Living Life to the Full

Is it me or is my life wizzing past me without me actually acknowledging it? It’s like I’ve blinked and I’m now old and making life changing decisions about my future. I’m not old and wise and I’m certainly not mature enough. How am I meant to decide what I want for myself? I mean, I think I know what I want, but when I look back at some of the stupid decisions I’ve made I’m not too sure that I trust myself with my life in my hands. Someone else choose my future path please. Then at least I’ll have someone to blame when it all goes to shit.

I just wish that life would slow down so I could enjoy it a bit more. This time last year I was looking at universities, I didn’t have a clue where or what I wanted to do and today I’ve just booked my accommodation at Nottingham Trent. This time in a year I’ll be finishing my first year at uni, what about in 10 years or 20 years. I’ll blink once again and I’ll be old and grey sitting in my granny chair, wearing shoes because they’re comfortable and not because they look good , with a wedding ring imbedded in my ring finger from decades of marriage and grandkids running round my feet. Wooooah no thanks, for now I’m going to enjoy every second of my youth, I’m going to write a list of everything I want to do before I die because I want to look back and think ‘yeah I lived every second of my life!’ at the moment I spend far too much time sitting in my onesie eating chocolate and watching friends episodes that I’ve seen 100 million times. Although undoubtedly this will continue it will not be a common occurrence anymore. It’s time to start living.

No Justification

I’m still a bit shocked after reading this month’s Cosmo. There was an article about a women being raped, sorry for the brutality but the rapist blamed the women for not being suitably dressed. His defence was she was drunk and wearing a short skirt and a low cut top, therefore she was asking for it…

Is this some kind of sick joke? As most people know I’m no stranger to skimpy outfits but how does that mean I can be taken advantage of. I’ve had men squeeze my arse before in a club and what the hell gives them the right just to waltz up to someone and touch them. I wear skimpy shit because I’m young, I’m not going to wear a knee length skirt and a turtle neck to a club,are you mad?  And as for being drunk, you only live once. I can get as drunk as I want, it’s a free country. Men get drunk all the time but they aren’t subject to sexual harassment. The fact of the matter is that equality is bollocks. Men and women will always be treated differently,whether that's at work or on a night out. And I personally don’t agree with this crap. I’m not saying all men are like this but if you’re going to grope me like a pathetic, disgusting animal then be ready to receive a punch in the face.

You Never Know...

I’m currently learning about paranormal happenings in psychology at the moment, that’s ghosts and telling the future and other crap that I’m not sure I believe in. Aliens maybe, but someone having the ability to communicate with the dead or telling me what’s going to happen in my future mmm… I’m sceptical. But if someone did have the ability to tell me when I was going to meet the man of my dreams would I want to know? I’m not entirely sure. I’m a strong believer in what happens happens and you create your own fate blah blah. So when I do happen to bump in to my 6ft 4inch Abercrombie model millionaire future husband I want to be taken by surprise. It could be when I’m in Tesco, at uni or apparently 80% of people meet their future spouse before they’re 18. So I could have already met my prince, mmm yeah doubt that. But I suppose you never know, and that’s the part I love the most. You will never know what’s going to happen and I like it that way.

Plastic Fantastic?

I love myself a bit of fakery. The extensions, the tan, the lashes, the nails.... I indulge in them all and I bloody love em. I'm not a Barbie anymore; I exchanged my blonde locks a few months ago now and am now a chocolate brown lover.

Someone asked me a few weeks ago why I bother with all the fake shit. It’s expensive to say the least: £30 on a bottle of tan, £60 hair treatments etc. I can't really afford it all to be honest but it’s an addiction. I couldn't imagine going out on a night out without a layer of fake tan hiding my true colour or my hair extensions making everything look thicker and longer. I suppose I'm just another prat who is subject to falling head over heels in love with the stick thin celebs in the glossy magazines that I choose to read weekly. They're just so bloody perfect it makes me sick, it makes me want to spend 2 hours getting ready just so I can look even half as good as they do. I'm not a size 6, far from it. So maybe subconsciously I feel that I need to compensate my lack lustre figure with the hair and the tan, maybe...

Or maybe when I look all fake I'm not actually myself, I'm an alter ego and when people say bad things to me when I'm all dressed up it doesn't matter because it’s not actually me, just me in a mask. Does that make sense....? Hopefully.