The Update

I haven't blogged for ages. I apologise. A lot has changed, new job, new hair, new attitude...well okay some things have changed.

So I decided earlier this year that I was going to try out new things. To start with this meant going to the theatre on my own, to see art galleries, to visit tourist sites and then I decided to branch it out to my love life.

I have always been hopeless in love. As my many stories on here tell you. So I joined a dating site. I met a few guys, to be fair I got off lucky every single one that I met was absolutely lovely..just so happened that none of us clicked that much.

First there was Alex, music DJ who was really chilled out and good fun. I did not like however the fact that everytime we went out for a drink he assumed me to be impoverished so pulled a face and said 'sooo...shall I get the drinks in, can you afford to buy one?'. I'm all for being spoilt but really. Anyway we got drunk, had a bit of a fondle and then realised actually we're really not anything special.

Then there was Mark. Mark was massive. That sounds wrong..it isn't. He was 6ft6. I should mention I'm only 5ft4 so over a foot taller than me and a rugby player. Mark was lovely. The biggest softie I've met, such a BFG (best friend or gay). As soon as we met we started outdrinking each other and discussing London Irish. Needless to say date two didn't happen but we do text each other about the rugby scores.

Then there was James. I really liked James. He wasn't that tall but was a sportsman and had a great sense of humour. Things were going really well..he'd invited me to stay for a weekend and actually genuinely seemed to find my jokes funny (great success). But then I got my new job in his building and things just...died. Let's just say the christmas party this year for work will be awkward. I did that typical girl thing of deleting him off facebook and my phone to 'get over him'. Ouch.

So after these guys I decided to rest and concentrate on work. But that can only last for a little while. My latest challenge to myself was to go on a date with a complete stranger. Someone I knew nothing about..apart from the fact that they liked burritos.

Yes that's right I went on a date with Mr Burrito man aka 52 Burrito dates. I'm not an idiot as my best friend called me when I told her about the date, I did my research. This guy seemed smart, was always nice in his blogs and was, after all, Irish. I thought I could never not get on with an Irishman. I was wrong.

You know that scene in Saw where the guy is tied up and awaiting his fate? That was the date. It was one of those situations where from minute one you could just tell you weren't going to have fun. We just didn't click. I tried my best, I asked about hobbies, his job, his favourite food etc. but was greeted with one word answers and a fake laugh. Great. So I told him about me and mentioned that I was a blokes girl and like to tell blokeish jokes. His response? Tell me one. Errr sorry do I look like a performing monkey? Unless you're Michael 'The Hero' McIntyre jokes are supposed to be spontaneous. This is clearly someone who would enjoy my mum's random cheese jokes. I then decided my last resort was to tell my attempted mugger story- which I have in fact told on here- this story everytime I tell it has people shocked and laughing. I have proof of this because I told it during my first round auditions for the tv programme Shipwrecked and it got me through to the pre final round. But do you know what I told it and it was like telling a blonde joke to Amy from The Only Way Is Essex. I just got silence. (cue haystack). That's when I knew it was over. We both made our excuses and left after just half an hour. The humour behind it all? I tried to cancel. My friend Tom was waiting round the corner beforehand and I wanted to continue drinking...but instead I went on the date. I was polite throughout and smiled A LOT. And I mean A LOT.

Needless to say my idea to branch out and try something new has hit a setback. That was horrific. And I'm not someone who would usually blog about a really bad date but let's just say if you pay a visit to 52 Dates I'm not spoken of in a nice light so felt it only fair I get my say. And just for the record after you read it..my surname's not Threadwell and I didn't go to Oxford uni. But heyho it's good to know he was paying attention!

Till my next blog post!

Apologies for belated blog post

Life is has been fairly crazy recently. I started a new job and have been slaving away trying to do things correctly despite working for free.

So I am officially bored of single life. I no longer want to be coming home to a quiet house, being perved on in sleazy clubs or date guys with secrets.
It's because of this that I finally bit the bullet and signed up to mysinglefriend.com
A friend of mine had had great success with the site previously and had met the man of her dreams so I thought I would give it a go.

If I am being honest the whole idea of online dating makes me feel very stupid and small. Let's be honest it does have an undertone of desperation so I was slightly worried what I might find. First of all was the idea of describing yourself. Am I slender, curveacous etc. I went for slender (yes inside I was laughing 'you wish' to myself but hey ho). Then it asked me if I was a smoker. Now I have been off on smoking for 6 years but I hate calling myself a smoker. I still like to think of myself as a social smoker despite having one on the way to work and one before bed. So again I lied and said an occasional smoker (my thoughts were if I did meet someone I would have to give up to support this anyway). After this my friend had to describe me, and leaving someone to describe you in not so many words is a pretty odd and unsatisfying thing. Despite this Sarah managed to do it pretty well and I was satisfied:

If you're looking for a girl who loves long walks, football, board games and loud clubs... then Abi is definitely NOT the woman for you. If on the other hand you are looking for a girl with phenomenal banter, who can make friends with anyone (in first year of uni Abi actually ended up befriending her attempted mugger), who loves the countryside (for the shooting and drinking), attends London fashion week, adores South African accents, and is a big London Irish fan then look no further.
Why, you may ask, is Abi single? Well being the owner of exceptional banter means that the majority of her friends are guys... I guess she's just prone to being stuck in the friendzone! Abi's sexy, smiley, intelligent and kind hearted (and not to mention the proud owner of a fantastic rack!). She loves to travel, she's already been to Australia, Namibia, Israel and Singapore. After completing a degree in English Abi is currently doing a journalism masters in London. Not just a pretty face...
She's not aiming too high, but if you're a rugby playing, Danny Care/Dom Waldouck look a like with fantastic chat then send her a message. She won't bite... much!

I was happy with that, wrote a short sarcastic description of myself and then moved onto pictures. This is a hard task yet again. Do you choose the one where you are striking a massive pose? Show your fun side with you drunk and dressed as a chav? Do the whole sexy outfit? It's a hard decision. I went for the standard caught unaware photo, a long distance photo and a poser photo. This was the best of the bunch. The majority of my facebook photos happen to be me posing with bob the builder, climbing a wall in my undies or me shaking my thang on the dance floor.

Once this was done I was ready to go. I decided to aim for a guy between the ages of 24 and 33. Despite me only being 22 I am deep down an old woman and can't really handle guys my age with their ability to make every saturday night a visit to a&e. Typically being a London girl I was left with quite a few options and so I began my search. I was surprised there was such a choice. Tall, thin, fat, muscly, arty, bald, model, singer, geeky, foreign etc. I have always thought myself to be someone who never had a set type but now I was starting to wonder. Part of me wanted to prove to myself that I am not shallow but in fact I was proved wrong by the amount of guys I selected who were way out of my league!! I 'added them to my favourites' and sat and waited to see what would happen next. (Granted that last time I went on an online date the guy had cystic fibrosis and I was not aware in the slightest).

I soon recieved messages ranging from normal to cheesy to insane. Ie. 'I'd mug you for your heart' or 'Will you be my princess' (why is it all foreign men seem to think that this is a winning line...in fact it makes me think of mail order brides). But I did luck out.

First up was Matty, a stacked broker from London with a pout and clearly a bit of an attitude. We exchanged a few emails and I'd decided I wanted a big rugby bloke so decided he might be a good idea. We soon arranged a date but I wussed out. Well not quite wussed out... I have one massive dislike. Bad spelling of simple words. It is so infuriating, not to mention that I find it very sexy when a guy is smarter than me (it's not that hard). So I made my excuses and am yet to reschedule :/ sorry Matty.

Then there was Tom. Tom looked like a nice, straightforward guy so we started talking. And not only was he cute but he got my ridiculous sense of humour too. We arranged drinks in Notting Hill and this time I didn't cancel. As I arrived it started to pour down with rain and I hid in the tunnel for cover. Tom called to enquire where I was and to mention that he had no umbrella (whoops). We stayed on the phone trying to locate each other and I headed towards the zebra crossing, where at the other end he was supposedly standing. I looked across and spotted a tall, good looking guy with a good fashion sense. tick, tick tick. We grabbed a drink and perched in the corner unfortunately right next to the men's loos. Classy. After two drinks we loosened up and begun to really chat. I discovered his love of dj-ing, about his family, where he lived, what his most embarrassing drunken situation was and had even told him about the night I became 'asbo abi' (a story I will soon blog about). We relocated to another pub and the conversation flowed so much so it reached 12am and I realised I needed to catch the last tube. We walked towards the tube and Tom stopped me, spun me around and kissed me. I couldn't help but wonder if this was a move he had used before, it felt rather like a cheesy movie scene. The next day we thanked each other for a good night and arranged drinks again the following week.

We met the week after and I was excited. Despite him having slight OCD ( a really bad thing considering he's obsessed with tidying his room- and my room is probably housing a family of 16) he ticked a lot of my boxes, smart, driven, charming, family orientated, good looking, honest. We returned to the same pub where I suddenly was innudated with calls from work. Despite my awkward interruptions again things went well...but this time I didn't restrain the drinks, four drinks in and I was tipsy and falling for his charms. I lent in and kissed him, and we ended up having a bit of a make out sesh. One thing led to another and due to alcohol and persuasive talk on his part I was soon back at his looking at his terrapin (not dirty he actually has one). The next morning I woke up in one of his band t-shirts, supposedly he had given me the smallest one he owned to quote 'see your boobs in the morning easier'. Hmmm... A kiss goodbye and I jumped on the tube home, a walk of shame at 9am before I had a day of interviews working from home.

What's annoying me however is the fact I am still not sure how I feel. Tom's goodlooking, funny, friendly and we get on really well but am I supposed to be having butterflies yet? Because of this I have now got four dates this week from the site.
Joe- a rugby playing guy of 6ft6 (highest heels please), Simon- a posh scot with a love of shooting, Luke- a very goodlooking guy with a love of travelling, Matt- a funny hockey player who works in media.

I'll keep you updated but for now I think I'm starting a dating addiction. This could possibly get worse.

The Curse

I can't sleep so finally decided to update my blog. What a writer I am! It clearly has nothing to do with the fact that I watched Paranormal Activity on my own and now have an active imagination when my floorboards creak.

So friday night my old housemate from university came to stay. She is one of the few girls that I can actually stand to be with for more than a few hours. Her chat consists of witty sharp banter rather than discussing how many pounds she has lost that week and which Jonas brother she'd do. She is however dirty minded as hell. Hence why we get on so well. I walked in on her many a times using handcuffs...and that was a tame night.
Anyway so we crack open a few bottles of wine and discuss work/holidays etc and then she suddenly goes quiet and looks at me. 'So Abi. How's the curse?'. The curse...I'd forgotten about the curse. In my second year of university we had just been to Fuzzy ducks (Fhm's easiest place to pull in the UK and our favourite haunt on a wednesday night) and were stumbling back home together. Suddenly she stopped stared at me and said 'Abi, you and I we're just not meant to have boyfriends at university'. We laughed it off but a strange thing happened, since that comment neither of us has managed to maintain a relationship whatsoever. Odd considering we had both managed to do the relationship thang quite well before hand.
We begun to compare notes: we had both dated older guys, both had failed. We had both dated our boss, both had failed. We had both been on an internet date, and been deeply disappointed. The pattern continued. As apparently had the curse. I know what you're thinking. All of those things have happened to lots of people. Well try having them occur over a period of 3 years. Then throw in the fact that both of us have had the WORST luck- I'm talking psycho men, men with bad B.O, guys with weird sex fetishes and stalkers. It's pretty bad.
So how to break it? Well she's moving to Australia and me? Well I think it's time to buy a puppy. Cats are so 1990s.

The Alchemist

So if you have read my last blog you will know that I met a tasty Spaniard during my time in Amsterdam. (As an update we are still in contact and I have been offered a bed there whenever I want to come visit!) Anyway the night we met for a drink I mentioned that I had studied English at University. This interested the bar man and we soon started to discuss our favourite books. He told me of his favourite book ‘The Alchemist’. I’d heard of this particular book but never read it. Spaniard then informed me that this book had been so inspiring that he had tried to live his life every day in connection with the book’s teachings. This interested me even more, a book that was so enlightening it could influenced the life of a young, outgoing, free spirited guy. If I am being honest I was jealous of Spaniard. He was so upfront about himself about the fact that he loved women, that he loved to travel, that he wanted love but until then loved sex so why not just take it when it comes. I wanted that freedom, that confidence so on returning to the UK I purchased ‘The Alchemist’ and finished it within a day.
What I took from the book was that everyone has a destiny. The universe has left you omens to follow to reach your destiny and it is whether you take notice of them that decides whether you will achieve it. I found this particularly interesting- what was my destiny? The Spaniard had told me of his previous dreams to travel, and that he had left the woman he loved in Sweden whilst he travelled in order to experience his destiny. ‘The Alchemist’ also claims that true love will wait whilst you achieve your destiny. I wondered how I could use the guiding of the book in my life. I have always had a list of things I want to do before I die. A few of them being:
1. Go cage diving with sharks in South Africa and visit my ex in Jo Bay
2. Visit the pyramids in Egypt
3. Become fluent in Italian
4. Go watch the surfing competitions in Hawaii.
5. Visit all the art galleries in Barcelona
I wondered whether this was a sign that I should start trying to tick one of these off my list? I pushed the thoughts to the back of my mind and carried on with my day to day life until today. My friend put on ‘Men who stare at goats’ and in that too was the message about everyone having a destiny and should follow the omens they are given by the universe. This was definitely a sign. So I have no idea exactly what my destiny is (to me I think it will be to be a fantastic journalist with a great handbag collection and my own Friday night talk show) but I’ve decided what my next stop in life will be if I am unable to get a job by the end of August. I will go back to my monotonous retail job and save every penny I earn. Then in March I will buy a round the world ticket and travel to South Africa, New Zealand, Australia and Fiji for several months. It might not be my destiny but it is most definitely a start.

The Search

I'm still stressed.
I hate being unemployed. That sounds stupid no one LIKES to be unemployed but I physically require myself to be busy at all times. I used to think I was the perfect example of lazy (my bed and I have a very intimate relationship which in the past has seen frequent weekday naps) but according to my family and friends this is far from true. 'Oh god you not working. That's a nightmare and a half...you need to be busy. You're abi, you are always busy' my best friend moaned. I hate Jeremy Kyle, I hate wedding shows and I hate those smug sofa dwellers on This Morning. I was just not destined to be a stay at home person.
The thing is I am being picky. If it bothered me that much I could easily get my old regent street job back or work in my local bar or even take part in more work experience but I simply have upped my standards. I no longer want to make coffee for other people, want to have a temporary pass that needs to be handed in at the end of each week and be ignored by all other members of staff. I want to get paid for my manual labour, paid for my writing or styling or even my sarcastic input. So I sit here day in day out (okay it has been two weeks but it does feel like an eternity) applying to job after job after job after job.
At first it was just very casual cover letters and now...well that friend of a friend of a friend of a friend who knows someone who knows someone, well I am debating getting in touch with them and yes I will no doubt end up begging them for work.

It's not all bad however. This unemployed process has made me realise what a good impression my hard work has made on my family. My Grandma called me to say that she felt I desperately deserved a break as I had worked hard the last three years (not necessarily true I do remember a sick day that was taken so I could sit by David Lloyd Pool for the afternoon).
I decided to occupy all this time so I booked myself a few holidays... So I'm off to Amsterdam this week for a long weekend to see my best friend (and now my love life is feeling particularly sorry for itself perhaps the Australian barman who made his intentions very obvious last time I went over). Then on to Miami for a few weeks. Yes Miami. Yes I am unemployed and can still fork out for Miami. This my friends is the joy of hard work. Eventually even in your darkest moments there are some benefits and I for one plan on sitting on the beach with my moijto safe in the knowledge that my blackberry will not be recieving any emails from work.

Befriending My Mugger

Just thought I'd tell you one of my famous tales from university...

SO my first week of University in Oxford (no before you get excited Brookes aka The Early Learning Centre not Oxford) I decided to go out with some new friends to a club in town. After having one too many drinks as one tends to do at the beginning of university I proceeded to lose my wallet. A friend of mine then asked to borrow my mobile which I happily gave her. Dancing around the club for a bit I realised that I had managed to lose all of my friends. Angry and drunk I started to walk home...barefooted. Girls you can understand how painful it is to wear stupidly high heels all night. So there I was drunk, phoneless and walletless walking barefooted in the direction which I thought was home.
After walking for forty minutes I soon realised that I was well and truly lost. Not only that but I had managed to tread on a piece of glass which had firmly lodged itself into my foot. Hobbling along I entered a council estate where a young guy on a bike rode up and stopped in front of me.
'Give me your stuff'. I looked at him, hesitated and then burst out crying. I guess he was not suspecting this as he looked at me and enquired what on earth I was so upset about. 'I've got no money, or my phone and I'm lost.' To my surprise the guy got off his bike walked over to me and enquired where I lived. He then told me he would walk me back to where I needed to go, and if that wasn't surprising enough after watching me attempt to roll in the rain took my baccy off me and proceeded to roll my cigarette for me.
On the walk home my attempted mugger admitted that he had just assumed me to be a posh Oxford girl, and apologised for making such a quick judgement. He walked me to my home and took my phone number. The next morning I recieved a call from him to ask if I had managed to get into my house okay and to make sure that everything was alright. Needless to say a very peculiar friendship had formed and during the remaining years at university whenever I bumped into him and his 'crew' up to mischief on the Cowley Road he used to wink at me and wave. My friends would look at this curious friendship and ask me who sed guy was and I would reply 'Oh him? That's just my attempted mugger.'

My Dragon's Den Project

I've decided on a new concept to deal with relationships/dating. It's an idea which would be easily accepted by Dragon's Den...if they were all women!

I have made every mistake in the dating book. It is because of this that my best guy mate created 'The Good Spoon Guide'- a dating guide with a list of rules which I have since followed religiously. (i.e. no double texting etc etc)

This however does not always work. I am a great example of this. Therefore my idea is that I hire a body double who goes on the dates for me. The date is recorded and afterwards I decide who I would like to see again.
Basically the concept as a whole is that someone else does all the hard work for me. they get me up to the point where I am in an 'exclusive' relationship, and then I step in.
See I can easily do the girlfriend thing. I can meet the friends and be the 'cool' girlfriend discussing how hot Kelly Brookes is and the latest rugby scores. I can easily do my own thing, let him have boys nights and will invest regularly in 'sexy' underwear. That is not the problem. The problem is getting there. It's the playing hard to get, being engaging in conversation but yet still maintaining the mystery, and the addressing of where you stand. This is where I fail miserably. Another me (aka my body double) would solve this. They would handle the hard bits for me and I could step in when the relationship really begins- the bit I am good at.

It seems ridiculous to me that the first few weeks/months is the time when you hide the crazy and watch what you say- knowing any mistake you make could jeopardise the future. And yet later, when you are officially committed the crazy comes out and guys just deal with it. 90% of all my close friends are guys. They are relaxed, have fun and don't bitch. Take the photo above, that's one of my best friends who quite rightly will not put up with me moaning or talking badly of other people. This is a relationship I'm good at. Friendship. Isn't that just cheesy?!

My best friend who has just finished with his girlfriend of two years. Upon breaking up he did what most guys do, shagged around. His ex decided during one of these hook ups to go to his house and peer through the window where she witnessed his new gaming skills. The ex called in sick for work all week, dead bolted the door and sent abusive messages about him to his sister. Needless to say she was hurt but peering through the window at 1am? That's just a new level of crazy.
This wasn't even the first time. She banned him from facebook and upon spotting him talking to another guy decided he must be secretly gay.
So why is it that guys in relationships put up with the crazy that would have made them run a mile on the first few dates?
Perhaps that's where I'm making mistakes. I'm doing things backwards, showing the crazy before the calm! And if this is true...does anyone know a 5ft3/4 girl with blonde hair, big boobs and a massive love for dirty innuendos?

I'm not going to lie...

I'm having an awful week. One of those weeks where you literally cannot wait to go to bed so you can dream of a day less stressful than the last.
In the past few days I have been so caught up with things that I have topped my levels of insanity. Yesterday I boarded a piccadilly line train, panicked thinking I was going the wrong way so got off only to realise I was actually on the right train in the first place and because of my hasty exit had to wait another ten minutes for the next train.
I then decided to try to fix my fan. I think the wire between my brain and my body has been cut because without thinking properly I lurched my finger towards the blade and sliced my thumb. Ow. The day before I decided to go to the cashpoint and strolled along daydreaming, only to realise from sniggers behind me that I was trying to withdraw cash from a post box. Oh dear.
The past few days were spent confined in a teaching room whilst I decided to brush up on my technological skills. I turned up thinking that I would be around like minded writing souls who would love my choice of visiting the local pub garden for lunch. I was VERY much wrong. I was the youngest by twenty or so years. And trust me being the youngest has its problems, I soon became the 'fast learner' of the group, and sitting in a room without air conditioning surrounded by five middle aged redundant women as they asked me how to centre their text box nearly killed me. If that was not enough I then was forced to listen to a newly divorced woman who had just been made redundant from her high publication job and was now thinking about working in Tescos. Wow definitely the news I need to hear when in the midst of graduating.

It all seemed to be going a little pear shaped- did I mention I also had to take a friend to A&E ?(for no fault of my own but that can't be good, and there are no fit doctors in the UK. ER lied- bastards.) Until today.

As if an omen England finally got their act together and won a game, I boarded my train at Kings Cross without fuss or delay, I was told I was beautiful by some strange man (normally the pepper spray has come out but when you're having a down week the strange foreign man with no teeth is a highlight) and my favourite song came on the radio. I popped into my local to see a friend who had moved abroad for the last year or so. Immediately I was told stories about our times at university and just had to smile. 'Remember the time when we went to that bar and popped outside for a cigarette and that random woman tried to kiss me?' or 'Do you remember that time when we had a fight and you got so upset drunk that you ran down the street in your towel to talk to me'. It was on this that my friend Fleur ran into the pub carrying flowers. Running towards me she pressed them into my hand, 'I know you've had an awful week and decided that someone should buy you flowers. I know your favourite are orchids but I wanted these to match your room.'
I could have cried. It is most definitely about the small things. (and no that was not meant to be read dirtily thank you very much!)

The Rules

Sometimes I hate being a woman.
I know that women fought for our rights to vote, and that we now have so much going for us but I seriously at times HATE being a woman.
Every single thing that we do has to be done in a particular way.

For example:

A guy can only make baked beans on toast- that's fine he's a man. A woman can only make beans on toast- that's odd.
A woman crashes into the car in front- simple she's a woman driver. A man crashes into the car in front- the car in front must be a woman driver.
A woman gets a promotion- that's because she has massive boobs. A guy gets a promotion- that's because he's a hard working guy.
A woman raises her voice and gets angry- it's her time of the month. A guy raises his voice- LAD.
A woman kisses more than one guy on a night out- SLUT. A guy kisses more than one girl on a night out...and a little bit more- LAD.
A girl asks a guy out- stalker. A guy asks a girl out- gentleman.





I could continue but fear that I could go on for quite a while. I'm not by any means a feminist. I do find women who cry a lot very disturbing,and I did watch that advert for vodafone where the daughter cries to her dad about breaking up with her husband/boyfriend and was too upset to drive her car particularly annoying. Why the hell did she have to call her dad and disturb him in a meeting, man up and drive the car yourself you stupid woman.
This came more to my attention when my best friend yesterday who is female told me that she hated to have her food cooked in a restaurant by a woman. To quote her 'there are just some professions that should be done by men'. I tried to debate that women usually were the ones connected to cooking, but she shook her head. 'I know that, but that's at home. Chefs in restaurants should be men.' Let me point out my friend is VERY un PC at the best of times. She finished her meal and I asked her how it was only for her to respond 'Good, but would have been better if a man had cooked it.' And this is coming from a woman...

The Friend

I've decided to write a little bit about my friend Sarah. She in herself is a blog just waiting to happen.
We all have those friends that are just a little bit crazy...who are the ones that feature in all of our drunken nights out stories. Well that is my Sarah. The only difference is there is no line. That imaginary line that people have on nights out Sarah does not have, and she simply will not be embarrassed by ANYTHING and I mean ANYTHING.
The first night I met Sarah was when I was 16 and she 15. Her brother was a good friend of mine and had brought her along to the pub one night (yes we all drank underage, who didn't?!). Within minutes of meeting her Sarah had not only set fire to her hair and broken a chair in the pub but she had proceeded to remove all the remaining drinks and food from the table next to us. Needless to say that from then onwards Sarah and I became very good friends.
Unfortunately for me however I do get embarrassed easily. I pretend not to and my guy friends try to get me red in the face and fail but Sarah manages it every time. When driving with her she will make sure that she plays 'Time To Say Goodbye' in Italian on the loudest setting whilst pulling into my tiny, private roaded drive way. Or the time when we went food shopping and she decided that I had to walk around pushing the trolley with a tiara on and very high heels whilst she then (sober) managed to drive straight into a DVD display.
When I was younger I thought that Sarah's acts could not get any worse. I was wrong. University and its hockey team brought with it a barrel full of anecdotes for Sarah to tell. The time she was dared to sit in Tescos in their freezer and is now henceforth banned from Cowley Road Tescos. Or the time she went to the kebab shop and proceeded to scream at the man that she was diabetic and therefore needed cheesy chips within the next 2 minutes, whilst trying to pay with her harrods card.
The best nights I have had have been with Sarah and her straightforward attitude. One night we were out in a club in Oxford and Sarah spotted Bradley from S Club 7. Sarah called him over to her where he then asked if he could have a cigarette. After a pause Sarah decided that he could but only if he sung her his solo part of 'never had a dream come true'. Bradley agreed and sung her his solo, he then asked her for his cigarette to which she replied...'Yeah I don't actually have any but thanks for the song' and walked off.
I could go on but feel that with the amount of stories that I have about her I could be here a while...so I'll leave you with the attached photo. It's the time that she raided a skip and found a child's toy car. After removing it from the skip and deciding to ride in it drunk down the hill it collapsed into several different pieces...

I'm a horrible person

I had to break the bad news to my stalker last night.
Apparently even stalkers have feelings, who would have guessed? It would seem that even they have to draw a line somewhere.
So as mentioned before I had tried everything to break bad news to this guy that apparently had a major crush on me. And by everything I mean every single excuse in the book; 'It's not you it's me. I'm a mess right now, I don't know what I want', 'I'm scared of commitment', 'I don't want to ruin what we already have'.
I even went on to tell the poor guy that I was going out for drinks with another guy...this resulted in him texting me every fifteen minutes to ask when I would be home, and to say that he hoped my date was going badly. Smooth. When I ignored these texts the phonecalls began...when I ignored these more texts began. It was like being stuck in a constant stalker cycle.
So last night I decided in order to break off this obsession I would have to say something that would put him off me in a massive way. I thought about the obvious- I don't like men...actually quite like your sister, or I have a sex addiction or even I used to be Alan but let's be honest none of these would have been remotely believable. Instead I went for the standard 'I got so drunk last night I had sex with someone I shouldn't have.' That doesn't sound too bad but believe you me the reaction I got from that was as though I had been dating him for years and just told him that I had been sleeping with his brother. (Can we please bare in mind that I had not even touched the boy at this point!)
I then faced an evening of angry texts, threats and mainly a great use of the word 'hurt'. It sounds cruel but it was like putting an injured animal out of its' misery. I am seriously confused about the role change however. Usually I am the crazy one who acts irrationally...perhaps I'm just not that bad. I was then informed that if I go to my local for a drink this week I need to 'forewarn him'. I mean really? The pub is opposite my house, do I really need to provide him with my alcoholic timetable? Because if I am being honest it would be far easier to simply tell him when I won't be in there.
Anyway so I decided that all this anger was for the best, I turned my phone off and went to sleep, waking up to a text from him this morning that read: 'So sorry I got so angry at you last night. I had no right. You're right we're not together so I'm sorry. Let's go for a drink this week. x'

You are kidding me?! Even when I'm a lying bitch I can't get out of this...

She loves me...She loves me not

Can I just randomly apologise before I blog. I have a bit of an obsession. An obsession with '....' and I apologise. I realise I do it a lot but it's very addictive to throw a little bit of 'dundundun' wherever I can....see what I mean!!



Anyway I have a bit of a situation at the moment. It was my birthday this week (cue songs, cake, champagne and pressies) and I made a big point of getting drunk and crying over the fact that no one had ever brought me flowers. I then decided to tell everyone I was out with that my favourites were orchids, of course I was not in the slightest bit hinting for one of them to buy me orchids but if they ended up outside a flower shop they could perhaps do me a favour...
My plan worked and the next day I recieved a pot full of orchids. Now what you have to realise is that romantic gestures like that embarrass me. They are lovely but I have never really experienced them. My longest relationship was with a very unromantic man. A guy whose idea of wining and dining me was taking me to mcdonalds and then ordering the wrong deli sandwich. He also brought me mint aeros when I craved chocolate, who does that?? Mint Aero is NOT a chocolate bar. But anyway... (I told you the '....' were useful) as I was saying these orchids were a massive shocker. Especially as they arrived with a note that used the word 'love'. Now that really is scary. It turned out the flowers had been delivered by my friend who had decided that after six or seven hours of me whining on about wanting orchids he'd just buy me some to shut me up.
I relaxed. But not for long. The following evening I recieved a text from sed platonic friend claiming that he had developed feelings for me. Ah. I knew there was a price to pay for getting orchids.
I played my girl card and used the typical girl excuse. I'm not looking for anything serious right now, I'm confused, I don't know where my head's at. Whilst also making a point of letting him know that I was still going on dates with other guys. I was very apologetic and made a point of highlighting my many flaws. I thought this had worked until I started to get texts every hour asking me to just try a date, to tell him why things wouldn't work out. Let me just say now that I am the biggest wuss (it took me a month to dump my ex because he kept crying everytime I tried and I couldn't handle it). I agreed to a date...I don't know how I'm going to get out of this one.
I'm debating licking tube poles, sitting near snotty kids or simply being hit (not lethally) by a passing car. Hmm perhaps it is slightly wrong that I'm willing to be hit by a car to escape the awkwardness of a one sided date. I definitely have some issues.
The worst however has been the CONSTANT texting. After leaving my phone downstairs for half an hour I had recieved ten texts and eight missed calls, the tone of each becoming increasingly clingy as time went on. This is one of the mysteries of men and women that I really don't get. If you ignore men or show them you're not that interested they suddenly LOVE you, whilst if you like a guy and want to be with him he runs for the hills in similar fashion to if you were to turn up with a ski mask and a chainsaw.
Oh well. Let's see how this one pans out.

The Birthday

I feel like death.

Literally have spent the day wishing it would all be over and I could wake up feeling normal. This is most definitely the aftermath of a good birthday. So yesterday I started my birthday events at 10am. Try going out at 10am dressed up in a tiny playsuit...the dirty looks I got were awful! We decided to go The Church- not religious in any way, in fact completely the opposite. It's where the sins take place! Unfortunately for me the choice was beer or smirnoff ice, so feeling 16 once again I decided to buy three bottles of smirnoff. We then were witness to a man being dragged on stage, stripped naked, covered in whipped cream and then set alight! If this wasn't bad enough he was then whipped by a woman in suspenders, and the act was soon followed by a guy getting completely naked and whirling his dick around. And all this before lunch!
After queuing for forty minutes for the loo I decided I had had enough of the crowds and we relocated to the pub opposite. There was a notice on the door saying they would not serve any church partygoers (i'm guessing they had to add partygoers at the end for fear they might sounds like heathens). After a couple of pints my cousin joined us and we headed to Shepherd's Bush Walkabout. After a few pints and a few shots on an empty stomach I was a goner. Photos tell me that I went off and pulled a stranger, memory however begs to differ. My friends realised I was a drunken liability and decided to buy me some lunch in a nice pub. In sed nice pub I then proceeded to trip over and fall smack on my face. Classy.
By now it was 8pm and my friends that were meeting us later were calling so we hoped in a cab and headed to acton town to The Redback. Now the redback for those of you who don't know is a very messy night out. It's where your feet get stuck to the floor, australians are groping your boobs and famous rugby layers lurk in the shadows. From here it all gets a bit blurry.
After piecing together photos and friends accounts supposedly I kissed a few more men.. (opps), stacked it again, proceeded to drop my friends drink and ruin his new trainers, have a conversation about piercings, pull a TC and have a massive white girl dancing boogie. At 12, in Cinderella style I was whipped away by my friends in a cab...I passed out and awoke today with a mother of a hangover. And let me tell you bloody marys are a great hangover cure, but throwing up a bloody mary. Well let's just say tabasco is something that should never reppear. It burns!!

Oh and to top it off my friend chipped half her tooth yesterday...and my cousin just found it in his pocket! Fantastic night, happy birthday to me!

If I can be serious for just one minute...

Why hello there...for a one off blog I just want to talk about something serious. Think of this as the advert break between my blog but try to pay attention!
Working within the fashion industry for a while I have obviously been witness to the skinny image that magazines seem to always present us with.



When Mark Fast (see picture above) used 'bigger' models (I say bigger in inverted comas because to be perfectly honest the girls were hardly big, they want big they should go to a mcdonalds in houston) I was jumping up and down for joy- and particularly for girls like me who LOVE food and will never ever be a size 8 let alone a size 6!
I automatically wanted to join the campaign against skinny models, when I watched Dawn Porter campaigning outside Hanover Square I was glad someone was taking a stand but after working for several publications I am beginning to realise that this is NOT the fault of the magazines.
Talking yesterday to my boss (I am currently interning for quite a long standing publication at the moment and so will not name names but let's just say they are FABULOUS people to work for) she informed me that she was all for the bigger models appearing in the pages of her magazines but was simply unable to get the clothes to fit models of a bigger size. According to her the PR companies simply are unable to provide her with anything above a size 10, the clothes that she can get in size 14's or even size 12's are UGLY and unflattering. I for one am simply amazed and appalled that sample sized clothes can not simply be made in bigger sizes, if the PRs had the bigger sized clothes then perhaps the magazines could call in bigger sizes and indeed show glamorous plus sized models within the magazines.
I then called several PR companies requesting clothes that were bigger than size 10 and only found a few (mainly the very cheap labels from the high street who could simply pull out a few items from their store) that were able to provide me with such a request.
Perhaps it's time to form a complaint to PRs, then magazines will have no excuse not to show just how beautiful us curvy girls are! Anyway no-one wants to look like a boy!

You say No, I say Yes

I gave myself one rule today- Be in bed by 9pm. What time is it now? 10pm. Great, the only rule out of the window.
I have a shoot tomorrow at 7am, resulting in me waking up at 5am. The logic therefore is that I get 8 hours sleep... so why on earth do I decide to keep myself awake at night by going for walks, visiting my friend in my local, stopping off to buy a magazine, UPDATING MY BLOG? Right now I should be upstairs in bed in a deep sleep dreaming of James Franco and a lot of handbags. But I'm not.
I am in all honesty a massive child in that way. If you tell me NOT to do something I will do it. For instance take the time at the dentist last year when he exited the room and I was left alone with a lot of appliances. Any normal person would have remained seated, shaking and examining the dental cards (ie. the scene in Mr Bean if anyone knows it!). Instead I thought it would be a great idea to start playing with the XRAY switch. Annoying nothing happened. I was expecting the room to shake, or a bit of electricution but nothing. What a let down.
Or there was the time when I was 13 and specifically told not to open my christmas presents. I opened all of them then taped them back together... my mum was none the wiser until I told her ( I really can't keep secrets, unless they're really big ones).
So now I'm going to go up to my room but no doubt another hour will be wasted by me moisturising, doing yoga or just generally wasting my life away. I guess I better text Kate and get her to order me an expresso for the morning. It's going to be a long day..

The sun most definitely has it's hat on...

Actually that title now has got me thinking...why does the sun have it's hat on? Is it scared of sunstroke? Is he/she/it waering a trilbee? Hmm discuss..
Anyway I am in a fantastic mood. I LOVE the sunshine, true I still have that glass wedged in my foot and I have a red raw back but I am having a day where generally things aren't going wrong!
On top of the wonderful weather I had an interview. I went along fairly relaxed and with the thought that this would not be that intense and I could walk it. Oh how wrong I was. How on earth are you supposed to discuss your flaws, your ideal team mates and your ideal boss whilst trying to make yourself sound like the perfect employee? Well somehow I did it as I've reached the second round of the applicants. Whoop de doo (I am sure this has nothing to do with the fact that my brother is a producer on Eastenders).
I then realised that in 6 days I will be out and about in many an australian bar, snakebite in hand celebrating another year of my life! I cannot describe my excitement. There are many things in this life that I enjoy but a few of them include snakebites, rugby, south african accents and the occasional cheesy music. My birthday is going to be a combination of them all. Oh yes I am hitting The Church in full fancy dress. Not only this, but I intend on heading to the redback bar afterwards. A full 12 hours of drinking, excited is hardly the word to describe it.
My friend Rob has even insisted that he is buying me a teapot. Now I had no idea what this is but apparently it is literally a teapot filled with shots that you share...but no no Rob is banning me from sharing I have to drink the whole thing myself. This spells D R U N K. (For one thing only the australians could take a civilised kitchen utensil and turn it into a drinking game).
So for now I'm happy and training my liver for the foreseeable hangover; a bit of miso, a lot of salad....oh and come sunday a lot of drink!

The night with the stupid waiter..

I have glass in my foot.
Yes I am a drama queen, it is only a piece of glass the size of a tic tac but still I like to make a scene so I will moan about it. The best part is that this morning I went to my mum with a pair of tweezers and told her to work her magic (mum can do anything literally. I swear if someone turned up missing half an arm she'd magically sew it back together). So I sat, foot in air as mum (armed with tweezers) sat underneath and scraped away at my foot- can I point out here that due to bad sunburn on my back I was also only in pants, covered in after sun and due to the pain biting into a towel- and also tried to suck this piece of glass out of my foot. Now if that isn't family bonding God knows what is (my feet are RANK, that is definitely love if someone is sucking at my foot).
But how did I get this glass stuck in my foot? Well imagine a real life Fawlty Towers Manuel but without the whole 'I know nothing' comical catch phrase. This waiter at the restaurant was so bad that not only did he manage to drop two bottles of water on my friend, and take two hours to get tap water, but he could not for the love of him work out our orders, meaning that the guy to my left ended up taking his order pad and taking the orders himself.
Then Manuel aka stupid useless waiter managed to knock over an empty bottle, it smashed everywhere and sed bit of glass managed to work it's way up my sandals and into my foot. We did get two free bottles of booze to say sorry but I don't drink white wine (of course I did when it was free, I'll eat or drink anything free) so I find that apology unacceptable. In fact I may now just write a very angry review on london eating. Yeah, that would really get to him.

See we all had fun despite waiter from hell.... this is everyone in the lift at Covent Garden as stolen from Tony. Everyone's happy in a lift.

I'm Here- Spike Jonze

Just want to recommend Spike Jonze's new short film 'I'm Here'. It's beautifully made, and seriously poetic so I'd recommend it to all.

See link --------> http://www.imheremovie.com/


Makes me wish I was a robot with an australian robot boyfriend.

The Photographer

I recieved a phone call from my brother yesterday asking for a favour. He'd managed to leave his bag in one of the Soho gay clubs and needed me to go get it for him. Today is my week off going into central but I decided to be a good sister for once. (This has nothing to do with the fact that I want to housesit for him when he's in Miami next week).
Just as I was leaving my friend called me up saying he was in Oxford Circus and did I fancy a drink, good timing. We met, (I ruined my diet yet again but only with a goats cheese wrap, I was tempted to spit in my diet's face with a KFC wrapstar but the diet demons got me) and headed to pick up my brother's bag. My friend is a photographer, he was picking up prints and has an interview for his BA tomorrow so was pretty nervous. Anyway I get to the club and have to listen to the WORST rendition of Boyzone playing...then some cute bartender comes out (gay of course, all the good ones are gay. Seriously ALL) and tries to locate the bag. Eventually it is found and we decide to head for a drink.
Here you need to be updated on my photographer friend. He is a young'n, just 20 years old (sounds patronising but it is so true that boys mature so much later than girls), he has a french girlfriend who he cheats on, and thinks he is the shit.
So we sit down at the bar and discuss how we both have interviews (haven't mentioned but in two hours I may just be a hired journalist)and I ask him interview questions. Can I please note that the photographer has not ONCE said well done to me about my interview, nor has he tried to help me out for my interview- despite the fact that I ask him about fifty warm up questions. Anyway his phone rings and it's the french girlfriend. 'Abi answer it..tell her i'm in the loo.' I look at him with my crazy face, 'you're kidding? I am not getting involved stop being such a kid and talk to her' So after whining at me I answer the phone and deal with the girlfriend. At this point she's called him 5 times, texted him 10 times and had no response. She's 19 though so I can allow her nuttiness, I for one was that psycho girl.. The poor thing cries down the phone to me, for all she knows I'm an evil temptress (I'm really not, a little bit of sick went into my mouth at the thought of even touching photographer- no offence). The photographer then decides he wants to make the girlfriend jealous, and knowing she is at work texts her colleague. Now here I see no logic? He claims to love her and yet decides this must be the best idea in order to make her love him more.
I am then dragged out of the bar, my YO MANGO is left (I NEVER leave alcohol, cardinal rule you shall not waste booze) and I am forced to be his 'back-up' when he goes to see the girlfriend at work. Luckily I am brought a glass of wine to say thank you and sit myself next to Andrew (the chef of my local with whom I have a great relationship after I decided he must have had a sex change and renamed him Aleysha) to watch the show.
The thing is I suddenly turn into some smart arse relationship expect even though I am the epitimy of a single girl. I sat there thinking how stupid they were, and this coming from a near 22 year old who last week went on a date, got drunk and told the date that 'all men hate me and ditch me for another woman'. RIGHT.
And the best thing? That camera loving sod hasn't even texted me today to say thanks or ask about MY interview. Instead I recieve a nice text saying 'interview went well. guy knew me from shoot. Wicked.'
Cheers, I want my YO MANGO back.

Dieting

So I have finally pushed myself to go on a diet. A horrible diet. A only eat soup for a week and occasionally push the boat out and have fruit diet.
I started yesterday and managed to consume soup and fruit until lunchtime when we visited my grandparents. My gran is an amazing cook and I resisted her food but helped myself to a slice of cheese when no one wasn't about (no one saw me so it definitely was not cheating). I then later on had soup again, and half a cucumber sandwich. The worst cheat however was probably the fact that I drank 4 glasses of wine, 1 bloody mary and a martini. I informed my mother of my cheat this morning and she decided to inform me that I might as well of just given up the diet and had a huge dinner for the amount of calories I drank. So on that note sod the cabbage soup for brekkie I'm off to have a bacon sarnie. 1 day wasn't bad.

Old people...actually quite funny

I'm very close to my grandparents...they are wicked. My grandad can't be left alone in Costcos as he wheels himself off and starts playing the drums in the middle of the store. My grandma, well firstly she uses ebay (trendy huh) and secondly she was once quoted as saying 'I wish I could wear jeans and a shirt like Lady Di..but if I wore that I'd look like a lesbian.' Amazing.

Anyway so last night I went to my local. Actually let me explain about this. I NEVER choose to go to my local, my local chooses me. I will go to the newsagents and some evil bartender (who I really love) will stand in the window waving a glass of wine at me. Or someone I know will strategically place themselves outside so I can't get past. So last night was one of those I'll just go for a walk and end up getting drunk nights. I ended up drinking with my friend Joe. Now I used to have a big crush on Joe, then realised that he's quite individual and probably goes for the 'different' girls so I left him to it. Then my brother met him last weekend and LOVED him so kept pestering me to date him..anyway story short but I'm fickle minded so decided I did like him again. My friend Alan was also in the corner absolutely mashed. Alan is 60 odd, and is in the pub more than me- that's really saying something! The other day he warned me not to like Joe, and he staggers over to us and starts announcing that 'we'd make a good couple', luckily for me I am on FANTASTIC form and I simply laugh it off and tell Joe that he has more of a shot. So then for the next few hours Alan keeps asking me if I fancy Joe. I can't lie so I just change subject or avoid the question which aggrovates Alan who starts on some speech about youth ignoring old etc etc. So I think that I've got away with everything and pop outside with Joe for a cig. He suddenly looks at me 'So do you fancy me?' Dear God, I can't lie to save myself... I'm going red.... but then I pull it together 'I think you've very attractive but no.' Joe relaxes 'Phew That's good. See the thing is I don't have any good girl mates around here, and well I think we get on well and could see you being a good mate, which obviously if you liked me would be awkward.' I smile, of course we can be great mates (GREAT. another friend, got soo many bloody friends mysinglefriend.com could start a new website). Oh and the other benefit of this is that only an hour later because we're safe in the 'friend zone' he decides to share with me about all the girls he DOES fancy. I know that my name by all is 'honourary boy' but looking at the bartenders arse just so I can give him a fair opinion is beyond the call of a female wing man.
So thanks Alan for creating that! Old people..more trouble than they are worth. AND YES because of you 60 is now old.

Age before beauty..

It used to be that the older you are, the wiser you are, but it would seem that nowadays age holds no relevance. In a world where women are facing an everyday battle to maintain their youth, it seems that getting older is every woman’s nightmare. But it is not just a woman’s looks that are under threat, more and more women are seeing their careers put on hold as a much younger version of themselves waltzes in to replace them. Last year for example saw the sacking of Strictly Come Dancing judge Arlene Phillips for the much younger Alesha Dixon. Following this Radio 1 DJ Jo Whiley soon found her daytime radio show moved to a later time in place of teenage icon Fearne Cotton.

So why are more and more professional women seeing their jobs under threat just because of their age? In our image conscious society it appears to be presumed that the younger the woman, the better image a company/product receives. More often than not a younger woman is brought in by a male employer and with a specific purpose, to appeal to the clients. In other words experience is out of the window and instead that leggy blonde who interns in your office could be waltzing off with your Christmas bonus, and your job.

There is hope however. The sacking of Arlene Phillips off Strictly Come Dancing caused uproar among women everywhere. Alesha Dixon faced criticism over her judging skills, with many comparing her limited knowledge of dancing with her predecessor Arlene’s experience. Celebrity icons such as Helen Mirren, Goldie Hawn and Susan Sarandon have also proved that there is no shortage of successful older women. Winning Oscars, and being photographed in bikinis on the beach, they show us that no matter what age you can be hugely successful and glamorous in your career. It would seem that the tables are turning. Perhaps soon being older will not be a curse, but instead will be a privilege.

Relationships...FAUX PAS

It may sound ridiculous but at the age of 21 I can easily say that I have made or experienced every relationship mistake in the book.
For example there was the first date with the perfect rugby player which saw me unable to refuse all the drinks he brought me. He ended up putting a slurring me in a taxi whilst I dropped called him continuously at 4am.
Or there’s the guy I was seeing last year who proceeded to tell me a few weeks into us dating that he was also seeing someone else, that he hoped this wasn’t a problem and that because of this no photos of us together could be uploaded onto Facebook.
In fact in the last year I have been dumped for an ex, received a rude email from an ex boyfriend on Valentines Day, been ditched for the other woman, looked at a guy’s phone whilst he was in the shower (and then proceeded to tell him I had when drunk) and have even been stalked.
You see at the age of 21 I am certain that I could write a book on what not to do in/on/or during dating. Relaying these anecdotes to my friends I was taken aside by a good guy friend and informed that he felt this was purely due to my fear of commitment. According to him I purposely messed up on these dates or found men that were inadequate as then commitment would not be an issue.
Strange but probably true. Don’t get me wrong I still dream of holidays to South Africa, Christmas gifts from Tiffany’s, my perfect white wedding and even the three children that follow, it’s just I refuse to lower my expectations.
My ideal man is tall, South African/Irish/Australian (insert nationality), a doctor, hugely sarcastic, a great speller, and is also a great rugby player. Is that really too much to ask for?
Probably. So until my Mr Perfect does arrive I will continue making and experiencing these relationship mistakes, safe in the knowledge that I can and will do better. And who knows, with all this experience I could even write a book!