Friday, 30 September 2011

Children... and Parenting.

Children. Can't live with them, can't live without them.

Actually, you can live with them, it's just REALLY REALLY hard work...

My little Mini-Me is 2 years and 5 months old (nearly) and is completely loopy. She's also VERY clever (I'm not exaggerating, I'm sure. She uses words such as 'fanspastic' and 'berlicious' and frequently tells me i'm 'brooafool'* so she must be clever.) She is a whirlwind of energy that has thrown my entire life and all of my priorities up into the air, and they've landed, on the ground in a rather muddled mess, with her sat RIGHT on the top with a cheeky grin on her face.

Now. I am not a perfect parent. There are times when she drives me completely mental. She can be VERY naughty and has, as I may have said before, got my attitude. Except worse. With her, the attitude has been squished right down into a very tiny, concentrated package.

What I really really do not understand is how some parents can want to push their little girls into growing up so. Very. Fast.

Nowadays, you see 6 year old girls (and younger) being paraded around on a stage in front of a panel of 'judges' with full faces of makeup on - hair extensions in and hair styled with curlers/straighteners. Fake eyelashes. Fake tans.

Then, they take it a step further. You can now buy, a PADDED BRA for an 8 YEAR OLD. 

And also, I heard on the radio this morning... 5 inch heels aimed at 6 year olds.

What. The. Hell.

My big sister is 5 years older than me, so when she started wearing makeup at - Oh I don't know - 15 years old!? I used to LOVE having her do 'makeovers' on me. We'd sit in the garden in the summer time, or in our bedroom and she'd try out different eyeshadows, lipsticks and other stuff. Occasionally and NOT with my permission, she'd make me look even MORE ridiculous than a 10 year old in makeup usually looks. It was fun though.

However, had I thought of leaving the house aged 10 with a full face of makeup on, I think I would have been given a hiding. Saying that though... I don't think the thought ever crossed my mind. At 10 years old I was happy with my face, and never dreamed of having to get dolled up to go out. 

I don't think that aged 6, I ever thought about putting on a pair of 5 inch heels. I was too busy taking off my babies clothes and re-dressing them, or putting high heeled shoes on my BARBIE for crying out loud. 

I just cannot, in any way see what would motivate a Mum to push her daughter into these things at such an early age. Mini-Me likes tractors. And animals. And mud. And I am so, so SO happy about that. I hope she likes those things until she is at least 14. Then she can start wearing a little bit of mascara or something. 

Before then... FUCK. NO. Nobody is going to be pressurizing my little girl into wearing makeup, having low self esteem, poor body image and knackered feet and back. Get away from her, or I will scar you for life. Just sayin'.

*These words, translated, are 'fantastic', 'delicious' and 'beautiful'. In case you were wondering.

Thursday, 29 September 2011

"Alternative Models"

Now, before I get started on my rant, I'd like to say not ALL alternative models make me want to punch them. For example you have the exceptionally beautiful Fae Raven - see And you'll see what I mean. Her photo's definitely do not offend my eyes. She is a legitimate model, and her pictures are lovely to look at. See also Charlotte Herbert - - I really like this chick too, she's got a gorgeous body, a lot of attitude and fair fucking play for showing off your assets, both of you. Respect.

So, this is something I have thought for quite some time now. What is an 'alternative' model? Because it seems to me it's just a label that people use as an excuse half the time for really rough looking girls to take their clothes off. 

I'm aware that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but really... The photo's that you put up are just. Plain. Offensive. To my eyes. I mean really, you make me want to gouge my eyes out, with a hot hot spoon. I'm sure someone, somewhere will pay you a compliment for your efforts, but I assure you, 95% of the population do not want to see it.

I'm not going to name any names, because I'm a bitch but I'm not brave enough to publicly slag people off on a blog (I think that is a touch TOO mean) But WHY do girls nowadays - between the ages of 16 and 30 usually - feel it is necessary to take off their clothes, get into a 'seductive' *coughskankycough* pose - usually involving a motorbike, or a guitar - and get their pervy male friend photographer to take photo's of them? Just to post on Facebook? They are not promoting anything. They are not showing off their assets. Some of them, have an acceptable body... But your face needs a paper bag over it love. The world will be a better place if you COVER YOURSELF UP. Seriously.

Now some people may read this and think I'm jealous. Or that I just don't have a body that I'd like to get out and display in public. Jealous? No. I am however a realist. I am proud of my body - but my boobs are less than perfect due to nearly a year of breastfeeding, and I have stretchmarks that go OVER my belly button that can be blamed on the same perfect little minx. I am happy with that, I accept it.

More importantly, I don't feel the need to put pictures of myself up half naked on the internet, because I don't need anyone's approval. Newsflash girls, for the most part, you are not showing the world how independent and alternative you are, and you're certainly not showing your rockstar 'I don't care what you think' attitude. You're BEGGING for people to notice you, you're begging for approval and you're making yourself seem desperate for attention. Why do you care so much what random men think of you? Is their approval REALLY going to make you happy? Will it really make you feel better about yourself? No. 

Here's my advice - unless you're actually successful, and have a hope of making a living - find a new hobby, a new road to take. One that when you have children, won't make them want to kill themselves from the embarrassment. If the only comments you get are based around what these men would like to do to you - realise that this doesn't mean they actually value you in any way, shape or form. 

Call me old fashioned but... Surely it's better to be valued for your mind, your sense of humour and your passion for life, rather than your excellent ability to get your tits and fanny out at a minutes notice?

I'd like to say again, this isn't aimed at EVERY model. It certainly isn't aimed at any of my very beautiful and talented friends who have chosen to do this, be it professionally or as a hobby. It's for the other ones. You know... The crap ones.

Wednesday, 28 September 2011

I hate to generalise...

BUT it seems a pretty common theme at the moment that the women I know are going unappreciated, being misunderstood and generally having a pretty hard time. So I thought I'd write a letter to all of the men. It might not apply to YOUR man, or if you are the man it may not apply to you... But I think it best to keep it saved in your favourites somewhere, just in case you ever need to point him in it's direction.

Dear Men,

I am writing with the utmost of respect and love, on behalf of women everywhere to inform you of some small grievances we have.

The thing is, we are feeling rather unappreciated. We know you work hard, and we are grateful. But so do we. We go out and do the shopping for the entire week. We plan the meals to try to save money. We cook the meals every day. We do all the washing up and tidying of the entire house. We wash all of your horrid pants with holes in and smelly socks with the same love and care that we show to our own favourite jeans or best knickers. While you're at work we do DIY to keep the homestead ticking over just so. 

While all of this is happening, we are looking after the children and animals. Which involves more feeding, cleaning and dealing with vomit, snot, blood, wee and poo in volumes you've never witnessed, and could probably never imagine. 

Some of us, on top of this, work. Whether it's full time or part time, one job or two, working from home or from the office. It is tiring. Some of us have ambitions we are desperate to reach and we may be spending a lot of time between chores trying to think of ways to fulfill our dreams. 

Then, after the day is done, and you're home from work, fed and happy, the children are in bed after a very messy bath resulting in having to mop the kitchen floor and 15 stories and every excuse under the sun not to go to sleep, the animals are fed and cared for, we then do what we can to make you feel special. We offer back rubs, snuggles, and if you're lucky, we may take off some clothes and get jiggy. Sometimes, initially, our head might not be in it, because we're actually mentally ticking off which bills need to be paid, but we will do these things because we love you, and want to make you happy. 

All we ask, men, is that you show us some appreciation. We are not saying we work harder than you, just that we seem to be getting a lot less recognition - as most of our work is done out of love, and not to earn money. Cook us dinner once in a while. When you get in from work, put a load of washing on or do some dishes. Offer us a back rub. Run us a nice bath, with bubbles. We're not asking a lot, we are actually quite easily maintained for the most part.

Most importantly, if we seem stressed, distant or snappy, don't take it personally. Ask us nicely what is wrong. If we don't want to talk about it, give us a cuddle, leave it a while and ask again. If we do talk about it - be it logically, rationally, or in a hormonal crying rage, just listen. Don't argue. Don't try to blame us. Don't get angry.

To be honest, we're just really tired. 

All we really want is the love, affection, appreciation and understanding that we deserve.

Understand that for the most part, everything we do is to benefit you in some way. If we are snappy, it is probably because we are stressed to the point of breaking, and we are scared we could melt down at any second. Which would leave you right in the shit to be honest now, wouldn't it?

Kind Regards
The Women

Thursday, 22 September 2011

Shoes, glorious shoes...

Now, today children I will be talking to you about safe sex.

That's a lie, I might come to that one day, but to be honest I'd rather talk to you about shoes, if that's

Shoes play a very big part in my life, and I think it's fair to say a lot of other women are the same. There is just something about buying a nice new pair of sluttily high heels that makes you go 'yeah, I'm fucking AMAZING'. If any woman tells you she DOESN'T agree with this, she is either insane or a liar and she should be disposed of immediately before causing any harm to herself or others.

I probably own about 35 pairs of shoes. Which isn't a lot if you compare me to like, Posh Spice or someone, but it is a lot if you compare me to a small child from a third world country, Santa Claus (because he only has black shiny boots), Wall-E (got no feet) or if you take into account the fact that I live in a small, one bed flat. 

My favourite brand is Iron Fist. If you haven't already checked them out, and you like borderline slutty/scary shoes please go and look. Now. Google it. I'll wait here while you do it.

Did you do it? Are you finished? Aren't they incredible? I like the ones that look like they could bite you.

And these. I like these. Feel free to buy them for me, I'm size 7.

Now, a lot of people aren't aware of this, but shoes also have MAGICAL POWERS. 

It is true.

I don't lie.

If you are a bit down in the dumps, or under the weather, or if you're just having a stressful day, take £25 into the nearest full-size New Look and SPEND IT ON SHOES. You will not regret it. And then wear them around the house. Your bum will look amazing, you will stand up straighter, and you'll have something incredible on your feet. And they belong to YOU because you are also, AMAZING. You will, as if by magic, feel better. True story.

You can tell they're magical. Look how sparkly they are. You might need a matching handbag and a new dress too.

Just to be clear, and this is an important fact, when I talk about shoes I very rarely mean flats. Flats are FUNCTIONAL and very rarely BEAUTIFUL and they don't make you feel SEXY and anything less than a 10cm heel is a WASTE. OF. TIME.*

If I see you with these on your feet, we probably won't be friends.

Just remember that.

* There are exceptions to the rule. To find out more, just ask...

Wednesday, 21 September 2011

Mortified, age 24 from Newbury

So, I've been informed by a reliable source (the bestie) that I have to inject more of myself into the blogs.

It is safe to say that I have literally no idea how to do that.

I don't really know what I'm like, or what I sound like, or my 'Katyisms'. Apparently the Mr loves my 'Katyisms' or so he told me after I said something along the lines of 'Jesus TITS I'm warm' when we were in the car in the New Forest at the weekend. At first when he said he loved my Katyisms I thought he meant my bangin' love cushions but he just meant the way I talk.

I've also been told I'm a bit of a social chameleon. It's cool in a way, I'm pretty adaptable to most situations and I can get on with most people. Unless the person in question is a prick, and then I generally don't bother, and in most cases will move along quickly instead of offending anyone.

Being a social chameleon can be a bit of a bitch though to be honest. I can't really recognise what mannerisms belong to me or which ones I've stolen from someone else. I only have to spend a couple of hours with someone and then I start talking like them. Seriously. It's weird.

Anyway. This blog is starting to sound a bit like a diary and any minute now I'm probably going to tell you what I had for lunch, so moving on...

Last night, I put Mini-Me to bed, and then thought I'd surprise the Mr when he got home by putting something sexy on. So I did that. I'm not going to go into detail about how that went, because I'm scared that my Mum or even worse my DAD will read this, and that will be humiliating for everybody.*

So, we had a really exciting game of Jenga, and then I started cooking dinner. Then one of the Mr's buddies came round for a bit of a natter, a catch up, you know...

It wasn't until about an hour and a half after he had arrived that I realised, I had left some VERY saucy undies, on the hanger, on the living room door. As you know, the living room is also my bedroom, and apparently I sometimes forget that other people come in there too. I spent a good hour sneakily glancing at the guilty undies, which were hanging on my door with neon signs flashing over them, wondering if I could move them without him noticing, or whether he'd already seen. I did try to move them with my mind too, but I've got to practice that more, it's not perfect yet. He did go out of the living room at least a couple of times, walking past the guilty undies at head height. I fail to see how he would not have noticed.

Also on the list of inappropriate people to have probably seen my underwear would be my future mother-in-law, and her best friend. They came to the house as a favour to wait in for a shiny new front door while me and the Mr were at work, and decided they'd have a tidy up. In the bedroom. Where I very rarely put anything away. Fuck me sideways that is embarrassing on SO many levels.

By the way, I had MacDonalds for lunch. Screw you all with your ethics (I jest...) and whinging about it being made out of 
beak and foot. It's tasty okay?!

*It was good though.

Monday, 19 September 2011

The journey starts...

So, at the moment the situation is this:

I spend most of my time wondering how on earth I'm ever going to make enough money to have the kind of life I feel I might deserve, and the kind of life I feel my daughter definitely deserves. She is two and a half and a little whirlwind of mess, stress, talking scribble and loveliness. She can send my mood from black to sunny with just one little cuddle or funny comment, or she can send it careering in the opposite direction because she has inherited my attitude. MY ATTITUDE ON A 2 YEAR OLD?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

I work two days a week doing an average office-salesy type job. I quite enjoy it to an extent, but there are times when I'd rather not have to go, obviously. The rest of the week I look after Mini Me, which involves swimming lessons, walks, splashing in puddles, seeing friends, playing in the park, potty training, dealing with tantrums, stressful food shopping trips and driving backwards and forwards to see my parents or take the other half to work, doing all of the washing and washing up, amongst other things. In my "spare time" (and I use the phrase loosely) I am trying to earn myself a little bit of extra cash by writing. My other half and I will freely admit we are crap with money, and it's a bit like it is the uncomfortable stone in the very beautiful shoe I am wearing for my/our journey...

Mini Me spends some of the weekend, most weekends with her Dad, which gives me a bit of a break - I like that. I get some time to be weekend me (a very different species to Mummy me). Although I do miss her, and it's usually doubly as stressful when she comes home as she behaves like a spoiled brat and seems to have forgotten every ounce of potty-training I have given her. For example she just wee'd all over the chair in her bedroom. 30 seconds after I'd asked her if she needed the toilet. For crying out loud.

I have amazing friends. I have never in my life been lucky enough to have friends as close as I have now, I love them completely and don't actually know what I'd do without them. They're mad in their own special little ways, they have their quirks and even some mental issues (in my professional opinion) but I love them just the same. I'll introduce you to them properly at a later date.

The Mr (as he shall be referred to), is a handful to say the least (he is the first to admit it.) He is a big ball of crazy with more emotional baggage than most people I know. He is also the kindest, funniest and most loyal man I have ever met. We have a lot of common interests, we have a lot of fun together. We also have a lot of ups and downs and tiffs and at times he is the biggest pain in the ass you could possibly imagine. But we work well together. Also, he's really tall, I can wear 6 inch heels and still be shorter than him, a massive bonus in my book...
In all seriousness, he drives me mental on a daily basis but I love him completely and couldn't be without him.

We (me, the Mr and Mini Me) live in a one bedroom council flat. Mini Me has the bedroom, with all her clothes, toys, my clothes, the Mr's clothes, shoes, and other random junk in it. We have a sofa bed in the living room, which has the rest of the junk in it. The kitchen is tiny, nowhere near enough room for baking. The bathroom is oddly over sized, and usually has an airer full of wet washing in it because we don't have a tumble dryer or a washing line. We share our sleeping space with our two cats, Sacha and Lola. Lola likes to sleep on my head. It gets awkward. We have tried to find a bigger council place but don't have enough points to even bother bidding, and we've tried to find a swap but in all fairness, we live in the arse end of the town with drug dealers pretty much everywhere, so you're only likely to find one sort of person who wants to live here, and they're not the sort of person who is likely to have a 2 or 3 bedroom house they're willing to exchange for the privilege.

So about 2 weeks ago I came to a sudden realization.
Nobody is going to help find us somewhere else to live.
Nobody is going to toss us enough money to pay off our debts.
Nobody is going to die and leave either of us a huge sum of money.
We will not win the lottery (for the most part, because we don't play it.)
We are not going to be handed a big house on a plate (so to speak.)
Nobody who wants to help can, and nobody who can help will. Which leaves us in a tricky situation.

So, the aim is to somehow earn enough money that we can pay off our debts, save, have a lovely house and enjoy life relatively stress free (hahaha). 

This. Is. Not. Going. To. Be. Easy.
But it will be done.

First Post...

Right, here we go then. I have never written a blog in my life. I could never keep a diary as a child or even in my teens, the most exciting part of my day used to be when they served chocolate pudding with chocolate sauce at school, and that is all I used to write about. Pretty darn exciting!

Anyway, my expectations aren't high, but this is more of an 'exercise' for me. I'm hoping to make a career out of writing. Not blogs, specifically - but any practice is good... right?!

I put a lot of thought into what part of my life I could write a blog about. (It should be about my own life I think, as I know a lot more about that than anything else, and I wouldn't want to write about things I don't know about...) People seem to focus on one subject - being a parent is a big one. Planning a wedding is another. Hobbies, interests, work, relationships, friends, money, fashion, baking, current affairs. It seems at the moment I have all of these things going on at once, picking one out to focus on would be hard - so I'm not picking one. (Oh, take the easy way out why don't I.) 

Hopefully what this will result in will be a somewhat varied few pieces of work that I can use as examples and practice for when I (hopefully) get paid to write. It's other intention, if I dare, is to open up the eyes of people who believe that there is just one side to a person.

I don't intend to offend, however this does come with a caution. Not all of my opinions are controversial, but some of them are. I'm quite outspoken (I think my friends and family will laugh at that) and I don't tend to sugar coat things. If I think someone is being a tool I will say so. I do, however, solemnly swear that I won't put ANYTHING in my blog that hasn't already been said to anyone who is in any way part of it.

Await my first PROPER blog. With baited breath if you like... Or not. I don't really mind. I still haven't decided what it will be about.