A Career Change.

With unemployment in the UK standing at a [insert the current shockingly high number]%, I propose that the youth of today need a role model. As a disillusioned for the purposes of this post, somewhat immobile, alcohol dependant, armchair politician, I need to look to a visionary figure to show me the path of righteousness. To erect my business mind; to titillate my entrepreneurial skills; to arouse my confidence and to stimulate more motivational innuendo from my infantile mind.

A perfect* poster boy for grabbing the bull by the horns is a Mr Essam Ahmed Eid – an Egyptian living in America who grew thoroughly tired of his working life at a boring old casino. If there’s one thing films have taught me about working in such establishments, it’s that only down on their luck female employees – that are probably also young, single mothers who work (reluctantly) in the sex industry – who stroll around Blackjack tables are luckily given a $50,000 chip from an already wealthy playboy who’s just won big. What’s a man to do? Why, start his own business of course!

Promote your strengths and talents! Give the people what they need! Make the market your own! Set up a hitman for hire website! Wait. What? (For the love of all things hilarious, look at the screen shot. There’s a recruitment link!)

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Online Dating.

Two of my favourite things are reading personals and mocking people. If I get the paper, I always dash to the adds at the back to see which lonely chap with a GSOH is seeking a trans woman for fun times. I persuaded (made) my old housemate start internet dating; this was only 12% because I wanted his romantic life to be prosperous and exciting for him, but 88% because I wanted to write his profile for him and scour the place for suitable laydeez.

Voyeuristic to the core, I’m really interested in how people project themselves online. I think it takes a lot of skill not to sound retarded or mental. The lucky few come out of the profile writing process by sounding well-balanced and interesting but the rest you have to choose from are the painfully generic types who “like going out or staying in, music, films, hobbies of all sorts” or the overly pushy but probably really insecure types that “don’t want to hear from overweight people, please have a university degree, I vote LibDem and so must you. Also, if you’ve had more than 3 sexual partners I will think you’re SKANKY WHORE so please don’t write to me SLUT.”

As it happens, I only have eyes for my handsome boyfriend (hi, my lobster!) and all of my friends seem to be busy getting married or squeezing out humans, so I’ve no need to scour the personals like a lonely Jennifer Anniston crying into a mug of vodka for anybody. Occasionally, personals just seem to fall into my lap by way of being advertised or routinely laughed at on blogs I read. See here.  This Julian Assange dating profile is also quite interesting (ooh! Topical! And regardless of how much I support him at the moment, HOLY HELL, he sounds like a plank.”) ALSO THIS. YOU HAVE TO READ THIS. Definitely followed by this.

So, yeah, sometimes people don’t stand out as completely stable and that’s what I love. I don’t hate on anybody whatsoever who actively seeks love on the internet because it can work. Meeting somebody on the internet leads to one of four things; a terrible dinner date that’s cut short by a fake emergency, mediocre sex, falling hopelessly and deeply in love or getting murdered. Life’s all about taking chances. Having said that, I will totally laugh in the virtual face of profiles that make me cringe, but then one lady’s trash is another’s wank material. Swings and roundabouts.

While I’m waiting for my friend to come over and make me feel less like I’m about to die of whatever it is I’ve picked up on the mean streets of South London (not HIV), let’s meet someone.

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ATTN: Single Ladies

One thing that I am wholeheartedly unashamed about is just how much of a fan of romance I am. I will see Katherine Heigl and Jennifer Anniston movies on opening weekend, I will read novels that include phrases such as “my loins were warm with my lust for her” and “I knew she was the one when we both reached for the same tomato purée tube in Sainsbury’s”, I will take an active interest in the love lives of everybody I know and a few people I don’t, I may have already planned almost every detail of my wedding (I’m not yet engaged), and there is nobody alive who “AWWW”s louder than I do when I see a couple of OAPs hobbling around hand in hand.

There are very few times when I’ll mock somebody for being a brave enough person to put themselves out there and make the first move when they are interested in a person, no matter how cringeworthy they come across, but I’m about to. I don’t even need to say anything really (but I will, obviously) as this audio says it all for me.


Enticing, amirite? No, no. Not at all. I laughed, I gasped, I exclaimed and I cut myself a bit.

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So it looks like after that hullabaloo regarding Chris ‘Anger Problem’ Brown punching his then-girlfriend Rihanna ‘Pon De Replay Was Better Than Any Shit I Sing Now’ Nosurname a few times and his career taking quite the nosedive, he’s come out the other side and getting gigs again! Hoobloodyrah, the world of music has surely missed his crooning about shorties looking so fine.

He was booked on at the BET (Black Entertainment Television) Awards to sing Man In The Mirror as a ‘moving’ tribute to Michael ‘Hey Macauly Caulkin, We’re Home Alone!’ Jackson which, I don’t know, is symbolic? I really didn’t like Michael Jackson for a whole bunch of reasons but, even objectively, I’m not so keen on his music.


Genuinely, I’m just not fussed by him. Yeah, he could swivel a bit and hit a high note but I didn’t enjoy it. However, I do like that song. So imagine my delight when I get to hear a lovely performance of it, right?


Hey! Chris Brown!

Nice crocodile tears there, baby. Way to make it all about yourself, homeboy.

Gaga, Oh LaBORING.

Stefani Joanne Angelina  Germanotta, what are we going to do with you?

Except fire you deep into space from a cannon, AMIRIGHT? No, no. I’m kidding. My niece would have a fit. As I noticed last week, the five-year-old loves nothing more than to thrust her way around the living room inviting people to join her aboard a disco stick to enjoy a sick beat.

As someone who likes to experiment with fashion and can, quite often, come out of the house looking like a blind kid playing dress up, I should perhaps feel a little close to the Gaga. But I don’t. And I shall tell you for why:

9 times out of 10, she’s being a massive tool.

My love affair with the 24-year-olHAHAHAHAHA, SORRY! I can’t even pretend to believe her publicist when she says Gaga was born in 1986. 1976 I’d believe. 1980 I’d believe. 1982 I might even believe but I think there’s more chance of me finding a leprechaun and a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow in Bristol than there is of Gaga being 24.


My love affair with the ____-year-old began when Just Dance came out. My other female housemate and I would shower and then have pillow fights in our pants* to it before getting ready to go out on student night (ie  every night) when we lived in Bournemouth.

My love affair with her ended when she took a teacup onto Wossy’s chat show and managed to say nothing coherent or useful during her fifteen minute interview because, as it turns out, there is nothing but hair grips and sequins in her head. My love affair spiralled into a burning hate when the world’s teenagers wet themselves over how quaint and quirky she was for taking a floral cup everywhere even though when I take my special mug and teabags to my friend’s houses I just get called a twat. Not fair.

I think I’d like her more (I probably wouldn’t, but for argument’s sake) if she just admitted to being a really big try-hard, stopped pretending like it’s just in her soul to wear glittery lobster masks out for dinner – the bitch ain’t no Grace Jones – and was generally just a bit less…alive.

This is Grandma Gaga at the weekend. Or some time fairly recently going to see a baseball match. Maybe some other sport. I didn’t care enough to research.


OK. I can overlook this.

Studded bra in public? During a baseball match? With a fair few people in attendance? I can even overlook this. It looks a bit chilly but I suppose one must suffer for their art.

But starting to throw a bitch fit when someone with a camera takes your picture and a bunch of baseball fans shout things like** “Gaga! You cunt!”, “Put a top on, bitchtits!” and “Gosh, don’t you look silly!” is just being a tad unnecessary. Perhaps, if you didn’t want to be noticed, you could have come in a casket. Just a suggestion.

Woe is you, Gaga. Woe is you.

*Sorry, this never happened

**I’m just speculating

Reading Tedious Bollocks So You Don’t Have To.

I think I speak for the women of Britain when I sit and say, “I wish we could all be more like Vanessa Feltz.” She’s an institution and known by us all (and that’s not just because she’s too big to overlook – BOOM BOOM! LOL! No, seriously, I jest).

Did you know her first kiss was with DJ Pete Tong when she was 12? No, neither did I. That might not be true as I only had a look at her Wikipedia profile. Did you know she studied at Trinity College, Cambridge? Only English (POW!) but she still left with a first class honours degree.

She had a wonderful education and then went on to marry and breed. She writes some stuff, presents some shows, gets divorced because she chose cake over her husband and goes all Loony McMentalcase on Celebrity Big Brother. She claws herself back from ridicule (well, as much as she can), writes some more stuff, presents some more TV, shacks up with a man who has no personality but is ten years younger than her, wins some awards (HOW?) and seems to always crop up.

Love her or loathe her she’s had a fairly eventful life and, by that, I mean much more eventful than mine, thus far, which has been BIRTH > EDUCATION > BOUGHT A REALLY GREAT DRESS > TODAY and you’d think she might just be qualified to give a bit of advice to the British public as part of a magazine feature, wouldn’t you? Yes you would! And, my gosh, she does a great job.

This week, in Reveal, I found myself just taking a moment to put down the magazine and stand clapping at Vanessa. She took ‘helpfullness’ to a whole new level. This was the problem:

My toddler goes to a playschool and I’ve become quite friendly with one of the other mums. We spend time at each other’s houses while the little ones play. She’s always been very warm and she constantly throws her arms around me. I felt very comfortable with her until she casually mentioned that she’s a lesbian. Is she hitting on me? I’m not gay and I don’t know how to deal with this.
Ella (who is clearly a dick) from Devon.

That’s hilariously silly on all kinds of levels. I mean, who even writes into magazines anymore? HELLO! Hasn’t she heard of Yahoo! Answers? Anyway, that’s not the best bit. The best bit comes in the form of Vanessa’s first sentence in her answer paragraph. I love it. I love her.

Vanessa’s answer: She might fancy you. On the other hand, she might not.


Seriously. That’s just marvellous.

Blow. Me. Down.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

New World's Worst Mother Sends Her Adopted Child Back to Russia Alone
A woman from Tennessee adopted a 7 year old child from Russia? She then decided to forgo parenting the child because he wasn’t the rosy-cheeked, problem-free child she daydreamed of? So she sent him back to Moscow alone? She sent him back to Moscow alone with a fucking note? She’s reversing the adoption?
…Saying that, has anyone seen Orphan? No?
Esther really was mental.