Still a Judgy Bitch!

I do try, honest I really do but sometimes the inner bitch inside of me just breaks out and comes to the forefront in all her judgmental glory and you know what, I won’t lie, sometimes I love her! I know, I know, I should condemn her, push her off a cliff and cut her off forever but she is funny as fuck and makes me lol (laugh out loud for those who hate lol. Bore off by the way, you’re just trying to be cool).

Anyways I just popped down to get coffee and a bird walked by me in a fabulous dress and my first thought was lovely thinking how nice she looked. Then it turned to, I look shit in dresses (even at this point I still love her as tbf I do). I looked at her again, admired her dress, then looked at her shoes……….they were fuckin awful, shiny patent nude with bows on, like wtf they were obvs from Payless.

So this brings me to a confession, one that is very hard to admit but here I am sharing it with you good (and some not so good) people. Hopefully the ex wife won’t read this, she will crucify me and I will never hear the end of it! Are you ready for my confession? I’m feeling kinda nervous and totally embarrassed about myself.

For the past month (or so), I have been buying my coffee from Starbucks!! I know, it’s disgusting, I am horrified and a terrible human being. I should be supporting my local coffee shop but no. The big bad Starbucks gets fuckin everywhere and there is even one at work that makes it oh so easy to get on that slippery slope of supporting these guys! It’s that bad, that I don’t even need to ask for my coffee, they just take my cup (hey at least that’s reusable) fill it and know what my payment method will be. Sometimes I like to mess with them and also order a slice of Lemon bread (it’s so fuckin good). I will not be boring basic predictable Becky!

So from now (well after tomorrow when my new shiny flask arrives), I will make coffee at home or support my local Corner Cup Coffee House. If I ever get tempted to go back to Starbucks, I will picture my fabulous friends face, full of disappoint that I am not supporting an awesome independent coffee shop such as the one she owns in Gateshead, UK called Arch Sixteen, if you are ever in the area go check it out.

Damn, I really need another coffee……………….

You what love?!!

I was sat in the Slug & Lettuce in Manchester Piccadilly, a couple of glasses of wine in and struggling to keep my composure.  The tears were threatening to start falling and there was a sob inside me that was willing me to let it out. Why do you ask were you on the breaking point of an emotional break down? Did someone offend you? Was it actually happy emotions because you were back in Manchester and was able to go to the bar, order your massive glass of wine (with no fucker judging because it’s a standard glass here) and not have to sit at a table waiting for a server, to tell them you would like a glass of wine, for them to tell someone else you would like a glass of wine, then have to wait for that person to pour the said wine, then wait on the server to bring it to you (I do love Canada but this irks the shit out of me).

Maybe it’s the stylish decor and the comfy seats or the delightful familiarity of being surrounded by people who get as drunk as you but it’s okay because it’s a laugh.  Maybe it’s tears of laughter because you witnessed a table of birds shoo a very drunk bloke away who was trying to convince them to sing happy birthday to his mate. Or could it be that someone came in wearing leggings on a Friday late afternoon, nah not in Manchester.

Ok, I can sense you are being impatient and want to know right now or maybe you don’t because I’ve waffled on for too long, so now you don’t give a fuck. Bye Felicia……

My niece made me cry, yep that bird who I am super close to and would murder anyone who hurt her (declaration: before anyone gets excited, obvs I wouldn’t really murder someone and this is not a threat……….) had me on the brink of making a right twat of myself in the middle of a bar in Manchester. What did she say you might ask? Did she say wtf are you doing here? Did she say, well you look a right fuckin mess (which would have been fair after an epic journey from Vancouver)! Did she point out the hairs on me chin (oh fuck off, we all get them and if you don’t yet, you have it all to look forward to).

Nope, none of that, my niece said  “I am so proud of you” and even now writing this, it chokes me.  My awesome cool, trendy, successful niece, who achieved a first for her Bachelors degree, has a job that she loves designing shit and travels more than me, said that she was proud of me!

Now, I imagine you are wondering (or not), why I would have that reaction to my niece, saying she was proud me. Those words are not the typical words I grew up with; In fact the first time I remember hearing those words, were from my Platoon Sergeant in basic training, when he told me that I had successfully completed my course. You could see the utter confusion on his face to have this tough cookie, who spent a lot of her training doing press ups and marking time in jail, bawling her eyes out in front him. These words were alien to me and I think another part of it was that, I was also damn proud of myself; I had literally just succeeded in dragging myself out of poverty and was about to start the chapter that would define the rest of my life.

So the point, what is the point of this post?!! Firstly just to brag about how awesome my niece is, she also writes a blog called Pack and Paint, which if you love art and travelling is defo one for you to follow,

Secondly, never underestimate the effect you have on people.  Even if you don’t know someone on a deep personal level, your words can have a huge impact on their lives.

Thirdly, if someone did have a positive impact on your life and maybe doesn’t know it, reach out and tell them and say thank you.  If someone had/is having a negative impact on your life, forget about them, cut them off.  For some reason, we seem to give these toxic fuckers far more attention than they deserve. Picture yourself pushing them over a cliff in your head (IN YOUR HEAD) and letting them go, such a good exercise.

Chat soon x

Bore off basic Becky………

“I love bum sex”

Now I bet you’re thinking, really bird you’re going there, are you seriously going to write a blog post about your sexual preferences?! I bet you’re torn between not wanting to read on and complete and utter curiosity. Well read on my friend, go on I dare ya.

So no, this is not about sex, up the bum or however which way you prefer it. This post is about a remarkable young man who thought nothing about wearing a t-shirt with such a bold statement on it. No, I am not making it up, my nephew had a t-shirt saying “I love bum sex.” Who would wear such a thing and why?! Was he gay?

I’ll tell you who would wear such a thing, someone brave enough to not care what other people would say. Someone who instead of trying his hardest (even though it would make him unhappy) to fit in, relished in not conforming to ‘society standards’ (like wtf that does that even mean anyway. Bore off with ya ‘society standards’). Someone who thought it was perfectly normally to go to the top of the Eiffel tower and take a photo of the bin up there. He even asked some perplexed tourists, if they would mind moving so he could get the perfect picture of it. My nephew Mark was someone who made it totally acceptable to be different.

Being different must be so less tiring than being……..hmm being what? Normal? Imagine not feeling the need to look like (but not really) every other basic bitch out there. Imagine not being judged or indeed being the fucker judging by what possessions you or others own. Imagine not having to take a pic of your every breathing moment in an attempt to show people that your life is fulfilled and just so much more fun/interesting than their’s, even your friends. Imagine not competing with your friends for likes, views and all those other notifications that give us so much gratification (yes I do it to, if you looked at my Instagram it’s full of pics of my every day life. The most recent one shows you my Sunday, snack, wine and book #perfectsunday. This is me going, look at me I made my own Hummus #makeyourown ew why would anyone buy it from the store. Look at me, I read actual books #bookworm). 

There is a series of shows on Netflix called Black Mirror and one in particular called Nosedive . In this show everyone is rated out of 5 and depending how high/low you score depends on what services you get. Everything you do is rated out of 5 by everyone you come across.  This is literally what we do to ourselves on a daily basis. we critique our own and our friends lives through social media. How fucked up is that?!

In a world where everyone is so desperately conforming to be a basic Becky be a fabulously different Beryl #loveyouberyl.

Mark was only 18, we lost him 5 weeks ago tomorrow in a tragic accident and though it has been so hard for our family spending time with Mark’s friends and hearing all the stories about this wonderful human being has been heart lifting. There were lots of stories, some that made us blush, some that made us incredulous but every one of them made us laugh. They also showed us what an amazing, caring and fearless young man Mark was. Mark didn’t need possessions to make him feel whole and fulfilled, making people laugh was his gift and it was a gift he was very generous with.

RIP Little Mark xx

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Too much pressure

Have you ever sat on one of the priority seats on a train or bus and immediately felt an immense amount of pressure? I guess some fuckers out there will be like “no, what you going on about, is there priority seating on public transport? Surely if when I get on the bus and occupy a seat then that is mine until I get off.” No you little horrors, priority seats are for people who need to sit down more than you, like the elderly, people with disabilities, pregnant birds (or blokes I guess) and people who are severely hungover. Okay, admittedly I just added that last one but those poor people should qualify for priority seating to, have you ever tried standing on a bus when that evil fucker Tequila is still occupying your body? Brutal.

A pregnant colleague was saying just the other day how the train was so busy and she had to stand. This made my blood boil. It’s not even like you don’t want to offend just in case she isn’t pregnant, she is like full on about to drop preggers. Such a nice bird as well, there was me slagging the horrible cunts off and she’s like “well no-one really looks up anymore so they probably just didn’t notice me.” Which is true, everyone is in there phone rather than taking in what is going on around them. Do not get me started on special awareness!

So why is it, that when I sit in the priority seats, I feel like I’m a judge on the X-Factor. Like genuinely, it’s the closest I’ll ever feel to being God like and it’s proper stressful. Watching people get on and judging whether they are worthy of the priority seat you’re currently occupying. Now I could be one of those horrible fuckers buried in me phone and not looking up but that’s not me, I just can’t do it. Besides, it’s a great excuse to be a right judgey bitch and all in a good cause. Excuse me while I polish my halo and you may now call me Saint fuckin Michelle!

What a minefield it is though; I mean obvs you have your blatant priority folk: the elderly, the preggers, those with disabilities and the severely hungover but it is hard sometimes to decide. For example, at what age do you qualify as elderly and in need of a seat? Does someone who’s older than me qualify for the seat I’m occupying? Do you risk offending asking someone who looks older than you but not elderly if they need your seat? What if you do offend them and royally piss all over their day, how cuntish is that. It’s a bloody nightmare, I’m just going to stay well away from the priority seats from now on, I just can’t be dealing with that much pressure on me daily commute.

I must say, not all of my fellow commuters are a horrible bunch of fuckers, most are but not all.  Just the other day, I was on a busy train on the way home standing as per the norm and this lovely fella asked me if I wanted his seat.  Now I’m just going to assume that this lovely man was being a gentleman (yay for chivalry) and wasn’t asking because he thought I was older than him or preggers.  Oh fuck off, he was defo being a gentleman….

In other news: well it is not actually other news but a rant. Don’t you just hate those fuckers that recline on a plane. Another stress induced situation, watching people get on your plane being a judgey bitch and praying they don’t sit in the seat in front of you because that fucker looks like a right recliner!!

 

Friend or Frenemy?

“I bought 2 Amazon products for someone to talk to” this is a direct quote from one of my friends and it had me howling, even saying it back now is making me chuckle. Cheers bird. In what could easily have been a scene from a cheesy chick flick me and some girlfriends sat around a kitchen table drinking whatever was put in front of us, talking shit, whilst the men folk did their own thing. We were chatting about the different dynamics of friendships groups and how extroverts and introverts can live happily ever after in good healthy friendships.

Having good friends is important to me and I think most birds will agree (I know, some birds don’t enjoy having girlfriends because hanging out with guys means less drama etc etc) that sitting around with your girlfriends sinking a couple……okay a few bottles of wine (oh fuck off judgey, as if two bottle of wine between more than two women are going to make it past the hour) is the best type of therapy.

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Why is it though, that sometimes we invite people into our lives and rather than being a good, healthy friendship, it turns out to be toxic; you know the type the bitches who make you question yourself, who are always trying to one up you all the time or make you feel bad about yourself so they can feel better about themselves.  These bitches exist, I have met up with a few girlfriends over the past week and even literally just asked a bird at work and in the past, they all had one of these toxic friendships.

Erm, so if you’re reading this and thinking you hypocritical bitch; firstly, thanks for reading my blog, secondly, my Insta is open if you want to see all the fun things I am doing and thirdly, I’m sorry. Because here’s the thing, can we all honestly look in the mirror and say nope, I have never been that bitch, I am not good frenemy material. Well if you haven’t, bully for you, go and polish your twattin halo and pray for all us bitches who sometimes make the mistake of being a complete and utter c**t (oops sorry if that offends, it’s okay to not be a bitch, some people just aren’t capable of being c**ts).

In other news: I had a fabulous evening last night with my oldest Canadian friend (as in time served. Not that it’s like a prison sentence being my friend (fuck, am I actually one of those bitches?!), we went to Vij’s it was amazing. Not sure even where to start with this place; the food was awesome, the service fabulous and the setting on the patio perfect. The owner grafted the whole time we were there taking the time to chat with his guests, take pictures of tables and oblige the selfie requests.

This place is mad popular, if you don’t have a reservation turn up early. The lineup got big pretty fast. You won’t regret the wait though, the food literally makes you dance in your seat 🙂

You horrible bitch…….

Argh, I am so pissed off right now, I don’t often let anyone other than myself piss all over my day but as my lovely Welsh friends would say, “I’m tamping, raging, fuming.”

I am having a fab week, work has been productive, Tuesday was a day off, I received my tax refund yesterday (which went straight to pay for the desert race that I stupidly agreed to run/walk/crawl with Mr C ugh), we met our fab friends last night and had an awesome meal at Tableau Bistro and tomorrow night, we are meeting up with a load of British ex-pats for what is no doubt going to be a very messy night. So after work today I head to my Hip Hop dance class to perfect my moves to Hurricane Chris’s Halle Berry (tbh, I was shit at it, like proper shit but hey it was fun and that’s what counts right). Anyways, I finish and go to get the bus home feeling happy, famished and looking forward to whatever concoction Mr C was knocking up for dinner (okay let’s be clear about this, when I say “knocking up” that doesn’t mean Mr C is nailing (in case I need to also clear this up, when I say “nailing,” I mean fuckin, shaggin, making love etc etc) me dinner, “knocking up” is also a term for throwing something together. )

If you’re still with me after that last paragraph, first of all, well done, I read that back and got proper fuckin lost. Secondly, bear with me, I’m almost at why my blood is boiling a wee (small not urine) bit.

So, I gets on the bus and all is well (that’s not really true, all wasn’t well in the first place. Like a dumb twat, I’d forgotten me sunglasses and was getting right blinded by the sun), I’m excited to get home for me dinner and to watch our new Netflix show Safe and boom, some horror gets on me bus and totally fucks up my smug life is great vibe……..cheers love.

A family gets on, a Mum, Dad, a stroller (buggy), two little people and an even smaller one. Now, I imagine you think I’m going to start banging on about the little people and the even smaller one but no, something happened that might surprise you and for sure surprised me………………

Next stop, some older bird gets on the bus and she, is the horror who pissed all over my week. The family had their stroller in the spot where the fold up chairs are and though there was plenty of other seats this bird said loud enough for the whole bus to hear and sound like a complete bitch “can you move this so at least one person can sit down.” The family of course, shuffled the little people, even smaller one and the stroller to accommodate her request. I sit there all quiet, still being blinded by the bloody sun and thinking about me dinner. Well my inner warrior, decides that now is the time to tear herself from whatever slaying she is doing elsewhere and bless me with her presence.

The even smaller person starts kicking off and though their Dad is doing his best to calm it down, the older bird cannot hide her miserable judgey self. At first, she starts glancing up at the family disapprovingly but then she openly glares at them, starts shaking her head and starts tutting away and that’s, when my inner Warrior (Shelly) puts in an appearance.

Unfortunately Shelly didn’t have to much time to amuse herself with the miserable bird as the next stop was ours and as I mentioned before, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Mr C was knocking up for dinner. Obvs we wasn’t going to stay quiet though. I purposely walk to the front even though it wasn’t the closest exit and said to misery “what do you expect, it’s just a baby” to which she replies “mind your own business.” Now I know, the mature thing to do, would have been to shake my head in disappointment and hope that misery would reflect on her behaviour and realize she’s being a bitch. I didn’t do that. I smiled at the family, said thank you to the bus driver and called misery a “judgey cow” as I stepped off the bus.

Do you know what, I don’t even like kids, they make me itch and tbh I don’t care for anyone who can’t buy a round but this miserable woman proper got on my tits (not literally), was a horrible person and was obviously making the Mum and Dad feel uncomfortable and thought she was for some delusional reason, superior.  We taught her eh.

In other news: Mr C continues to hold onto a distinction on his MBA and though it’s not the same as my now amazing hip-hop dance skills, I do have to give credit where it’s due.

 

 

 

 

Half-Marathon Etiquette

I ran in a half marathon race on Sunday (yeah yeah go me right, I am fuckin awesome). Like some of the other idiots there, I did zero training (It wasn’t just me right?!), which became evident after the 10 km point. So though I cannot give out any training advice or tips (except to say that, yes you should defo do some sort of training) I can sure let you know about race etiquette (which may or may not just be my opinion) so pin ya ears back.

When you sign up for a race they will ask you what time you intend to finish it in. This isn’t to pin you down and say you have to run the race in that time. They do this to split runners down into different start groups. If you are in a faster corral, especially if you’re running with Sue, Karen, Annie, Wanda and Pauline in squad form (also really irritating), you can get in the way of faster runners.  Tips on choosing the right corral.

If you have to slow down or stop, use your arms as signals and get to the side. It is perfectly fine to stop.  I guarantee the only person judging you for stopping is yourself. Unless you’re that twat who abruptly stops in the middle of the race path, don’t be that person. Imagine it, Kim is running behind you at her 100%, she is in her element and feeling fuckin awesome; you stop abruptly and boom, poor Kim is out of the race and yes, now everyone is judging you.

When there is shade, get in it. Yes, it’s lovely the sun is shining and it’s the perfect opportunity to work on ya tan. No it’s not knobhead. It’s the perfect opportunity for sun stroke and heat exhaustion.  Save the tanning for afterwards when you can chill on a patio, being that smug fucker telling all and sundry that you just ran a half-marathon.

Whenever water, electrolytes or snacks are offered, take them. You don’t want to be that dumb fuck who turns their noses up at electrolytes in the form of sports drinks, only to get severe calf cramps at the 19 mile point on a full marathon (yes I’ve completed one of those too.  See told you I was fuckin awesome. Okay I am dumb occasionally but who isn’t) and have to be dragged to the side by some old dude and walk the rest of the way.

Don’t throw water cups at the volunteers. I know what you’re thinking, as if you need to be told to not throw water cups at the volunteers. I saw it, with my very own eyes this Sunday when I ran a half-marathon (I am fuckin awesome), some c**t so obsessed with himself didn’t look to see where he was throwing his cup and it hit a volunteer and water went all over her.  Don’t be that person.

Thank the volunteers. Mr C and I have volunteered for one race, the Hypothermic Half which is held in various cities; we were at the one in Edmonton, Alberta. Besides the fuckers taking the piss because we pronounce water properly (we’re English knobhead, we made the language up) all the runners were so lovely thanking us for volunteering.  I made sure to thank all (okay a lot of) the volunteers on Sunday when I was running the half-marathon (I am fuckin awesome). I even thanked the Scientology lot who had set up a table. To be fair, they had the best, much needed snacks, bless them………………….

If you see a person with their hand held out for a high five or holding a sign saying “power up here.” Don’t be a miserable twat, give the weirdos their high fives and hit their signs. They could be taking part in the only way they can. At least they’re there cheering you on, when any normal person would be in bed at such a god awful (sorry) time on a Sunday morning.  Don’t be a judgey twat.

Don’t judge your fellow runners and assume you can run faster than them because you’re smaller or younger. I used to do this all time, look at a person and think I could easily beat them. It really doesn’t work like that.  It doesn’t matter if someone is older, bigger or wearing a banana suit, don’t compare yourself to others, everyone is running their own race.

Don’t judge yourself, another tough one. We set our goals and tear ourselves apart if we don’t reach them. Guess what, if you don’t run as fast as you wanted to or ran as far as you wanted to, you can train and do it again. That’s the best thing about running, if you keep at it you will for sure see improvement.

So they’re all my tips on race etiquette, hopefully it was a useful read!!!