldn't have been cycling on) he continued to cycle on his way, occasionally looking back at me like he thought I was the One Who Got Away, only in a "You're the one who got away from the basement I tied you up in after I kidnapped you" sort of way.

Bleeeeeee!!! I feel dirty now.

So cyclists, I hated most of you already but NOW . . . I'm terrified I might run into creepy Mr CyclePath again (see what I did there?) Ironic he's a cycle path considering he doesn't know how to USE one . . .

Anyway, the moral of the story is . . . just stay out of my way and I'll try not to hate you TOO much.

I make no promises though.

Love from me xxx

Tuesday, 22 June 2010


***Office furniture***
Does this sound like a strange thing to wind me up? Not when I spent my first day back (I'm feeling a lot better - thanks for all the nice comments on my last post) searching desperately for 206 quid worth of receipts for my expenses from London. After two hours of panicking, I finally pulled out my bottom desk drawer and discovered they had fallen down the back. Phew.

***The World Cup***
I hate football at the best of times. I let it away with it for a week because it;s such a big tournament and only happens every four years, but I'm BORED of it now. Especially since, after a few days of doing fairly well in our dept Predict The World Cup contest, it now appears to be going downhill for me again... :(

***All this crap about Andy Murray and the Queen . . .***
I know he said today (after he won his first match at Wimbledon - woohoo!) that him saying he hadn't decided whether to bow for the Queen on Thurs was a load of rubbish, but it annoys me it was even an issue, given how I feel about royalty and the monarchy or whatever the crap it is. I don't think it should have been made out to be the big deal it was in the first place!!!

***People who can't read, understand and FOLLOW fairly simple instructions***
It's causing me a lot of stress work-wise. If you don't understand, why not just ASK? That's what I do - and okay, sometimes I feel stupid doing it, but it makes life easier for EVERYONE in the long run. That's maybe just MY opinion though. But at least it means I get things right.

***Not being able to lose weight.***
Why is it so much easier to put ON weight than get rid of it? Why is healthy food so crap? Why is exercise so boring? I NEED LIPOSUCTION IMMEDIATELY!!!

***People who induce my pavement rage***
Before you start jumping about the street like some sort of maniac on acid, here's a helpful hint: check who's behind you? (Reason why? One day, I may snap and kill you. In fact, it's more like a certainty.)

***Men. Just in general.***And, more specifically, why I can't occasionally meet one who is actually a viable prospect. Why is there always a catch, even with a mere crush?

Do you agree with any of these? Want to share any of your own? Please go ahead . . . :)

Monday, 21 June 2010


So I've mentioned before that I'm hardly ever sick. I've not been off work sick in about four years. I always feel too guilty to do so, and even make it in on the occasions I'm hungover. Which, let's face it, is fairly often.

Today I've been unable to move from my bed

It started last night. Not long after I ate a meal, which makes me think it is food poisoning. It was a meal I cooked, so I must have done it to myself.

It started off with stomach pain. I lay around with a hot water bottle on it, hoping it would go away. But as midnight slipped into the early hours and I lay down to try and sleep, I immediately discovered another problem.

Lying down made me feel like I was going to be sick.

I can't remember the last time I vomited and it wasn't due to too much alcohol. Seriously.

I spent some time hanging out on the bathroom floor next to the toilet bowl but nothing was happening. I took a basin back to bed with me and lay back down. Within a couple of minutes I wanted to puke again but nothing doing.

I was bored and ill all at once and it was the middle of the night. So I started googling vomiting, doesn't that make sense? No? I just really wanted to know if there was a time limit on how long it could take between the initial urge to be sick and the actual act of vomiting.

I found out that there is a rate my vomit website. Seriously, WTF? (I'm not even linking to it, if you are sick enough (no pun intended) to want to view other people's spew, just google "vomit" and its the second link.)

I also found out that in order not to get vomit in your lungs, you should have your head below your hips while spewing. So if you're at the toilet bowl, you should be standing up with your head inside the bowl.


Of course, then I started to panic thinking if I DID puke, I was going to do it wrong and end up choking on it or something, and that stopped me even MORE from wanting to sleep, and at the same time the pain in my stomach was getting worse, and it was now 5.30 am and I still hadn't gotten to sleep and I STILL hadn't vomited . . .

Eventually I fell into an anxious sleep, clutching the basin to me just in case.

I fully intended on still going to work but at 8.30am, which is make or break time (I allow myself 90 minutes to get up, ready and into work, and 10am is the latest I can be there), I tried to get out of bed and realised that there was no way I would be able to function with the stomach pain and lack of sleep. So I waited until I knew my manager would be in and phoned in sick.

I HATE phoning in sick because 1) I feel guilty, especially because there is so much work to do and 2) I feel like the person you are speaking to on the phone thinks you're lying. And even though I'm genuinely not well, I feel like I'm over-explaining things, y'know?

Anyway, now I'm lying here in bed, wide awake (I wasn't able to get back to sleep) and all I have inside me is a tiny bit of diet Pepsi and two Anadin painkillers. (I know water would have been better but the diet Pepsi was right there and the water is all the way in the kitchen.) I'm feeling bad about missing work, feeling exhausted, my stomach is still sore, and I'm too hot. I'm basically just feeling very sorry for myself, and even though for once it's not hungover related, it's still essentially my own fault, because I poisoned myself, and then stressed myself out about possibly choking on my own vomit, and looking at a vomit site and . . .

Oh my god, Paula, breathe!!!

And continue to try not to puke! (Although at this stage, that might be the only thing that makes me feel better...)

Do you get sick a lot? Are you a bad patient, like me? Anyone got any ideas how to cure food poisoning pains? Please feel free to share...

Sunday, 20 June 2010


The sunshine is annoying me.

Weird, right?

Normally I spend the working week complaining about having to be stuck inside, and them am absolutely FUMING when the weather gets crap at the weekend. And when the weather DOES get nice at the weekend, I am oiled up and heading to the Botanic Gardens (which is handily just around the corner from me) at the drop of a hat.

But this weekend I wanted to stay in. I wanted to be alone, drink wine. I wanted to clean and exercise. Well, I wanted to have the option to THINK about cleaning and exercising. Then probably do neither. If it had been dull or raining, it would have been ideal for those sort of activities.

Instead it's like twenty degrees and sunny, with barely a breeze. The weather I normally love.

And I wish it would go away.

I can't be bothered being outside! Okay, technically that's not my problem. It's that I want to be outside on my terms. If I had a balcony, for example, or a back garden of my own, I would be out there right now. But I can't be bothered sitting in a public area, alone but surrounded by tons of other people who would be put in the park especially to annoy me. (Or so Paula-centric me likes to think.)

Damn living in a flat. :(

Once upon a time, when we had a living room, I used to be able to open the window, drag a sofa in front of it, and sunbathe that way. I didn't need to leave the flat, but I still got a suntan.

The living room is now a bedroom and there is currently a stranger living in it.

I have a feeling she wouldn't let me use the "balcony" somehow.


I hope other people are enjoying the sunshine this weekend more than I am anyway. It would be really annoying if no one was appreciating it!

On the upside, I did just get to eat an ice lolly. And for once, it didn't make me feel cold afterwards.

So THAT was good.

Saturday, 19 June 2010


  • SINGING - I'm far from tone deaf and can sing in tune, for sure. Problem is, I do not have a particularly pretty singing voice. Which makes me very sad.

  • FOLLOWING CHOREOGRAPHED DANCE MOVES - I can' remember how long I spent trying to follow the dance steps from the scene in "Save The Last Dance" when Julia Stiles and Sean Patrick Thomas get down to "U Can Do It" by Ice Cube. Many many hours of my life were lost. Then I tried to do it along with my friend C in Yang one night, and fell over. Also forget dance related exercise videos and Zumba, because there is no way I'm going to keep up.

  • COMPLETING WORD VERIFICATIONS ON THE FIRST ATTEMPT - Seriously, does anyone else have this problem? It sometimes takes me three or four attempts to get one right, and I can never understand where I went wrong . . .

  • ACCENTS - I cannot do accents for shit. Basically every one I try, no matter where in the world the accent originates from, it comes out sounding vaguely Indian. Unless I try to do an INDIAN accent, which comes out sounding like . . . I have no idea, it is actually indescribable. I once had to pretend to be American on the phone (long story which I will one day get around to telling) and the accent that came out of me was HORRENDOUS. The worst bit was though that I had to keep up this awful accent for the entire phone call. I'm sure my accent was American by way of an around-the-world trip first. With a particularly long stopover in India, of course.

  • CRYING ON DEMAND - along with my inability to do accents, this is another thing which will stop me from ever becoming an actress (as well as my inability to be able to ACT and lack of self confidence, obviously!). Also, it is really handy for emotional blackmail if you can cry on demand (moi? Emotional blackmailer? Of course not.) Unfortunately, the times I cry always coincide with the times I really don't want to. So maybe I also wish I had the talent for holding back tears at unfortunate times . . .

  • RESISTING TEMPTATION - if I had that talent, I could stop drinking alcohol and eating junk with no bother whatsoever.

  • DATING - I am too awkward and uncomfortable on dates, which stops me really from putting myself out there. Which I don't really mind apart from the fact that dating stories make good blog fodder. So I am really only doing my BLOG a disservice with my lack of this talent. (My lack of a sex life apparently comes second to my blog. Hmmm.)

  • FILTERING INAPPROPRIATE COMMENTS *BEFORE* I SAY THEM OUT LOUD - Does this REALLY require an explanation? I guess in my case, this is less a "talent" and more a "necessity" . . .

What do you wish you had a talent for?

Thursday, 17 June 2010


Since I've been in London and living off expenses for the past few days, I've not exactly been eating particularly healthily. So it was with great trepidation this morning that I hopped onto my scales to weigh myself.

I had lost weight since Sunday.

Approximately 28 pounds, to be precise.

Obviously, this could not be the case. Even if I had one of those wormy things inside me which ate all my food instead of me, I still don't think I could lose two stone in weight in four days. Correct?

Don't get me wrong, there was the tiniest part of me that hoped that SOMEHOW it could be true. But mirrors don't lie (well, not always) and CLOTHES don't lie (unless you swap the labels on them so they LOOK like they're a size smaller when they're really not - or if your friend plays a trick on you like the one in the above TV commercial!). Oh and my HIPS certainly don't lie, Shakira!

But the realist in me knew it wasn't. Especially as I'm generally one of those people who stand on the scale, shake my head at the weight, work out what else I can take off to make myself lighter (Watch? Glasses? Nose stud?). And then can't understand why I haven't dropped any more pounds . . .

My scale was in a different part of the room than usual as I was attempting to use it to weigh my suitcase before my flight to London. My floor is not particularly level. I quickly deduced that the reason I had dropped so much weight was due to the scale's location. So I started moving it about the room, trying to get it back to normal.

Everytime I stood on it, it was still telling me I was this mythical weight. Which ironically, is about one pound off my IDEAL weight.

After four or five attempts at moving it around and standing experimentally on it, I found the magic spot. I was back to my correct weight.


So now I'm wondering if I should change the location of my scale. Or live my entire life in the part of the room where I'm nearly 30 pounds lighter? Will everyone else see my weightloss too if I just stay there forever? Is it a magical dimension where I'll fit miraculously into a UK size 8 again???

It's nice to PRETEND anyway . . .

Wednesday, 16 June 2010


I'm just back from three days in London for work, and I'm feeling a bit drained, and dreading the remaining two days back in the office. I LOVE going down to London for work (don't get to do it often enough, sadly) and the only thing that does my head in about it is the last day of having to work then head straight for the airport. I've been up since seven am when I had to somehow get dressed and finish packing in approximately half an hour.

The packing was a nightmare in itself. I zipped up my case, locked it and then decided I'd better check the five million drawers in my hotel room just in case. Thank goodness, because I'd nearly left without two of my favourite skirts! I then hustled to find my padlock keys, unlock the case and put the skirts in. Five seconds after locking my case again, I realised I'd left out my pyjama top. I was so incensed at my own stupidity that the pyjama top was thrown in the bin. I was NOT going back into that case again until I got home.

Stupid packing. :(

Anyway, I had a great time. Work was fast-paced and lasted from eight til at least three, with little chance of a lunch break but our leisure time was our own. It was peppered with some yummy meals, a couple of drinks in pubs watching the World Cup (normally I'm not into football but its hard to not get involved in the atmosphere, especially last night's Brazil game watched in an O'Neills in Muswell Hill - also I have a vested interest as I'm taking part in one of those Predict The World Cup games. Which I'm losing . . . drastically.) AND most excitingly of all, I got to spend a few hours yesterday with one of my favourite bloggers, Angela from Angelaboration. who just so happened to be in the UK.

I was a bit nervous about that (especially because me, the girl who is in possession of No Sense of Direction had to not only find her way to the tube station but then navigate it alone!) but she was absolutely lovely and showed me around Camden, which was pretty awesome. Even though I stayed there when I was down last year, I didn't get to see very much so it was nice to see it from the perspective of someone who was ALSO not from the area but knew more of it than I did! I also encouraged her to spend money on a pretty dress (what? I am broke; I have to shop vicariously through others!) in the market. Speaking of which, why are market clothes the same price as high street shops? I know you're meant to haggle and all (which Angela managed admirably, albeit in a slightly non-haggly way) but I could buy a dress in Top Shop for the same price as a dress in Camden Market. Heck, I could buy at least FOUR dresses if I braved Primark.

Anyhoo, we headed home via Heathrow today (we came down via Gatwick - I am gradually "collecting" all the airports in London - I now have Heathrow, Gatwick and the far smaller City under my belt) and Terminal Five was our place of departure. It was amazing. That being said, I wasn't impressed by the behaviour of some of the staff - I realise airport security is a serious job, but the way one of the security guys dealt with the two gentlemen in front of us as we unloaded our stuff to be scanned was horrendous. The guys clearly couldn't speak English very well and weren't sure what they were meant to be putting through the machine, and he was HORRIBLE to them. I know there's a queue and they're holding up the line, but he was just unnecessarily mean, made them flustered and as a result confused them more. Stupid twat.

On the other hand, the woman who scanned my boarding pass as I made my way onto the flight who whispered to me "I LOVE your dress" made my day.

Heathrow, you need more staff like that. We all like a compliment with our flight.

And a complimentary glass of wine. (Thanks British Airways!!!)

So what have I missed?

Saturday, 12 June 2010


Miss Smidge posted the other day about the legacies various exes had left her with. I realised I couldn't really think of anything . . . but that I've learned a lot from the breaking-up process myself. Lessons that I have applied to later relationships, others I haven't adhered to, but am still aware of.

Sometimes you can do everything right, and the relationship still ends.
There's no point beating yourself up over this. It's happened to me on many occasions. I don't think of myself s being a demanding girlfriend. I'm not someone who is particularly high maintenance in relationships, I'm easy-going, and as long as a guy can willingly spare some time for me, then I accept that. But then I find myself STILL getting dumped because I "seem to want too much out of a relationship".

Asking for answers is generally pointless.
It's hard to accept when a relationship is over. I hate to not know the proper reasons for why certain things happen, and I do have a tendency to over-analyse and ask for specific reasons why a guy switched off on me. Most of the time, when I HAVE asked, I didn't like the answers. Mainly because they couldn't really explain it. I just ended up feeling worse. What's the point in that?

Staying friends is hard.
It's not IMPOSSIBLE. But it's pretty difficult, especially at first. I guess it depends how it ends, whether it's amicable or not, and also whether or not you were friends in the first place. One of my exes was someone who had been a very good friend of mine before we got involved. After it ended, it was virtually impossible to maintain that friendship. As he is still someone I see regularly, this was pretty difficult for me. It has taken two and a half years for us to be able to actually have a semi-normal relationship again, but I have had to accept that we will NEVER be friends again. Merely acquaintances. Unfortunately, sex DOES change things, whether we like it or not.

Don't assume you will get back together.
Because I have had a couple of relationships which have resulted in us breaking up and getting back together not long after, it is easy to assume that this is just another of those temporary breaks. But sometimes it IS just over. It's best to assume the split is permanent and then you can start the healing process as soon as possible.

Conducting yourself with dignity is vital to your own sanity.
This is one I am starting to realise is paramount to my own self-esteem. And one which I have blatantly flaunted in the past. I'm horrendous for wanting to keep in touch, asking for answers, texting all the time, asking if we can meet up "just as friends, I still want to hang out", then crying when I see them and generally acting unstable. Which is fair enough, I've just been dumped, but I should be acting unstable in front of my FRIENDS, not in front of my ex. With F, and with the Cute Guy From the Party aka Swine Guy, I feel like I learned my lesson. When I FINALLY got the text from F, I simply replied saying it was fine, I was sorry he felt that way, but I understood. With Swine Guy, I didn't even respond to his "I can't see you anymore despite the fact we were meant to be going on a second date this very eve, because I've decided to get back with my ex who I'VE NEVER EVEN MENTIONED". I just left it and went off and ranted about what a prick he was to my friends.
(That being said, F and I ARE still in touch, albeit a few text messages every month or so. Oops.)

Give yourself some time to get over it, but don't wallow for too long.
About two months after my break-up in 2008, I was still obsessing over it. I ended up sending my ex a long email telling him exactly what I thought of his actions. (Long story, which I never talk about on here, but I'm still a little gutted about what I found out after we'd broken up.) I then got an email back where he took the high road, denied everything and made me feel worse about myself. It was around this point when one of my friends basically said to me I needed to get over it. She said she understood I was sad and upset but when she had first met me the year before, I'd been so much fun and happy, and she hated to see me this way because it was like he was all I could think about and I was so miserable. Do you know something? It was the most sensible thing everyone has ever said to me. I think it was around about that point when I snapped out of it.

WRITE the angry email detailing everything you want to say to him if you must. But don't SEND it.
Reasons as above. Although I remember writing an email I would never send to my previous ex and putting it on my old blog. Of course, when I was outed by my colleagues, they showed the ex the post in question so he DID end up reading it after all. Apparently though, he waved it off and said it was all true. So perhaps sometimes it DOES work. But I wouldn't advise it.

If you delete his number, yet keep the sweet messages he sent you once upon a time, it slightly negates the number deletion thing.
I don't have F's number stored in my phone, but I DO have text messages saved in there. Hence the occasional texting that still occurs. That being said, if you have to actually find a text message from your ex in order to send him a text, it slightly dulls the impulsive feeling to do so, and gives you time to think.

A crush always helps.
I know some people firmly maintain that the best way to get over a person is to get under another. I don't really subscribe to that belief myself, but I DO believe developing a crush on someone else, whether it's a attainable one or not, is always nice. It gets your mind off the previous relationship while you obsess over whether your crush wants you too. It's like a little hobby and it's fun!

You WILL find someone else.
So many times after a break-up, I've thought that was it. I'd never meet another guy, or not one I "clicked" with as well as I did my ex. They always DO come along when you least expect it though. I'm still waiting for my next one BUT I'm holding out for a GREAT one. Losers need not apply.

Obviously, these rules are not tailored to everyone, they are just things I have learned based on my own experience.

What are YOUR rules?

Friday, 11 June 2010


I made a very grave mistake today. It was a big 'un, let me tell you.

(That's what SHE said. Shut up.)

I decided to go shopping in my lunch-hour.

I don't know why I thought this was a good idea. The city centre is a fifteen minute walk from my work on a good day (ie a day when the rest of Glasgow has been eliminated in an apolocalypse and the pavements are therefore clear - presumably I then can get free stuff out the shops too) and even if I take the maximum 1 hour 15 minutes available to me for lunch, it's going to be a struggle to get much done. And since this week was a busy stressful week for us, I couldn't really take the full whammy, so I needed to get there, buy what i needed, and back in an hour.

I thought I had timed it well. I left work at one fifteen. This, I figured, meant that by the time I got to town, it would be after half past one and HOPEFULLY most people would be finished or ALMOST finished their lunchbreaks.

What I didn't take account of are the people who don't actually HAVE Lunchbreaks.

You know, the people who could go shopping AT ANY TIME OF DAY THEY PLEASE . . . but choose the busiest time of day to do so.

And they all decide to go to Primark.

Which was the main place I wanted to go because I really wanted to pick up some more of my favourite shoes. Because not only are these pumps pretty, not only do they actually have GRIPS on the soles and were the only things I could feasibly walk in through ice and snow over the winter AND cost six pounds for a pair . . . by some miracle, they are still stocking them in the shop. This is unbelievable - if you know Primark, you know their stock turnover is so fast that you are NEVER Likely to find the same thing on more than one trip. So since I wanted to make sure I had a few more pairs for my London trip (I am not allowed to make "clip clop" high heel noises when navigating Alexandra Palace since the students sitting exams may be disturbed) and I wasn't finishing until five, and I want to spend tomorrow in a state of complete relaxation, the shopping trip HAD to be today.

It took me ten minutes, as usual, to wind my way from the Argyle Street entrance to the first floor. Okay, so I got distracted but I figured I may as well have a pleasant detour rather than virtually crawl behind THE SLOWEST PEOPLE EVER IN EXISTENCE up the main shop aisle. So I picked up a little turquoise dress which I figured would look good with leggings (and was only a fiver), and a little colourful skirt, and headed for the shoe section.

RESULT! There sat my shoes, and there were size 5s in both the silver AND the black pairs so I picked them up. And then joined the slowest moving, longest queue in history. Or the longest queue since I queued up at EuroDisney for the Space Mountain ride anyway. And THAT was 1995, so yeah.

I checked my watch. 1.55pm. Which was the time I'd planned to start heading back to work. Optimistically, I decided that the queue would go fast.

1.58pm. I didn't appear to have moved forward any further. There were only two women serving. The lady behind me seemed to be trying to edge in front of me. DIDN'T SHE REALISE IT WOULDN'T MAKE ANY DIFFERENCE. We were here until we died.

2pm. Not much further forward but I'd worked out that I was probably the only person in that queue who was actually due back at work in fifteen minutes time. Oh, and the majority of the people in front of me had baskets overflowing with items, meaning it would take even longer for them to be served. Oh, and now I was wedged in a queue that I couldn't get out of anyway, so I was buying this stuff whether I liked it or not.

2.02 pm. I realised the "skirt" I was buying was in fact shorts. But I couldn't be bothered putting it back.

A moment or two later, the queue suddenly started moving fast. By about 2.07 I was finally served. I commented that it was unusually busy. The girl serving me agreed and said it wasn't usually so busy at this time.


Why did everyone decide that today would be the day they descended en masse on Primark at 1.45pm??? And that they all had to buy at least ten items?

Oh, and the shorts? They make me look like a short curtain with camel toe. And the dress, while cute, emphasises those fat bits where my shoulders join my arms. In fact . . . given that I actually don't HAVE these fat bits normally, the dress has just CREATED them. (Mental note: only to be worn with a cardigan.)

Thank goodness shoes generally look pretty no matter what . . .

Thursday, 10 June 2010


So I've always kind of prided myself on not being one to succumb to peer pressure, or follow the herd. While I'm by no means ALTERNATIVE or anything like that, I like to do things my own way. Which is one of the reasons why I've always bucked everything Apple-related.

I've never used a MacBook. When everyone else was jumping on the iPod wagon, I tried every other brand I could try of mp3 player instead, and am now on my second Sony Walkman. Which I love.

And we all know that it was only September last year where I was denouncing the iPhone as something I would never ever be seen dead with.

But now . . . I am starting to consider it.

I can hardly believe I am saying this but Apple is starting to wear me down.

I'm due a phone upgrade in about a month and today I admitted to myself that I am seriously considering going for an iPhone.

WHAT THE FUCK??? This is not me!!! I don't give in to this sort of pressure.

But I'm thinking about it.

First of all, there was the fact that some of my favourite coolest bloggers have one. Like Smidge. And Helen. Grr grr GRRR. In Edinburgh, it seemed such a handy thing. Smidge could find out when the next bus was due with the touch of a button. Never mind the fact I don't even USE buses, it seemed so cool.

Then there's my colleague (three out of six of my team-members have iPhones, by the way, which somehow repels AND attracts me further to the Dark Side all at once) who has the most awesome shell covers for his phone, in fabulous colours such as bright purple and this FABULOUS, I-want-it-so-much-I-could-DIE greeny-blue one. I used to have a nokia 82-10 which I could change the covers on. (I lost it the night I snogged the 18 year old I mentioned two posts ago). I LOVED being able to make my phone look different.

If I had an iPhone I could DO this. I could have a phone that changed colour, personality every day . . . but remained the same all at once!!!

Oh and my sister has a protective cover on hers which also doubles as a mirror. Which would be very handy for those moments when my eye-make-up decides to make a break for it. It could single-handedly help me prevent the accidental-Alice-Cooper-impersonation. Which can only be a good thing. Right?

But it was when I realised a couple of my colleagues were playing some Scrabble-type game with each other that I couldn't play BECAUSE I DIDN'T HAVE AN IPHONE . . . that was the final straw. As I wailed to my colleague today . . . "It's not fair! If I had an iPhone, I could play scrabble with you too!" He looked a bit taken aback and told me not to worry, he would play scrabble with me on Facebook if I wanted. "It's not the same," I pouted.

For the record, I don't think I even LIKE Scrabble that much. It's just the principle of the matter.

Not having an iPhone is making me feel left out. :(

I don't want to be uncool anymore.

I love my little pink Blackberry, I really do. And I had thought that we would be happy together forever. I've even saw a lovely dark purple model I could probably upgrade to. (And of all the colours of phones available in the world, a purple phone is always the colour I have wanted most. Honest.) But . . . lately I'm starting to make eyes elsewhere.

I posted on twitter about it earlier, asking for advice, for a phone that is LIKE an iPhone but not one, and now I'm even more confused. Palm Pre, HTC Evo, Desire, Hero, Droid . . . I liked the Dell Streak but have been informed that it is not really a phone?

Then there's the pretty phones that I'm not sure what they do but they look good. Like the aforementioned Purple BlackBerry. Or the phone that has a white quilted back. Or the pink one that looks like a jewel.

No matter what I choose of them though, I feel like I may regret just going against everything I believe in, succumbing to the pressure and buying the damn iPhone.

Even if I DO hate myself forever for doing so.

Apple? You have a lot to bloody answer for, I can tell you!

Wednesday, 9 June 2010


Ah junk food. Oh lovely lovely junk food.

I tried to leave you, I really did. I tried to embrace all the healthy food in the world. I keep trying, keep trying to resist, keep reminding myself you're no good for me.

So why do I keep coming back?

Partly, it's convenience, I suppose. Being healthy is so damn hard. Eating healthy food makes me feel better inside but it's like I know something is missing, deep down inside me.

(Pizza. Chocolate. Spaghetti Carbonara. Deep fried mozzarella sticks. I could go on . . .)

I'll be honest, junk food. Healthy food is . . . well, a little high maintenance, if I'm perfectly honest.

First of all, there's the amount of time it takes me to cook anything. Even a bit of meat and some veggies seems to take forever. Why the feck does brocoli take so long to boil, for example? It says five minutes on the packet . . . twenty minutes later and it's still as hard as a brick. (This is often due to me forgetting to actually switch the cooker on at the wall but that's completely unrelated.)

Then I'm not sure when the meat is actually ready and end up with it too rare or burnt to a cinder. Neither option is to my taste. And if it's too rare I worry I'm going to get food poisoning which would, obviously, negate the whole healthiness thing.

My social life goes down the tubes because how can I enjoy myself hanging out with my mates when healthy food is clicking its tongue in disapproval and shaking its head at me???

The kitchen bin fills at a monumental rate, what with empty packets of berries and cartons of yogurt. And the vegetables I don't get around to using. Cos there's always some left over. Or quite a lot. (Oh junk food, you are so convenient at forcing all your ingredients into one receptacle - albeit by over-processing it to death. I miss you.)

And don't even get me STARTED on the dirty dishes I accumulate! There's chopping boards, pots and pans, fifty million different items of cutlery, my rarely-used blender (now I remember WHY I rarely use it; it's an absolute BUGGER to clean!) . . . and then on top of all that, there's my lunches I have to make for work, which result in me carrying around several different sizes of plastic tubs which have to be cleaned at the end of every day . . .

And speaking of making food for work, I spent AN HOUR AND A HALF making myself a healthy breakfast (crustless quiche) and lunch (tuna fishcakes) for my lunch last night so that I wouldn't go hungry and head directly for the vending machine. 90 minutes on two dishes that aren't exactly complicated, except to me. What a friggin' waste of my time, I could have ordered a Dominos, had it delivered AND nommed it down with several bars of chocolate and a bottle of wine in those minutes.

I'd have loved every minute of it. And probably hated myself afterwards.

And I recognise that.

Yet tonight, I still found myself holding a shopping basket with a pizza, chocolate and wine in it.

I swear it did just jump in there of its own accord.

But I didn't take it back out. Instead I went up to the checkout and paid for it. And left with it.

And now, junk food, I'm enjoying you once again.

Consider it a one night stand. I'll see you again in a week or so. Just wait for my call . . . ;)

Tuesday, 8 June 2010


. . . Back when I was 23 and a young whippersnapper, I went to my sister's friend's 21st birthday, got myself more than a little inebriated, and ended up kissing an 18 year old.

I know, I'm such a cougar. Purrrrrr.

Anyhoo, the girl who had that 21st party, was the same girl who was the hen at the hen day/night thing on Saturday. I was a bit embarrassed about facing her mum because the last time she saw me, seven years ago, I was in her living room snacking on a teenager's face. Apparently she'd been a little appalled by it. Oops.

I will stress it WAS only kissing, strictly PG rated stuff.

Luckily her mum didn't appear to remember. Or she didn't bring it up anyway. And thank goodness for that.

You see, there was this girl sitting behind us during the cocktail making. She was kind of LOUD. In a way that was funny at first but later . . . it was coming across as attention whoring in the most annoying of ways. She also, on closer inspection, was a little older than she looked from far away. We think around about 34.

(There's a point to this story. I'm getting there. I promise.)

We discovered, through blatant eavesdropping, that she'd been with her boyfriend for around about 6 years.

And he was quite a bit younger than her.

Can you guess who the boyfriend was?

Oh yeah, it was the 18 year old I'd snogged back in late 2002. (Obviously he isn't still eighteen now, he's like 25. Duh.)

They'd evidently been together since she was 28 and he was . . . 19!!!

Did he always like older women then??? Or did I give him a taste for it?

I guess we'll never know . . .

Monday, 7 June 2010


Sometimes I can only think of a smart wisecrack ages after a moment it would have fitted perfectly, and want to kick myself for it. Occasionally though, my ability to come up with the goods on the spot surprises even me . . .

Case in point, the other day in work. In order to go to the loos, we need to go out the main door of the office into the main atrium, thus necessitating use of a fob for access in and out. As I headed through reception to the door, I ran into a male colleague from another department and was making small talk as we headed for the door.

At this point, he realised he had forgotten his fob.

"Oh <>" he said. "I forgot my little thing."

My line? "I hope you're not going to the toilet then."


Wow. Sometimes I amuse myself so much I should be a stand-up comic...

Sunday, 6 June 2010


Renarkably I've been hangover-free this weekend. I say "remarkably" not because I didn't drink (which would have probably been miraculous) but because with the amount I drank, it is grossly unfair to anyone who IS currently hungover that I've felt absolutely fine.

I had an all-day hen party on Saturday so the plan originally was to have a quiet Friday night. But my friend V asked if I wanted to go for a couple of drinks. The intention was still to make it relatively quiet given I would be starting pretty early yesterday. So I booked us a table at one of my favourite restaurants Brodie's (the place of the haggis nachos, yum!), and took a bottle of sparkling rose over to hers to enjoy before we headed out. Somehow along the way though, we ended up in The Social with her fiance's friends and brother so the relatively quiet night turned into me wobbling to the taxi rank at some point around midnight wondering aloud if there was anywhere relatively quiet I could go to puke. And, if you happen to not be my friend on Facebook and therefore missed this, it resulted in status updates the following morning such as:

Paula woke at 5am to discover she was still fully dressed, contacts still in, make-up smeared, and her bag still on her shoulder. Bit too much to drink, perhaps? :)


Paula was washing her hair and a 5p coin fell out of it during the shampoo stage! WHY WAS THERE MONEY IN MY HAIR???

Anyhoo, apart from those incidents, I was not hungover. Yup, I know you hate me. I'm sorry. No, wait, I'm not sorry. I managed to sort out an outfit for the hen day/night, the thene of which was black and bling, and me and my sister headed to MacSorleys for the first part of the day. We made it there for half two, where I discovered I knew no one except the hen herself and her sister. Oh well. We were given pink feather boas and name badges and then headed to Viva for a cocktail making lesson.

Great way to draw attention to yourself in Glasgow city centre on a Saturday afternoon? Winding your way through town on high heels, draped in pink feather boas. Le cringe. There was a lot of laughing and pointing.

Cocktail making was fun. Although I realised very quickly that making cocktails is too much effort. DRINKING them? Far more fun.

After a two course meal, we then headed to Bunker (the same place I went for my 30th) and got our groove on a bit, while I drank more rose wine and several shots of Apple Sourz. I wanted to dance and I tried, but by that point my feet KILLED me. I had decided to wear a pair of pink satin shoes I've loved for years but hardly ever wear because I'm scared they'll get dirty. (Sadly, I've just noticed they DID get dirty. Sob.) By eight o'clock, i could barely walk.

BUT I didn't fall over. Yay!

We also of course got the sleazy drunken guys who immediately thought "Oooh, hen night! Let's get in there!" I got singled out by one of the arsiest ones, who swung the light from the booth into my face as if he was interrogating me and then proceeded TO interrogate me about why I was single. Was I a lesbian? Was I a bitch? Was I frigid?

The reason I'm single, dude, is because you are proof there are few good men out there. Yeah. Go stick THAT in your pipe and smoke it.

Today has been spent in relative relaxation. Brunch at Antipasti in Byres Road followed by Sex and the City 2. It wasn't as bad as I thought I would be. As cringey and completely politically incorrect as I had expected from reviews on it, and a bit too long, but enjoyable enough. Although some of the outfits made me want to cry, throw up and/or call the fashion police. Has anyone else saw it? What did you think?

Now home, I'm planning to curl up on my bed with some cava and watch some Cougar Town. I have a busy week ahead of me - its exams week in work, I have Ellie Goulding to see tomorrow night, two ten and a half hour long shifts on Wednesday and Thursday, and then I head down to London for work next Sunday morning for three days - so I am going to make the most of these last few hours of my weekend and eek every bit of relaxation out of them!

Ellie really shouldn't dance, should she??? (Sorry Ellie.)

So how were your weekends? Did you end up with MY hangover as well as your own???

Friday, 4 June 2010


A few months ago, I mentioned how much I had enjoyed a book called "The Dating Detox", which I had greedily devoured over the space of a weekend. I so identified with the heroine's past romantic history (which was horrendous) that I couldn't help but love every minute of it. So when the author of the novel, Gemma Burgess (who is lovely, just an FYI!) asked on Twitter for volunteers to host her long-awaited book trailer for it, I jumped at the chance.

The Dating Detox Trailer from sam eastall on Vimeo.

I should mention right now I've not had a chance to watch it myself as I am having EXTREME TECHNICAL ISSUES this morning, so if it doesn't work on my blog, you can also view it at

Oh and you can view Gemma's own blog here.

I actually can't recommend this book enough - it's by far one of my favourite books that I've read this year so if you haven't read it, what are you waiting for?

Thursday, 3 June 2010


Thanks for all of your nice comments on my last post. You really cheered me up/made me feel better/made me want to do naughty things to you all . . . er, scratch that last one. (It's just Miss Smidge I do naughty things to, and that's only when she's asleep, remember? Shhhhh!!!)

So in turn I give you . . . Cheer Me Up Tuesday on a THURSDAY!!!

And this is mainly because I went birthday card shopping after work today and bought a couple of cards that made me giggle. Will they make YOU giggle too? (Or will they simply prove I have rotten taste in cards?)

First up, I bought this for one of my team-mates in work for the communal birthday card, which I accidentally became responsible for. Hope other people in work find it as funny as I did.

And this is for my sister. Her birthday was on Tuesday but I won't be seeing her until Saturday. I have photographed this in two halves as it was hard to see otherwise, but these are by far my favourite type of cards. There's a whole series based on fruit and veg and they are absolutely awesome . . .

And that's all folks! Hope you enjoyed! :)

Wednesday, 2 June 2010


My head has been all over the place the past couple days and I can't figure out what the heck is wrong with me.

One minute I'm happy and can't stop smiling, the next I want to curl up in a ball and cry until I'm sick. I can't figure out what is shifting my mood so abruptly from one extreme to another, and I am absolutely sick of it. How can you make something better when you don't know what is actually wrong? How can you provide a cure without knowing what triggers your symptoms?

I've not felt like this in a few months now, not properly bad like this anyway. I lay awake most of last night, barely sleeping, dozing fitfully and on the many occasions between that I was awake, I was staring at the ceiling, but unthinking. I was too scared to think. Sometimes when I'm alone with my thoughts I start to think too much about the BIG things in life and then I get freaked out and can feel myself starting to panic, my breathing quickening until I have to sit up , struggle to slow my breath and calm myself down.

You know though, I take heart in the fact that used to go through phases like these a hell of a lot more. Even thinking back to when I was a teenager. I found diaries from my younger years, from high school, from uni days and from that unemployed period after. I wasn't as happy and carefree as I like to think I was. A lot of the time I was miserable and didn't feel like I fit in with anyone, or anywhere. At one point I lost several pounds in weight simply because I was too busy crying to eat.

I'm a far stronger person than that now. My "wobbly" phases are few and far between. I know that give me a couple of days, I will be back in my happy (for me) place. Perhaps once I've got some more sleep. I already feel more cheerful after having a girly night in with a couple of my friends. Perhaps by the weekend I'll be back to normal(ish). But I would like my insides to match the relatively happy, smiley exterior I project to the world (the real world, I mean!) as soon as possible!

Tuesday, 1 June 2010


Remember this post? The one where I listed all the silly things I do when I'm drunk?

This weekend's trip to Edinburgh gave me another two to add to the list.

1. When very drunk, I start talking gibberish. I should have remembered this one as F told me that I had been doing that the first night we spent together. Apparently I was doing this on Friday night though.

2. I want to cuddle everyone. Another one I can't believe I forgot about.

Oh well . . . ;)

PS I have posted at In It To Gym It today about the diet I'm currently on, so please stop by and read if you have a minute. I totally believe in this diet now and definitely think it's the way I'm going to lose some weight. (Oh and if you are currently trying to lose weight, get fit or just be healthy, you should join the community! The support is immense!)