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?

The Sweet Taste of… Bonfires?

Hello! It’s me again, which is no surprise considering this Blog is literally named after me, and all it’s content is about me. In real life I’m not this self-obsessed, I promise.

It’s been a busy week, between working and my friends arriving back from various parts of the country. University is weird when your accent adapts easily. One minute I’m talking in my usual posh accent (which is very misleading) and the next I’m using proper northern dialect. Have you ever heard a southerner say ‘Gaa’n?’ Turns out that’s for a reason. I sound like an idiot.

So, in a proper student fashion, we went out to the uni bar. I’m not a clubbing person, my body moves in strange directions when I’m drunk so I prefer sitting down and rambling.

The uni bar is good because you can dance, or you can drunkenly sit and drink more and more until you want McDonald’s. I like Observing as other female students ‘twerk’ in the direction of anyone that likes it. I thought the twerking phase of life was well and truly over, but apparently not. Do people actually find it attractive? Isn’t it a bit forward? I feel like arse moves should be saved for later on in the night, when you’re alone. Like the final part of a mating ritual rather than the first thing you do. Slut dropping is fun though, but only because it’s so dramatic that it’s more about confidence than sexual lore.

I got very drunk, but managed to not throw up, which is a big achievement for me. I think I’ll put the excessive drinking on hold until my birthday now, which is only like 2 weeks away, but still.

It has reached that time of year where the rain is pouring down relentlessly. And I love it. There’s that crisp taste in the air that’s refreshing, but not enough to freeze your teeth like it does in winter. I live for oversized jumpers and blankets and cups of tea with an occasional hot chocolate.

I’m also basic enough to love Pumpkin Spice Latte’s, or as Coasta’s have decided to call them: ‘Bonfire Latte’s.’ Like, what? When has anyone drank something and gone ‘Mmm, I can really taste the bonfire in that?’

Costa needs to up their game, first reducing the White Hot Chocolate to a tiny weeny cup obviously meant for hamsters, and now this. The only reason I keep forgiving them is because the one back home is inside Waterstones, and there’s something so cosy about a cafe surrounded by books.

I have just remembered the cup of tea I made, it has gone cold so I will bid you farewell as I go and make another one.

Being a slave to Youtube

Guess who’s only got one year left of university before they’re plunged into proper adulthood? (Me!)

And guess who’s university just emailed them, telling them to start a ‘career plan.’ (Me..)

Guess who has no idea what they want to do with their life despite being 21.  (Cries into a bucket of ice cream. Me.) 

All I want is a job that allows me to sleep in, stay at home and have fun. I’m slowly coming to the realisation that’s not how life works, and my way of coping is watching lots of Youtube. Which is fine. I’m not drinking or doing drugs, I am just splurged over the bed watching pointless rubbish.

Turns out, this is pretty bad for me. Not because it’s killing my brain cells and leaving me as a beached whale,. covered in the remains of biscuits and broken dreams.

My Mum likes to call me ‘easily influenced.’  I like to think I’m just adaptable.

Youtube and my personality do not mix well for a few reasons. The first is that I am rapidly losing money thanks to beauty videos.

If I look up hair tutorials, I will buy the product the person recommends no matter the price. Then, even if it doesn’t work, I recommend the product to other people. It was only the other day that I was telling my Mum she needed silk pillows made with 98% Egyptian silk, woven together by the finest Sphinx in Europe.

The same applies with make up, a 12 year old could tell me to spend £75 on a foundation that covers freckles and I would be ordering it within 8 seconds. (This is also a problem whenever I pop into Lush for one bath bomb. Thanks to the helpful staff I come out with 6 bombs, 3 face creams, 2 bars of soap and some sort of scrub that smells great but I have no idea when I’ll use it.)

The second reason Youtube is bad for me is that I also pick up other people’s traits. I have a friend back home who likes to slam his finger on the table whenever he’s making a point he’s passionate about. I do it too.

Despite living as far North as you can get for most of my life, I have picked up my Mum’s southern accent (which happens to be the bane of my existence.)

I have a Yorkshire friend so somehow ‘Reet’ and ‘Aye’ have become part of my vocabulary.

It’s a never ending list really. But now, I have started to pick up the traits of Youtubers. Why am I like this? I will use two examples from the most popular Youtubers I watch.

Zoella has a tendency of saying ‘I don’t know- I just…’ an awful lot. And now so do I.

Dan Howell seems to say ‘Yass’ and ‘Yeah boiii’ a lot. Personally I hate the fact I picked this up. Get a grip, Lucie.

In conclusion, I have decided that I am Youtube’s prime target audience. I am basically a slave to every Youtuber out there, and I am still no closer to picking a career.

So, if you’re reading this, please send help.

 

My reign of terror

I thought I’d start this post wishing good luck to the lads who are kicking around an inflatable orb of air, for the honour of our country. I was going to make this post all about football, but as you can see, I know absolutely nothing about it.

So, moving onto a topic that I’m all to familiar with:

Clumsiness.

Now, I’m not talking about the cute type of clumsiness that people find attractive. I am not occasionally tripping over my feet or stubbing my toe. My clumsiness is something else.

People used to tell me that it was just my hormones, and I’d grow out of it. Alas, with age it has only got worse. It has manifested from a little flaw into something that is controlling my life and transforming me into a walking disaster that should be avoided at all costs.

Just this week I have fallen flat on my bum in public twice. Luckily I was wearing sunglasses that could disguise my shame. It’s like when I put sunglasses on I feel like I’m a fabulous celebrity and nothing can damage my ego. Then when I take them off, my ego disappears altogether and I’m left in a pit of self-doubt. (Fun times.)

I also managed to spill Coke all over some poor, innocent stranger. Basically, McDonald’s has introduced table service (which has made me a very salty person.) I was in a rush to give the tray to the man, and I must have let go before he had hold of it. I watched it fall like it was in slow motion, twisting in the air, and splashing onto the seat. Next thing I know, he was covered in Coke, his food was covered in Coke, and his best friend was sat laughing like a maniac. I apologised at least ten times, but this stranger was kind enough to laugh it off. The whole ideal is still giving me nightmares.

I broke my sofa bed. Ian and I got it out to watch Jurassic World and have plenty of space for blankets, beers and snacks. Then Ian tried to tickle me, my body spasmed and the entire bed just split in half. I think Ian learnt his lesson after he spent an hour fixing it.

And to top off all of that, I broke Ian’s mug. Whilst that may not seem like the end of the world, he had grown an attachment to that mug. It was his only mug for 6 years (Kinda gross) and it had come all the way from Germany. It was one of a kind, and my arse knocked it straight off the table and it smashed on the floor. The horror in his face was hilarious  so sad. Luckily, it was just the handle that smashed so we can still keep it, watching over us from cup heaven.

I’d just like to point out, if you’re annoyed at a clumsy person for making a mess or breaking something, just think. It’s probably worse for them. They have to live with the havoc they cause, you just happen to be a bystander who got in the way.

Why I suck at my job

For most people, summer is about BBQ’s, holidays and topping up tans. But for me, it’s about working and getting my shit together while I take a break from uni. Fun, right?

While this seemed like a good idea at the time, somehow I still haven’t saved a penny and I am closer to eternal misery than I have ever been. Working in the fast food industry has proved to be pretty difficult, and if I’m being 100% honest, I suck at it.

But, why? Well, here’s a list that (hopefully) won’t get me into trouble:

  1. I am the human definition of  ‘clutz.’

Well, I just Googled the definition of ‘clutz’ and it says they’re losers. I’m just going to ignore that part. I’m too clumsy to be trusted near anything hot, which isn’t too handy when you work in a place people go to for food. I am covered in burns from coffee, oil and various racks. Give it a year and I’ll resemble Deadpool.

I’m also very good at spilling things. The first time the big boss of the local restaurants came in, I threw Strawberry Lemonade down myself. Even my bra was soaked through. I still don’t know how I wasn’t fired, though the number of hours I did changed dramatically for a few weeks afterwards.

2. I am too short.

Okay, this one applies to lots of people. I have to use a stool to refill coffee beans, stock shelves and find anything in the stock room. Add a ladder to my ability to trip over nothing, and you’ve got a midget dropping coffee beans down her top. Not a pretty sight.

3. My social awkwardness.

For some reason when a customer says ‘Thank you.’ my brain thinks ‘Same’ is an appropriate response. Same? Same what? Who knows? Not me.

There’s also the time I took food to a car outside and said ‘Sorry for the food. Enjoy the wait.’ But I don’t like to talk about that.

4. My honesty.

Okay, so I work at this place. I’m meant to enthusiastic about everything on the menu. Sometimes the manager even makes me try to up-sell stuff. The other day it was flatbread. I asked this lovely old couple whether they wanted to try a flatbread. I already knew they’d say no, but I tried.

So when they declined I simply said ‘Okie dokie, fair enough.’ When the man asked whether suggesting the flatbread to anybody had actually worked. I replied with ‘Surprisingly, yes.’ The couple laughed for a while, and I stood politely blinking at them. (Not that you can rudely blink? Is that a thing?) The lady eventually explained that they just thought it was funny that I said ‘surprisingly.’ I said ‘But it is surprising.’ and they walked off, still giggling. I’m still unsure why.

5.  Children

I like kids… that can’t walk or talk yet. But once they hit the age of seven, I become terrified of them. Especially the ones you encounter working in fast food. It’s one thing adults judging and criticising your job, but you know you’ve hit a low point when chubby kids do it too. I’m quite a peaceful person, but even I want to tell them to shut up and eat their burger instead of crippling my self esteem, damn goblins.

There are plenty of other reasons why I’m terrible at my job, but listing them would take all night. So I’ll leave it there.

Until next time folks.