The Value of Valentines

So, as everybody must know by now, Valentine’s day is on Thursday.

That’s right, the day that makes singles cry into their wine and forces couples to be nice to each other is fast approaching, but is it really just a commercial holiday?

As a teenager, I hated the idea of Valentine ’s Day, even when I had Ian to celebrate it with. Why should you need a day to celebrate your love? Surely you must celebrate it every day? I never had a problem with buying Ian gifts, but I have always had this bad habit of doing the opposite of what people tell me.

But now, as a semi-functioning adult I can appreciate Valentine’s. Balancing a degree, work, family visits, social life and relationship is hard. It’s like juggling and when you drop a ball all the others fall apart.

So, it’s nice to have a day dedicated to spending time with Ian with no questions asked. Despite living together, we barely see each other because he works weekdays and I work weekends. And, Valentine’s is more of a reason than an excuse to the people around me.


Friend: Do you want to go out tonight?

Me: *Thinks I haven’t seen Ian in ages.* Nooo, sorry. * Please keep inviting me places and don’t hate me.*


Friend: Do you want to go out tonight?

Me: I simply cannot do the act you ask of me. Alas, it is Valentine’s Day and I must spend it with my beloved. Do not seek an apology, as you will not find one.

As for the gifts, we never go all out because we simply can’t afford to. We both put some money towards the date and get each other little gifts that we want or need. Last year I bought Ian an Xbox game, which, granted isn’t the most romantic gift in the world. But, it is something he wanted but couldn’t afford. And he got me perfume, because I had run out and he knew it’s not the sort of thing I’d buy myself.

I think that’s why our relationship works pretty well. When it matters (like engagements, getting a house etc.) I’m very materialistic and high maintenance. However, on small occasions like Valentines and Christmas, I would rather have the stuff I need or have wanted for a while, than some cringey card and expensive jewellery.

But that’s just me. Valentine’s is very commercialised, but I like the day itself. I just wish there weren’t so many adverts.

The Most Awkward Thing You’ll Ever See

Well, well, well, what do we have here?

A blog, you say? Well, what if I were to tell you that I have transformed, evolved into a vlogger?

Now, don’t you worry. I’ll still write on here, this place is far too important to leave alone. But for now, I have spent literally 12 hours making a 6 minute Vlog for you all. Isn’t that dedication?

In all seriousness, I had no idea how long that was going to take. I am not a hard worker. I am lazy. And that shit was hard.

Anyway, I’d appreciate it if you’d go and check it out and, if you’re feeling generous, subscribe. I apologise in advance for my own awkwardness.

Please be nice, I pretend to be badass but deep down I’m just a little squirrel.

That would be all!




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.


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?