Tinder Tales - Spanish Edition

Ahh Spain. The land of sangria and salsa, siestas and paella. And fuckboys. Don't forget the fuckboys. 

One of the (very few) things I've learnt about men here is a Spanish mans version of flirting is far from an English mans perverted grab of your butt on the dance floor in a club. Instead, they basically act like you're the actual love of their life and propose to you, be that on the spot or via tinder. They shower you with compliments and promises and although that's amazing for all of five minutes it starts to feel rather insincere and actually pretty damn annoying pretty quickly.

Well, with the exception of this guy 

Nice Carlo mate, nice.

My dates here in Spain have been even MORE colourful than those back home, believe it or not, and have provided my friends with many a good cackle. And I hope they will do the same for you. 

I will start with a more recent one - this was with a very pleasant young Colombian man who I met on tinder. Being an au pair, I only get my free time at the weekends, and because of this and the fact we both had plans for the few weeks after we'd started speaking, it took us almost 2 months to meet for the first time. He was very persistent and he went to a lot of effort. He found a lovely wine bar hidden away from the centre of town, and (apparently) ordered in several bottles of pretty fancy pants wine. (I say apparently as you can never be sure what's genuine and what's been said just to swoon you with these Latinos 🙄). We had a lovely evening, good conversation, lots of laughs, and he ended up inviting me to his apartment for a salsa lesson - NOT an innuendo, for an actual salsa dancing lesson, he was trained in it!

During the taxi ride, I unfortunately took a turn for the worse and instead of giving me a salsa lesson the poor guy spent the rest of the evening locked outside his bathroom while I was throwing up all the lovely fancy pants wine he had ordered in for us. Whoops!

I don't know if this next one counts as a date - however it definitely does count as a hilarious story that made all my friends die of laughter. So it was a Saturday night, and I went out to a nightclub with a couple of friends. Over the course of the evening I met an English guy - this was unusual for the club we were in as it was full of locals and not tourists, so I got super excited to spend some time with a fellow Brit. It turned out he lived here, so after an evening of dancing and chatting he asked if I wanted to go to his for a few drinks. In my oblivious, slightly drunk and overexcited state I accepted, so off we went. Everything was going great, we were both laughing, having fun, we had some beers and put some music on... And then out of nowhere, after the upbeat dancey chart music we had been listening to, a sad song came on. I was obviously not prepared for this and I inexplicably started to absolutely bawl my eyes out crying. Initially when he asked if I was crying I insisted that no, I was in fact allergic to something and when he asked what I just screamed 'I DONT KNOW'. Poor guy probably thought he was getting lucky and instead got a drunk girl crying on his sofa. Bet I reminded him why he left home! 

Again, this next one isn't an official date, but it alllllll began on my birthday. I believe one of my girlfriends and I had started drinking at around 1pm (it was my fucking birthday stop judging me) and by the time it was the evening I was so inhebriated I almost smashed an enormous mirror upside-down-twerking in the hotel room my sister had got as my birthday gift for me and my friends. So, you get the idea - the party was getting wild. We went to a club with our friend who was a promoter and I remember very little about the night - unsurprisingly. 

I woke up the next morning not in my hotel room with my girlfriends, but at our other friend, the promoters house. Turns out I'd lost everyone and this poor guy had had to take my drunk ass home. I frantically patted myself down when I realised I was in his bed and was relieved to find I was still fully clothed. 'Oh god, what a good friend, what a gentleman' I thought. Turns out the actual reason he hadn't tried anything on was because I was sick on his bedroom floor. Classy as fuck I'm sure you'll agree. We cool though, he's still a friend to this day (although I have no idea why he wants to be!)

I went out with a French guy a few months ago now, who over the course of the evening decided to tell me how every woman he goes out with just falls head over heels in love with him and also proceeded to laugh about the fact he's cheated on every girlfriend he's ever had. I don't even know what more to write about this date other than the fact that after this he was actually shocked when I didn't want to see him again... Seriously though?? SERIOUSLY??? ****internal despair****

The last actual Tinder date I went on was a local, from Barcelona. He seemed cute, funny, successful, so I was pretty pumped to meet him. He met me at the metro station and told me he needed to go to the supermarket. For the date I'd told him I would cook dinner so I'd assumed the supermarket trip was for ingredients for dinner and some drinks.

WRONG.

This dude did a FULL ASS FUCKING SHOP, we must have been there for an HOUR while he compared the prices of shampoo and conditioner and laundry detergents. The shop he did was so big I ended up carrying THREE BAGS OF SHOPPING BACK TO HIS FLAT. Fucking heavy ones too. Then I cooked him dinner and when I asked if he would chop some garlic for me he said no. Literally no. ERM THAT IS THE LEAST YOU COULD DO AFTER I CARRIED YOUR FUCKING SHOPPING HOME FOR YOU MATE. And then after dinner he made me give him a back massage because he'd had some sports competition or something that morning. I think he thought I was actually his wife. Or a slave, I'm not sure which. (All jokes aside though, we did end up having a pretty good time, although I'm not sure why or how 😂)

That's not even all of them, there are more believe it or not, and they've all been equally enormous shit shows. My dating life as you can see has just become more material for a comedy sketch show in Spain than it already was at home. But as I've said previously, if I was in a successful functioning relationship - first of all I'd probably be very bored, and secondly I'd have nothing to write about! Every cloud and all that! 

Happy tindering peeps, and happy adulting! X

Poo year

I don't think January is really anyone's favourite month. Christmas is over. Which means you're probably fat. And poor. And unlike everyone on your Facebook you're probably neither engaged nor expecting a baby (although I personally won't complain about the latter)

New Years is also over, which means you're probably still hungover on the 3rd of January, likely woke up with a stranger in your bed who was well below your normal standards, and you still haven't been to the gym or eaten a single vegetable yet. Or, if you're me, 7 of your mates flew to Spain where you now live to spend New Year's Eve with you and you came down with the flu / a chest infection / the plague the day they arrived and spent New Year's Eve in bed sweating and crying while they drank tequila and practiced their fake orgasms (true story). 

Personally, my Christmas and New Years didn't really go to plan at all. Like a lot of people's actually, away from the glossy perfection they upload on social media. Now don't get me wrong, Christmas and New Years are wonderful and magical, like any other time you get to focus all your energy and love on the people who matter most to you. But there's a lot of pressure on these two days to be perfect, and they rarely are. Plus there's a big anticlimax when it's all over and you have to wait a whole year to do it all again. 

I always try to be a positive person and usually I'm pretty fucking good at it, but at the moment I'm just feeling a bit deflated and a bit naff. And do you know what, that's ok. And it's ok if you're feeling a bit naff to, because your a human being, and despite the fact you're supposed to magically turn into Beyoncé at the strike of midnight on the 1st of January every year doesn't actually mean you're any less entitled to be a fucking human being. 

You can still have the best year ever if you take a week to get over your hangover after New Years Eve. You can still have the best year ever if you've gained 3 stone in chocolate and wine weight over Christmas. I can still have the best year ever even though I've spent the first 3 days of the year in bed coughing so hard I genuinely think I've broken all my ribs. Don't rush ya self, forget about the pressure to make 2017 'your year' and just be kind to yourself. It doesn't have to be perfect from day one. We got 12 months of this ish to make some magical shit happen y'all. Look after yourself, and your body and your mind (I strongly suggest going vegan *shameless plug*) Then look after your family and your friends. And good things will come.  Then this will be your year. 

And hey, if I'm going to be positive about being sick over New Years - I probably saved myself from shagging someone I shouldn't have, I didn't spend any money, I've actually lost weight and I haven't had a cigarette for 4 days! Killin' it!

Now go do some shit that makes you happy, whether that's going to the gym or drinking a bottle of wine, whatever, I'm not here to judge. Have a wonderful 2017 friends. 

Happy adulting x

Spanish Stuff: Volume 1

Happy 1 month-iversary to me and my new love, Barcelona. It's going well, I think we are going to last. Just thought I'd fill you all in on some stuff I've noticed and / or learned about Spain and the Spanish culture so far, in case you are coming here, or just want a good bloody laugh, because some of it is hilarious. 

Firstly, they drive on the other side of the road. That's quite apparent pretty much as soon as you get here. You probably knew that already if you're not a retard like me. But when you've been here a month and you still try and get into the drivers seat instead of the passenger seat literally every day, you start to look pretty stupid. 

If you've never heard a Spanish family have a full blown conversation, it sounds pretty much exactly like the Eminem song 'Rap God' when he's doing the super super fast bit. There's no way an English person will ever be able to keep up so my advice is just smile and say 'Sí'. It's served me pretty well so far. 

When writing in Spanish, accents are very important. 'Si' with no accent actually means if. Not yes. Also año (year) with no accent means anus. As in arse hole. Watch out for that one.

Spanish men are soppy as fuck. Your tinder will just be full of kissy faces and heart eyes emojis. This is not my cup of tea, I'm English and am used to dating men who use 'banter' as an excuse to be  utter cunts. If I can't moan about how much of a prick you are to my girlfriends I'm not interested. Although sometimes their names are hilarious... 

Lols. 

Also I highly reccomend South American men, and there are no shortage of those here. Why do I reccomend them you ask?? Weeeellll I'll just leave this chart here.... 

I'll say no more.

If you're a low key alcoholic or an asthmatic smoker like me, then Spain is literally heaven. 50g's of tobacco is EIGHT MOTHER-FLIPPING EUROS, and you can get a 12 pack of beers for €2.85. I'm never coming home. 

Sangria hangovers literally feel like Satan hammered his way through your skull with a butter knife, took a shit on your brain and left a gaping hole in your head. Don't ever drink it for 14 hours straight (guilty). I've watched them make it and there is like 3 tablespoons of sugar in every glass . You've been warned.

If you go to the beach in Barcelona, you will be harassed every 30 seconds by people selling beers and blankets. DO NOT BUY THE BEER. I've heard a rumour they keep it in the sewers at night when they're not selling it - VOM. And if you do want a blanket, we managed to haggle a guy down from €30 to €7 so don't get ripped off. (We still didn't buy it, it was just for bants) If you don't want either of these items, I find screaming 'coño' at the top of your lungs to be pretty effective. Or just say 'Tengo un cochillo' quietly and I imagine they will leave pretty abruptly. 

Spanish people shout at each other a LOT. Don't be alarmed, this is just how they communicate. They're usually not having an argument, but sometimes it's hard to tell. 

Spanish people think English people are all alcoholics. Although in most cases this is true, try not to start bar fights or vomit in the street - athough this is normal and socially acceptable behaviour in London, it is not here. Weird. 

Spanish trains are by far the most bizarre 

I've ever encountered. Sometimes they just don't turn up. No announcements, they just never come. There are no boards showing the next trains at most stations outside the city, and a lot of the trains have no announcements on them either. And if you're sitting anywhere that isn't exactly in the middle of the train you will rarely see the station name when you pull into the platform. I have panicked several times and just guessed where to get off. It has usually been wrong. 

They also don't have bridges to cross over the platforms, you literally just walk over the tracks. Health and safety at its finest. 

Back to the positives - this is a place where my sleeping schedule is perfectly acceptable. I can sleep in the middle of the day with absolutely no judgement, because everyone else does it too. God bless you siestas <3

And finally, EVERYTHING on Spanish TV is overtly sexual. I was watching some Spanish sitcom with the 9 year old and 11 year old girls I au pair for at about 7.30 in the evening and someone threw an enormous pink dildo out a window which proceeded to hit a pedestrian on the head. There's an enourmous billboard we pass on our way into Barcelona that advertises a sex toy warehouse and condom commercials are on in the middle of the day. None of that is exaggerated for comic effect - it is very bizarre coming from a land where my mum still thinks I'm too young to have a boyfriend at nearly 24 and if someone so much as kisses on TV while you're in the same room as your family everyone becomes visibly uncomfortable. But hey, I ain't complaining. My crudeness fits right in! 

This will no doubt be volume one, I'll keep y'all updated with the weirdness and wonderfulness that is the Spanish culture.

Happy adulting peeps X

Bailey Does Barcelona - Travel Blogs

Seventeen days ago I got on a plane with a one way ticket to Barcelona, with a severely twisted ankle, 2 bags of my belongings and just enough money in my pocket to get by. I quit the job that made me lose the will to live every day and moved out of the house I'd lived in with my best friend (and also a couple of total morons) for the last year. I moved away from all the people I love to come and live in a house with a family of strangers who's first language isn't the same as mine, in a country where they drive on the other side of the road and being vegan is an alien concept. It seemed like a huge deal and everyone kept telling me how brave I was and they 'wish they could do something like that'. 

I thought it was a big deal. Countless times I asked myself 'what am I doing' and suddenly the life in London I had been so complacent about didn't seem so bad at all. 'Maybe I shouldn't go' I kept thinking, 'what if something happens to one of my friends or a member of my family and I can't get home in time to say goodbye?'. I cried when I said goodbye to my mum and my sister and my friends (with the exception of my GBF who I just had an argument with instead, but it we wouldn't have been us if that didn't happen (sorry Adam love you) and my group of besties who I just got so fucking wasted with the night before I left I was too drunk to even feel emotion when I said goodbye). I worried about all the nights I would miss out on while I was gone, all the fun they'd have without me. All the memories I won't get to make with them. I wondered if we would drift apart, If our bonds wouldn't be as strong when I got back. And then I got here. I got picked up from the train station by my host Mum, with my two bags on my crutches, got into the car and arrived at my new house for the next few months. 

And it's not a big deal at all. 

I think it's probably the same for everyone who leaves their home town or home country that pretty much immediately you gain a huge amount of perspective. You build all this stuff up in your mind, the what ifs, the maybes, the reasons why maybe you shouldn't do it and why maybe it's a bad decision and it seems like this huge deal, it seems scary and daunting and then you arrive and you're like 'oh. It's not a big deal at all'. You just sort of... get on with it. 

The first thing I've gained perspective on, is how fucking dramatic I am. Even reading back what I just wrote - I'm such a bloody drama queen. I'm two hours away from home. Some of my besties in London are from Australia, they're 22-30 hours away from home. And a last minute flight would cost them thousands should there be an emergency. I met an 18 year old girl here who's from Texas. She's moved here alone at 18, and she's 16+ hours away from home. And I'm pretty sure she didn't make as much of a song and dance about it as 23 year old me who could get home by fucking train if I had to. 

I'm an au pair here, which was a shocking choice of career to those who know me as 'Two Beers Bailey'  the girl who loves to get wasted on a Tuesday night and spent Wednesday morning with my head in the toilet at work after turning up 30 minutes late. And I'm pretty chuffed with my decision, the first two weeks were a breeze, playing with the kids, sunbathing, listening to them speak Spanish and hoping just sitting and watching them will be enough to pick it up (it won't, my Spanish is absolutely fucking abysmal). Easy, I thought! 

Nope. 

Kids aren't easy. Kids are stubborn. Kids don't like trying new food. (Which hurts when you spend an hour cooking lunch and they strut in from school pinching their nose at the smell and refuse to even try it) Kids don't like to do what you ask them. Kids might not like YOU. It's not easy. And that's awesome, because easy doesn't teach you anything. I am stubborn as hell. And when my kids are stubborn I recognise that quality in myself, and being on the receiving end of stubbornness is an eye opener. I would like to publicly apologise to any of my old bosses who might be reading this (Tom) - I am so sorry I was such a stubborn bitch with such a filthy attitude (when I was hungover (so quite frequently)) I realise now you must have wanted to strangle me. I am also sorry to my mum and any other adults who I wouldn't listen to when I was a kid. God bless you for your patience. 

And as well as helping you recognise qualities in yourself, it teaches you new skills, like patience. Staying calm when you'd usually flip. You can't be mad at kids, they're kids. They don't understand things from other people's perspectives yet, that's not their fault. And being able to be one of the people who helps them learn to see things from someone else's perspective is such a magical awesome gift. And having them teach me not to be a furious bitch from hell who has a fuse the length of a candle wick is such an awesome magical gift too. 

When I was in London, working in a pub or a restaurant or my office jobs, and someone foreign would come in and just stand and stare blankly at me it used to really wind me up. Dong get me wrong - I love how multicultural London is, I wanted to stay in the EU, I thought we should have refugees and immigrants in the country, but when I was busy and someone came in to my place of work expecting something and they hadn't had the courtesy to learn how to ask for it in the language of the country they were in it would just irritate me. NOW I AM THAT FOREIGNER. Never again will I get angry at those people, languages are fucking hard. And being in a new country unable to communicate effectively with people is scary and lonely sometimes. It's taught me to be kinder and more accepting. 

And speaking of loneliness, I was terrified about how lonely I might be when I got here without the comfort of knowing my friends were 5 minutes away on the bus, if I needed an emergency meeting to moan about the latest fuckboy who wasn't replying to my texts, or I wanted a hug because I'm a needy bitch. And the first two weeks I wasn't lonely at all, I cherished my alone time. Finished the first book I've read in years (thanks Grace - absolutely spectacular leaving gift!) Got the first tan I've had in 23 years and learned how to say 'I've got a knife' in Spanish on duolingo. Heaven! 

But then the loneliness did set in very mildly as the third week is starting to approach. And that pushed me to do something about it. I reached out to a bunch of people, some other au pairs, some vegans in the city, and now I have a weekend coming up full of plans, with people from all over the world, all of different ages and walks of life. And I'm super excited to see what awesome things they'll all teach me (while I'm pissed on the streets of Barcelona at a massive street party - hell yeah). 

It's so early on in my journey and I'm already learning so much. On the surface I've just been eating, sleeping and sitting in the sun. But when I scratch the surface I can see I've done so much more than that (amazing what a bit of alone time with your thoughts can do. Although don't spend too much alone time with your thoughts if you're anything like me - it gets weird in there). I have this fear that putting my experiences out there in this manner will mean that if it all goes tits up and I have to come home it will be all the more embarrassing because I've made this experience so public. But - thanks to the book I've just read 'The Life Changing Magic Of Not Giving A Fuck' (thanks again Grace) I thought - fuck it. If one person reads this and feels remotely inspired to quit the job they hate and do something fun then it will have been worth writing. And if this country or this experience doesn't work out for me long term, so what. I'll always be able to say I tried, and I've been happier in these two and a bit weeks with less money than I've had in years, than I was for months in my old job and my old life in London.

I urge you, if you're considering making a change in your life, no matter how small or how enormous, just do it. I know you've heard this a million times from a million sources, but just do it. If you're unhappy now you have nothing to lose. And it may seem difficult, and you'll probably build up a load of reasons in your mind why you can't do it. But if an unorganised, irresponsible idiot like me can do it, I assure you you definitely can. Turn off the 'what if' bit of your brain for one second and visualise how amazing that new job, new relationship, new city or new county could be and how much better your life could potentially be. Just give it a go. For me. Plz.

Happy adulting y'all X 

Reasons I like my cat more than you.

Today was Tuesday, which is basically just a second Monday. On top of that, it marks a week since I got back from my glorious holiday and that means I was no longer in beautiful Spain, but instead was at work. It also marks a week since I last ate meat or dairy and I’m having severe cheese withdrawal symptoms. Oh, and it was sunny and at least 14 degrees but somehow managed to snow (its fucking APRIL), and all humans around me seemed to be in arse hole mode (a bit like I am I suppose).For those reasons, I reverted back to not just being a stroppy teenager, oh no, but a full blown toddler and had a tantrum and hated anyone who wasn’t my cat. Not really that different to most days in fairness... Here’s why.

 

1. My cat doesn’t have as go at me for being late to stuff

2. My cat doesn’t make me do paperwork I don’t want to do

3. If my cat had a phone, she would fucking text me back

4. She would probably text me first actually.

5. My cat has not once asked me why I’m going vegan

6. Or called me a hippie

7. Or told me I need psychiatric help for going vegan (thanks Ma)

8. My cat doesn’t judge me for drinking alone

9. My cat doesn’t judge me for being hungover

10. My cat doesn’t harass me on Tinder

11. My cat doesn’t send me unwanted dick pics

12. She only wants to get me into bed for cuddles

13. And when she says cuddles, she literally means cuddles

14. My cat doesn’t ride her bicycle at 0.5 mph in front of my bus when I’m on my way home from work

15. My cat isn’t a 13 year old chav getting mouthy on my bus on my way home from work

16. My cat still loves me with no makeup on

17. My cat still loves me when my hair is dirty

18. And when I haven’t shaved my legs for two weeks(ok, four weeks)

19. My cat doesn’t have a go at me for being messy

20. My cat doesn’t lecture me about my poor life choices

21. My cat doesn’t think giving her a cuddle is flirting

22. My cat likes my singing

23. And she’s fluffy and COOT

 

She does dribble on my face and sit on my phone when I’m trying to use it though. But I suppose nobody is perfect.

I realise this post gets me no adult points. That’s fine, I didn’t want to adult today anyway. I am wanting to adopt a slightly more positive outlook on life though, as I have a tendency to be a bit of a grump and / or jump into panic mode and worst case scenario when things go wrong. However, I will always stand by having a big old MOAN whenever I want to anyone who will listen. It’s free therapy. And once I’ve done it I will be in a better mind frame to be positive – I mean, I feel better already! I’m planning on exercising and starting yoga (really going to help my new vegan hippie reputation) to see if they help with positivity and mood in the way people claim they do. I imagine they’re just going to cause someone of my fitness level pain, and that brings me absolutely no positivity or joy. But I suppose we will see.

Vegan week 1 blog is coming for anyone that is at all interested, but I’m waiting until I get paid so my meals are slightly more exciting than rice and salt. It was all going fine till my housemates cooked roast beef on Sunday – but fear not, I stayed strong. 

Send me pictures of your cats. 

Thanks, 

Happy adulting! x

The Break Up Blog

Another fun part of adulting - Failed relationships!!! I was recently ‘involved’ with someone for the best part of five months. It didn’t end traumatically, my heart wasn’t shattered into a billion pieces and I wasn’t a hopeless mess – it was more just a bit of a shame, and it all came to a very amicable and mature end (first time for everything I suppose). 

My two (now ex) housemates, also had break ups in the time we lived together, and I thought it would be interesting to draw comparisons on how people deal with break ups differently. Bearing in mind the three break ups themselves were very different – one was the end to a 5 year relationship, the other an on / off 2-and-a-bit year relationship, and mine, the nearly-five-months-wasn’t-really-official ‘relationship’. 

Living with someone means you get the pleasure of being witness to every tear, tantrum and grimy detail of how people cope. 

Spoiler alert – there was a lot of wine involved in all three of our recovery periods!

 

The nearly-five-months-wasn’t-really-official ‘relationship’

- Don’t shave your legs for well over a month

- Drink daily

- Hold off from getting tinder because you know it is both a waste of data and also life

- Download tinder

- Get messages like this

- Go on tinder date on steak and blow job day 

- Give the guy steak and get his hopes up

- Dont give him a blow job

- Laugh at guy you didn’t give blow job to with your friends

- Get your sister pissed and make her download tinder

- Tinder swipe for your sister

- Consider other dating apps but then remember how many times you were offered money to do porn on OK cupid that time you downloaded it for 24 hours

- Go on nights out and spend too much money on drinks and forget about the £150 gas and electric bill you haven’t paid for 2 and a half months

- Panic over gas and electric bill

- Realise you have distracted yourself from break up by causing yourself anxiety about gas and electric bill

It worked for me!

The five year relationship 

- Initially cope shockingly well and baffle everyone around you

- Milk it a bit at work so you get to go home half way through the day and watch ex on the beach

- Stalk ex boyfriend intensely on every form of social media

- Consider career as private detective because you’re so fucking good at stalking ex boyfriend on social media

- Download tinder

- Go on Tinder date with minor celeb

- Document Tinder date with minor celeb on social media and make sure privacy settings are set to public, in hope ex boyfriend will see

- Dump minor celeb from Tinder

- Go on literally 1000 dates

- Make sure a decent proportion of these 1000 men are from work

- Give zero fucks when the men from work find out you've been dating all of them

- Dump all 1000 men and feel like fucking super woman 

- Snog a guy in front of someone who you know likes you, just for lols

- Get extremely drunk

- Go home extremely drunk and run a bath

- Get in bath

- Vomit all over self in bath

- Snapchat vommy bath to friends

- Fuck everything off and move to South America

Definitely worked for her

The on / off 2-and-a-bit year relationship

- Immediately get drunk

- Cry loudly

- Call ex whilst drunk and crying loudly

- Accidentally sit on housemates cat and almost break its neck

- Argue loudly with housemate

- Cry even more loudly

- Call mum whilst crying loudly

- Be fine the next day and immediately download tinder

- Tinder at every spare possible second

- Go on tinder date and fall in instant love

- Profess new found love to anyone that will listen

- Get bored after 2 days

- Go to gay bar 

- Get extremely drunk

- Fall in instant love with the first person you see

- Get bored after half an hour and find someone else

- Meet up with ex as ‘friends’

- Twice

- Get back together with ex

I suppose that worked for him too?

Break ups suck, and so does dating at times. I can’t explain how close I am to giving up all together and just getting several more cats. Will keep the blog updated with any more colourful dates I may go on, Tinder Tales part 3 coming soon! I also downloaded Bumble, was thinking when I have some stories together of doing a ‘Bumble Fumbles’ post? No? Ok, I’ll work on the title… I suppose I should be grateful really, I mean if I was in a successful functioning relationship what the fuck would I write about?! How dull!

Happy adulating peeps!

 

Alcoholism, lack of sleep and stair puking

Hello friends! I'll start by saying a quick sorry for not posting all month. It's been a mixed month for adulting - I had a Tinder relapse and didn't even get close to quitting smoking, however on the plus side, I haven't let any utensils grow mould and haven't had to wear one pair of pants twice! Lets call it even.

So me and the gang have moved into the new pad and it is AMAZING. It's basically a palace. I have discovered this new house proud part to my personality that I didn't know existed, and it turns out I'm not that bad at cleaning really, I just used to live in a house that was so shitty my unconscious mind decided it would be pointless to clean it because it would still look totally wank. We also have a dishwasher. Which helps.

So today, I thought I'd write a bit about each of my new housemates for those of you who dont already know them, as I'm sure they will be popping up in future blogs.

I'll start with Simmons (Izzy).

Me and Simmons have known eachother since we looked like this.

11 years of friendship, and what an 11 years it has been. In year 7 we were in the same form class, and Simmons took me under her wing. I was the weird posh kid who had a massive fringe and actually did her homework and had no friends, and she was naughty and loud and would get referrals and detentions every day. Before I knew it I was naughty and loud and would get detentions every day. She has truly helped shape who I am today <3

We've been through an awful lot in the time we have known eachother. We've spent all night in the woods drinking strongbow.

We've spent all night on the beach drinking strongbow.

We've been to fancy dress parties and drank strongbow.

We've drunk too much strongbow.

We've worn too much fake tan and not enough clothes.

We've shared bad hairstyles, terrible outfits and chavvy poses.

We shared our prom.

We've shared 11 Christmases and 11 birthdays

And as you can see we have shared a lot of photos that we wish didn't exist.

Having lived with Izzy for two weeks I've learned shes basically an aggressive Monica from friends. She loves to cook and clean, which is obviously fab, but then she shouts at us afterwards because we didn't help.

She also likes to do nice things like buy you gifts when shes out or make a cheesecake, and then ask you if she is your favorite housemate. 'So if there was an award for the best housemate, would they call it the Izzy??'.

And you know how when you move into your first house you have all these elaborate plans to decorate and buy matching sets of crockery and a beanbag and then never actually get round to buying any of it because you spend all your money on booze? Well Izzy actually bought us matching crockery sets and a bean bag and a vinyl player and a rug and a coffee table and a mirror for the living room. I FINALLY HAVE A BEANBAG <3 <3 <3

Shes on the whole a pretty fab housemate, but she isn't the best at dealing with stress, for example, on Friday she went out with her new office (of two weeks) to let off some steam, and came home off her tits at 9pm, puked on the garden step and passed out on the sofa. Lad.

Next I'll tell you a little bit about Adam.

You know how it feels when you wait your whole life for a puppy and you finally get it? You spend your childhood watching all your friends and their puupys all happy, and you've only dreamed of it? Well I've waited my whole life for a gay best friend, and I have finally found it in Adam. He's my first puppy.

Unfortunately, he's probably the shittest gay best friend ever, because he's not really very gay. He's not at all flamboyant and he doesn't perform routines from musicals for me and I've never seen him do jazz hands. When we go out together everyone just thinks we are a couple and we just cock block each other (although I suppose it doesn't help that when we are drunk we hold hands and snog). In fact I'm pretty sure everyone on my facebook thinks we are a couple because all of the guys I was speaking to swiftly stopped talking to me when I started uploading regular pictures of Adam and I together. In fairness, we would have great babies...

I mean, check us out.

We also act like a married couple. One minute we are dancing round the kitchen cooking dinner, the next we are bickering about whether to use cottage cheese or creme fresh in the pasta sauce. 

I thought living with Adam would be a great idea, because we always had so much fun together on nights out. Little did I know living with Adam would basically be like one enormous constant night out. I don't think I've ever heard the phrase 'do you want a drink?' so often in my life. Those conversations generally go something like this - 'No Adam  I don't want a drink thank you' 'Ok here you go' he says as he hands me a MASSIVE DRINK. He is either trying too turn me into an alcoholic or he's trying to kill me off because I keep shouting at him for waking me up when he comes in from a night out. He also spikes drinks. Pretends he hasn't added anything to them when he definitely has. He even spikes alcoholic drinks. He put vodka in my glass of prosecco once and didn't tell me till I had finished it. He will learn his lesson once he has gotten me so drunk I puke all over him, and by the looks of things that will be happening very soon.

He also has a very weird habit of coming into my bedroom when he gets in pissed. He also tends to do this on a Thursday. The first time he did this, I was pretty reasonable if not a little grouchy. The second time... lets just say I didn't think it would happen again. I think he feared a little bit for his life. Technically there has not been a third time, but there has been a time when he stood outside my door talking very loudly at 1am, then slammed several doors and then decided for some reason to have a SHOWER, and then decided to clean up downstairs while shitfaced and couldn't understand why I was about to BEHEAD HIM.

Despite all of the above, he is one of the kindest, funniest people I know and if I am ever looking for a good laugh, I know Ads will always be the first person I go to.

And finally a little bit about Henry.

Henry and I knew each other in college and weren't particularly fond of each other shall we say. We never actually came to blows, we both just thought the other was a bit of a dick, basically.

Now we get on like a bloomin' house on fire. One of my favorite things to do is get home from work before the others and sit in the living room with Henry and moan about stuff.

Henry is a bit of a stoner which makes for basically the perfect housemate - he's always totally chilled, and he always has biscuits. 

hjuuuuuuyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy./,;;;;; 

Sorry my cat just walked over the keyboard.

There isn't a huge amount more I can tell you about Henry at the moment because we haven't known each other for that long, most of our conversations have basically gone; 'Alright Soph, have you got a filter' 'Yeah' 'Thanks', but my favorite memory of Hen so far is definitely on Friday night when Izzy came home and puked, Henry had to hold her hair back and he was rolling his eyes at what a state she'd gotten herself in. 

I then woke up the next morning to find Henry had also gone out later that evening, come home at 4am and done an enormous vom 5 times the size of Izzys', right next to her's on the garden step. Hilarious.

I don't know how much living in this house is going to help me improve my adulting, but what I do know is it's going to be a great hoot. On a positive note we've been cooking dinner together every night so if nothing else, my diet has improved dramatically and I'm hoping the huge increase in vitamin intake will make up for the huge decrease in liver function.

I'll try and not leave it so long until the next post, but until then Happy adulting peeps x