Who needs feet, anyway?

Those who know me know that I am a big fan of Doc Martens, and (big fashionista that I am) they are an essential part of my outfit.

I mean, aside from the odd socks. What I don’t understand is, why are pairs of odd socks a thing? Why would you pay £3 for something that poor people do for free after their washing machines have devoured their nicest pair?

Anyway, back to the not-so-important point… I love Docs and have a large collection, from Adventure Time to strange tartan, there’s a pair for every outfit.

So, it would only make sense that I asked Ian for another pair for Christmas. This came with VERY specific instructions, because I made the mistake of asking for Doc Martens before and ended up with shiny ones that wouldn’t go with any outfit at all.

I said:
‘Plain matte black Docs. Size 4. Like these ones’ and showed him a picture. He went and bought some, and checked with me before he even bought them. They were a size bigger, which I knew was fine because I’d only just discovered that I’d been wearing the wrong size all my life.

So Christmas came, I pretended to be surprised when I opened them, and everything was great. Until I started to walk in them.

I just couldn’t walk. My legs weren’t working the right way, they were either bending too much or not at all. Then came the blisters. I can deal with blisters, but my foot seemed to be more of one huge blister than an actual foot.

Then came the numbness. I was at the pub with my mum at the time, and we were about to stop at the local on the way home. I managed to get to the local before ripping my swollen, blue blister out of the shoe.

I could not get that shoes back on my foot, so I walked home the rest of the way. Some men in the pub were laughing at me and asked if my Docs were new, so I assumed they just needed wearing in. And, being the stubborn bitch I am, I continued to wear them for a few days, but there was no improvement.

After getting back to Crewe, I left them for about two weeks and gave my feet time to heal. I decided I would try again, you know, to ‘wear them in.’ I walked all the way to Nando’s, (I know, how cheeky) but had to get a taxi back when my popped blisters got blisters. This was a new level of pain I had never experienced, I’m pretty sure it’s up there with child birth.

Yet the stubbornness in me raged on, and this morning, I decided I would wear them yet again. On the way to uni I picked up some blister plasters, because I am an adult and there was something very adult-ish about that. I stuck the plasters on when I got to lecture, and now, even though my feet are numb, there is no pain. But then again, I am sat down. I’m also pretty sure I just limped to the toilet.

I don’t know what it is. I bought some insoles for them (yet another adult thing to do, I’m on a role.) so that can’t be what’s wrong. Maybe it’s because their a size too big, but my other Docs are fine? Whatever the reason behind my suffering is, I’m so close to not having feet thanks to the inherited stubbornness I possess. (Thanks, Mum. Of all the things to pass down, why that trait?)

I’ll let you all know how my walk home goes when I’m writing my next Blog from the hospital.

Enjoy your non-painful week. And if anybody knows what my problem is, let me know please.

Hanger and Dastardly Raptors

Picture this:

The year is 2019. You have lost all that extra christmas weight, your career is looking bright and your social life is blossoming. You are living your best life.

Yeah, right. My instagram is full of people who have already completed their new years resolutions (I wish my goals would take me 3 days)

Meanwhile, I have caught a cold and have become incredibly moody trying to diet. I am so hangry. I don’t want salad, I want the bacon double cheeseburger Maccies has introduced. I want chocolate with my cup of tea. I want greasy takeaway and a beer.

Alas, the future is bleak and I’m too stubborn to simply give up. So, instead I feel like the world is ending.

2019 has hit me over the head with a baseball bat and beaten me to a bloody pulp. I finish university in a few months.

Do I have a job lined up? Nope.

Do I even know what career I want? Nope.

Will I inevitably end up working for the big, yellow ‘m’ for the rest of my life? Most likely.

My problem is, I want my job to inspire me and be as me as possible. Most writing jobs are writing for other people, and that defeats my entire purpose.

That’s probably why I like blogging so much.

My ego is big enough to think that I’m worth more than a job I hate, but not big enough to actually persue what I want to do. I’m pretty sure I’m not even making sense anymore.

Woe is me.

At least it’s not all doom and gloom, I got Jurassic World Evolution (the game) for christmas and, when I haven’t been panicking, I’ve been binge playing that.

I like ‘create-your-own’ type of games. There’s probably gamers out there yelling at me, telling me the technical name, but you get the jist.

I have reached a problem in creating my own Jurassic Park, and that is that raptors are bastards.

You could build them a huge paddock, with all of their needs as high as they can be. But the minute you add any other carnivores, they will rip them to shreds. This is a huge problem.

You can’t even put them with Deinonychus, which were basically the ancestors of the raptors. They are practically the same species, it’s just the Deinonychus looks more like a startled chicken.

Yet the minute you put them together, the raptors will feast on them. They need to take a history lesson, the uncultured fools.

Also, why do they think they’re better than the rex? The rex will happily live among the little spitty, flappy things that I can’t remember the name of. And no, I do not mean vagina’s, you pervs.

I was going to write much more over christmas, but I went home. And home is practically a dog-filled loony-bin, so I just didn’t have time.

I hope you’re all having a better new year than me, adios.

My relationship with Christmas

Oh, hello there, Mr Blog. (Yes, my blog is male, at least, it is in my head.)

I’m sorry for neglecting you recently, but the good news is I’m currently sat on the train home for christmas, which means no more assignments or work for a few weeks. Hallelujah!

Speaking of Christmas, I have never had such a love-hate relationship with anytging in my life, not even Marmite.

Of course, I love Christmas. I love that it brings everyone together, we can eat a feast and start drinking at 9am without being called an alcoholic.

I mean, let’s face it, that was the exact reason Bucks Fizz was created. It wasn’t for the taste. Us Brits just enjoy a bevvy as soon as we wake up. It’s culture.

What I don’t like about Christmas is the few weeks running up to it. Work goes mental, because for some reason Christmas also means maccies.

I seem to work more and have less money, because I’m a perfectionist when it comes to gifts and I will spend a small fortune making sure I get those presents right.

There’s also the social life, and I have recently discovered I drink too much. I am oopma-lumpa small, so it’s beyond me how I can manage a good 7 pints on a night out. And everytime the word ‘pint’ is mentioned, I’m like: ‘Fuck it, it’s christmas.’ This is bad for my bank, and probably my health.

Not really related, by knid of is, why do people sexualise Santa? He is literally a mythical fat man with a beard. There is nothing sexy about him. He brings gifts to children. So innocent, so pure. Yet, the amount of Santa lingerie is disturbing. Is there something I’m not getting?

And someone, please tell me, why everyone waits until the Saturday before Christmas to do their shopping? I went to the Trafford Centre the other day with Ian and his family, and we could barely even move, it was so packed.

The highlight of that day has to be the guy that works at Millies Cookies trying to show off. He was making me a Cookie Latte (Highly recommend. 10/10 sugar. 10/10 coffee.) and tried to flip the cream thing in the air, but it landed on the coffee and it spilt everywhere. And he just looked at it for a few minutes, not even blinking.

Maybe he was absorbing what had just happened. Maybe he was contemplating walking out and never coming back. Either way, I found it hilarious. Ian felt bad for him, but I couldn’t help but laugh, because that man was literally me.

I realised he probably thought I was laughing at him, so I pointed at the cup and said: ‘same.’ In some sort of attempt to make him feel better. I still don’t know what I meant by that.

I’ve also started taking a lot of pictures of baths, which is a weird hobby. (Baths full of water, with bubbles and candles. I don’t just take a picture of an empty bath. I’m not 100% crazy.)

So, the picture to go with this post is my ‘festive’ bath with my light up reindeer and christmas trees. I just thought I’d let you know what that’s about before I leave.

This may well be the last time I write before Christmas. So have a great holiday, get drunk and eat lots.

Sexy Plot Twists

Wow, how has it been over a week already? Time flies when you’re stressy and a little bit messy.

With 1 assignment down, I have 1 to go before Christmas, and even though I’m wearing wooly jumpers and forcing joyful music onto myself, I’m unmotivated and sleepy.

So, what did I do to cure this mood of mine? I procastinated of course!

So much so, that when a friend tagged me in an article about sex writing, I decided to have a go. Basically, I took a line from each story and wrote on from there.

Be warned, this is not for the faint hearted.

(Side note: I wanted to credit the article, the journalist and the original sex stories, but the link has broken and I can’t find it.)

So, without further ado,

1. “Empty my tanks,” she begged breathlessly, as once more she began drawing me deep inside her pleasure cave. I’d never met a mermaid before, so her statement surprised me. They were obviously a lot more forward than us mere humans. I slipped my fingers into her wet tank, the darkness of her cave swallowing us. I freed the fish from the tank inwhich she had trapped them, and watched them swim free. ‘Fuck’ she whimpered as I left. The evil bitch.

2. ‘Cum inside me.’
‘Cum inside me’
‘Cum inside me’
As much as I tried to ignore the haunted house and its incorrect grammar, I had to, indeed, come inside it.

3. He drops the bra to the floor.
‘You little shit.’ She says. ‘How many times must I remind you to put the washing away and not on the floor?’

4. There was nothing I could do to make it stop. If it continued, I worried, I would be completely emptied out.
Yuzu slept deeply through it all without making a sound, her breathing even. I wish she could stop this.
I scream and I pant as he devours me. My crumbs fall onto his beard. My dust covers his fingers and he licks them, one at a time, before moaning: ‘I love Wotsits.’

5. She shuffles her head closer to his cock. ‘Cockadoodle-fucking-do’ She whispers as she raises her cleaver and cuts of it’s head. ‘That’s for waking me up.’ She frowns and turns to Dave. ‘Keep your birds under control.’

6. I had imagined what they would feel like, read about them, seen them represented on toilet walls and magazines. I almost felt giddy as I lightly stroked the Devil’s horns. I asked permission before moving onto his tail. ‘I can’t beleieve you look just like your cartoon.’ I say. He shrugs his boney shoulders. ‘Still watching cartoons as an adult, Sandra? No wonder you’re in hell.’

7. He wanted to cry like a baby. He felt helpless, as though his body had come undone. So many men had experienced that same pain, the one that comes with being kicked in the balls.

So, there you have it. That’s how I avoided writing (by writing?)

I’m sorry I don’t have more to say this week, but I’m genuinely surprised I’m still alive.

Adios!

Life on The Nexplanon

Contraceptives are weird. There are penis sacks and vagina anchors, and pills that builds a wall around the entryway of the twinkle.
I thought I was well informed of the many different types of pill, but I have literally only just discovered there are three types of pill, one of which ‘thickens cervical mucus.’ Doesn’t that sound fun?

When did all of these methods appear? Now there is a ring you can stick up your lady bits and it stays there, chilling and killing sperm.
At school I was only shown the vagina anchor (IUD), the penis sheath (Condom) and the morning after pill.

All of which didn’t appeal to me. I’m far too forgetful for any sort of pill you have to take regularly, and I have a general rule that nothing should be shoved up your va-jay-jay. Especially anything that resembles a corkscrew.

So, I got the implant when I was 18. I still don’t 100% understand what it is that is inside me, but I have the image of one of those electronic air fresheners. But instead of spraying freshener, it sprays hormones in me every morning. Then the hormones float around my body until they find sperm to destroy.

The side effects haven’t been too bad, but they haven’t been non-existent. These are the few that I get:

• Irregular Periods – I did have these anyway, but it has made them worse. I often go without bleeding for a few months, and then spend a whole month on. This side effect is not for the weak.

• Weight gain – Or am I just fat and making excuses?

• Swelling when I’m ‘on.’ – This is a pain in the arse. My jeans go up 2 sizes, which means every month I end up crying because I’m fat.

• Mood Swings – I often get happy but snappy. My boyfriend just throws chocolate at me when I’m like this, so it’s all good.

After being on the implant (Nexplanon) for three years, I decided that I would get it replaced when it expired. But, to do so, I had to get an appointment.

I moved Doctors when I came to university. I used to live in a tiny village, the nearest Doctors was in a small town (population 4000) so getting an appointment was not difficult. The population of where I live now is 71, 722.

Getting a Doctor’s appointment was next to impossible, I rang them at 8am every day for a week before getting one in three weeks’ time.

I also had to go and pick up the implant myself. I told myself before collecting it I wouldn’t look at it. Alas, curiosity got the best of me and within 30 seconds I had opened it. Have you ever seen an implant gun? The needle is a thing of nightmares. I wish I had never looked. Curiosity brutally murdered the cat, and I made the same mistake.

The day came of the appointment (at 8am, the sadistic buggers.) I was still sleepy when I arrived, and I couldn’t even find the surgery room.

Eventually the Doctor came and found me, wandering around like a little lost puppy.
He described what he was going to do (basically cut a hole into my arm and pull the old one out before shooting the new one in.) I tried not to listen for the sake of my sanity.

I lay down on the chair-bed-thing and he dug in. I went in knowing I was going to write this article, and I was going to take pictures. But when it came to it, I couldn’t even look. I pretend to be braver than I am, that’s just a fact about me as a person.

He was trying to talk to me casually and he slit my arm open and stuck tweezers in me. I guess he was trying to distract me, but asking me ‘whether it’s going to snow Christmas day?’ doesn’t make me forget that you are literally inserting a machine into my arm. Nice try, Doc, but I know what you’re doing.

Overall, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I think the idea of getting it put in was a lot worse than the practice.

In conclusion, I wish I was gay.

Side note: Sorry to all those that follow The Jist. This will be my next article up, but with added content! (Basically I’ve done some doodles and diagrams, so that you can all see why I failed GCSE art.)

Christmas Ad awards and Sausage Massacres

It’s over.

The Veganism that almost destroyed me is over, I’m back to my meat devouring self and I have never been so relieved.

I actually have energy now. Well, as much energy as I had before the Vegan thing, which wasn’t much.

My first meal back was meant to be a feast. I bought everything on the McDonald’s menu, but felt sick after eating a single cheeseburger.

I am not usually a sharer of food, but I gave my friends the rest. Now I fear that they will want to share all my food, and I would like to take this moment to clarify:

It’s never going to happen.

Now that I’ve done that, I can move along and talk about what I’ve done this week…

Which is nothing interesting. Bloggers always seem to have money to go and do interesting things every week.

I wish I could go to Borneo and help Organgutans, or skydive in America. Alas, my budget only allowed me to get drunk one night and eat 3 cans of beans and sausage. (I think most people regret more than that when they get drunk, but it adds to how uninteresting I am.)

Aside from the sausage massacre, I’ve either been at work or in uni every day this week. I practically live at uni, in fact I have even started bringing a blanket. It helps me concentrate for some weird reason.

I am absolutely loving how festive everything is though, but like the rest of the nation, I am very disapointed in John Lewis’ Christmas Advert. I don’t care how much of a ‘treasure’ Elton John is, he is nothing compared to that animated bear and rabbit a few years ago.

So far, Aldi and Iceland are winning all the christmas awards from me. I mean, Iceland’s is so informative, well written and even cute.

And Aldi’s is about a carrot who stole the coca-cola truck and has a parsnip for a nemisis.

I feel like they’re opposite ends of the spectrum, but who doesn’t love a good carrot at Christmas?

Veganism turned me into a vampire

Have you ever had a bad idea?

Have your friends ever told you that your bad idea is, in fact, a good idea?

And have you proceeded to go ahead with the good-bad idea?

Then you know exactly how I feel this week.

Let me take you back two weeks. Me and Nat were sat in Wagamama’s, (The day of the cider incident,) and we were talking about the blog we’re working on for uni. (I will link it at the bottom. Self promotion ftw.)

I had no ideas apart from Disneyland reviews, and was facing a pretty bad writers block. Nat was saying that another member of our group wanted to do a Buzzfeed style article, like ‘I tried ….. for a week.’ She then suggested going raw vegan.

Now, even as stupid and stubborn as I am, I knew I could not go raw vegan. But, a few days later, I suggested veganism to the class.

Basically the response I got was: ‘Fuck no.’ from everyone except Nat, so on Tuesday we began our Vegan diets.

It was a huge mistake. I was excited and optimistic at first, but as soon as my body lost all the nutrients it had stored, I began to suffer. I am 4 days in and can see no hope or sign of happiness in this lifestyle.

Don’t get me wrong, I know I was an idiot for going straight from a meat-loving, coffee addicted devourer of cheese, to eating nothing but vegetables. But I’m an ‘all or nothing’ type of person, and I wouldn’t have stuck to it if I’d stopped eating one thing at a time.

The weird thing is, on my 4th day, the thought of beef makes me feel sick. I think I’ll have to wean myself back onto meat, which is a literal nightmare for me. Though for some strange reason, I do fancy venison. Maybe that’s because I want to get straight to blood? Has Veganisn turned me into a vampire? Who knows?

The other interesting thing is, when I’ve told people about this experiment, the meat eaters are the ones who have been most supportive.

Whether it’s because vegetarians think they could give dairy up easily, or that I’m dramatic because I eat meat, who knows?

I just think carnivors have more sympathy. They know how much they love meat (and, in this case, dairy) and they aknowledge that this shit it hard.

But, by far, the worst response I’ve had from this entire thing was by a vegan. Which baffles me.

One of my classmates, lets call him Doris, saw me with my packet of vegan cookies and Mylk. (God knows what was in that abomination. Anything that advertises itself as ‘grassy’ should not be eaten. By anyone or anything. Even a cow would hate it.)

Doris immediately assumed I was going to diss his lifestyle, which I wasn’t. Not until he said it, and my petty, nutrition deprived brain went: ‘Okay, I will.’

I started out this experiment to find out the impact on me and my health. I never started it because I knew I would hate it and could talk about it online. Even if that’s what I’ve ended up doing.

Anyway, Doris continued to say:

‘You can’t only eat vegan cookies and replacements for milk and call yourself a vegan. That’s not vegan.’

Normally, I’m not a confrontational type of person. I will just agree with people to keep the peace. But I was ready to sharpen my spear and go into full on war with Doris.

I replied with:

‘I’m not eating meat. I’m not eating dairy/eggs. I am, by defintion, a vegan.’

To which he shook his head at me, patronisingly.

Are vegans not allowed snacks?

I would understand if he was annoyed by the fact that I’m not doing it for animals, since he preaches his beleifs at everyone, despite never even visiting a farm.

But being annoyed because I was eating cookies??

I’m aware I sound bitchy right now, but this is the first time in adulthood that I’ve treated someone with respect and in return they knocked me down. And as a general human, that is not an okay thing to do.

Why can’t people just be nice to eachother, despite their beliefs?

I think my body has mostly suffered because I not only gave up meat and dairy, but also caffiene and sugar. I hate Coffee with soy/almond milk, and I was having 3+ cups a day before. I’m going through withdrawls of everything, so I recognise that I’m probably suffering more than an average vegan does.

You can read about what I’ve eaten, and how my body and brain has hated me for it, on my university blog: (The Jist.)

https://thejistmmu.wordpress.com/

The post won’t be up until I’ve finished the week (Tuesday) so you may want to give it a follow. Please. It would be nice.