tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54020247799756597772024-03-04T20:34:54.403-08:00Me. Just the way I am. the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.comBlogger97125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-45332449168127548472019-05-19T15:30:00.002-07:002019-05-19T15:31:28.358-07:00No rules, just honesty. <div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;"><b>Introduction</b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 9.5pt;">I actually wrote this three years ago. I'm not sure about you, but when I'm down or </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-size: 12.666666984558105px;">stressed I write everything down... no one is EVER meant to see it, but I feel tonnes better for doing it. You'll also notice it was actually written as a blog post and I did get close to posting it, but then I thought...why am I actually doing that? Who cares? And also it's a bit too personal...</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial";"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 12.666666984558105px;">The reason I'm now sharing this is because I've been giving some advice to a friends sister lately about the same topic, it made me search for what I had written three years before, and it made me realise that it might be helpful for other people to read, especially women. If it helps anyone, then I've done my bit!</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">Before you read on, I have to warn you that this isn’t one of my normal types of blog posts. In fact, this one might make some of you want to vom, but I wanted to share it with you anyway because I’m nice like that. I wanted to give you an honest insight into something I’ve been struggling with for a long time now…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">I'm here to talk about my uterus. Yes, that's right. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">For thirteen years I have lived without the education and truth I needed about my uterus (I know this sounds weird, but bear with me). I wanted to share my story to encourage people, not just women, to keep pushing for what's right. When you know something isn't the way it should be, don't ignore it, especially when it comes to your health. I hear more and more stories of people getting diagnosed with things too late because their doctor didn’t take the symptoms seriously and this needs to stop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">I think that’s enough of an introduction so please enjoy the below rants and period stories…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">I remember when I got my first period at 14; it was a rather big celebration as I was the last one out of my friendship group to get it. I remember walking around Safeway (remember Safeway?!?) with my Dad with a skip in my step thinking, I'M FINALLY A WOMAN - he was completely oblivious to this because of course I was far too embarrassed to tell him that I just ‘came on’… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">After the initial excitement it soon dawned on me that ‘being a woman’ was actually horrible, well for me it was anyway. However, I didn’t realise that what I was experiencing wasn’t the norm; I thought that all women suffered like I did. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">I remember the countless times I would come home from school and underneath my trousers were blood-covered legs - I stupidly thought this happened to everyone. I thought I was being dramatic when I never wore a skirt or took part in P.E during my period, but I just couldn't because there would be blood EVERYWHERE if I did. To give you an idea of how extreme this was, and I’m sorry for any men reading this, I'd have to change a super plus tampon and a night pad (worn together) every half an hour. For every guy out there...a super plus tampon should be worn up to 7 hours, and a night pad...well...all night. However for me, after half an hour I’d risk blood coming through and onto the seat I was sitting on, which actually happened to me more times than I can remember. Not exactly what you want when you’re leaving your science lesson…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">Being in hour long lessons meant I couldn't change every half an hour, so under my trousers would be lots and lots of blood. As a teenager you can imagine how disgusting and paranoid I was.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">I finally told my mum about it when I was 15, so we went to the doctors and I was put on the pill to try and calm this horrible ‘being a woman’ thing down. However, the pill made it worse. My period had gone from lasting one week to lasting up to four months. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 9.5pt;">I went to the doctors again, but this time on my own because I thought I was a big, brave girl. He changed the pill to another type, which was hopefully going to help. However, when I was in his office I started crying, he then </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-size: 12.666666984558105px;">asked</span><span style="font-size: 9.5pt;"> me how often I cried, which I replied “a lot” but that I wasn't really sure why I did cry as I had nothing to cry about. Looking back, it was quite obvious why I was crying, but aged 15/16 you don’t know that losing that much blood continuously would cause you to become seriously anaemic. However, for some reason the doctor didn’t seem to think this either so he offered me antidepressants and made me go to see a psychiatrist. He also phoned the school to tell them I needed extra support, so the school phoned my mum to tell her I was depressed, which we both knew I wasn’t. They were then worried we were both lying so they phoned quite often.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">This was all quite annoying and traumatising to be quite honest. The psychiatrist pretty much laughed in my face when I first saw her as she knew I wasn’t the slightest bit depressed and it was all just a massive waste of time. The reality was that I was just perioding everywhere. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">(I will note here that I think it's brilliant the doctor and school took action on mental health in this way. It was just frustrating because I genuinely did not have any mental health problems at the time).</span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">My periods still didn’t get any better and it wasn't until two years later when I first arrived at university that my severe anaemia came to light. For a start, I used to sleep constantly, but of course people just thought I was a lazy teenager who was always hung-over...which I was of course…but it was a lot worse than that, my feet had swelled up so much I went to my lectures wearing just socks – no shoes. I look back at this now and cannot believe I carried on with life; my symptoms just became who I was. I WENT TO UNI WITH NO SHOES ON AND THOUGHT THAT WAS OK?? But, when a doctor doesn’t seem bothered you just believe that things must be OK. Unfortunately, it had to become more serious in order for me to realise something so simple.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">One night I went up to my housemate’s bedroom (my room was on the ground floor, his was the first floor), he was smoking weed as he always did. I sat in his room for only a few minutes chatting when the fumes really hit me. I left to go down to my bedroom as I didn't feel right, but I passed out at the top of the stairs and fell all of the way down. I don’t remember any of this, but I remember waking up at the bottom of stairs, I was hallucinating; weirdly I could see lots of cockroaches which was both terrifying and DISGUSTING. I thought I was dying. I decided dying in bed was the best thing to do so I crawled myself into bed and passed out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">To my surprise I woke up! My housemate drove me to the doctors the next day and I had an emergency blood test, which revealed I had half the amount of red blood cells I should have had in my body. All this time I could have just taken some iron tablets, but it took me falling down the stairs unconscious to find out something so simple. So I had to take tablets that people have after a big operation to help restore the blood loss, it made my poo SO BLACK. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">My anaemia improved due to the tablets, but my periods on the other hand got worse. The cream sofa in my lounge was continuously washed with a damp cloth; my two girl housemates soon became very close friends. The amount of times they had to dive on a bloodstain to hide it from the guys in the house when I'd got up and not seen it. I cannot tell you how much it affected my life and my confidence. I was now wearing nappy style pads for four months at a time during freshers year of uni.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">I went back to the doctors and begged them to help control my periods. I was constantly weak and I started to get blood clots the size of potatoes. I KNOW THAT THIS IS VILE. I remember the first time it happened I called my friend crying because I thought I'd had a miscarriage. The doctors didn’t seem too bothered so blood clots also became ‘normal’, I just lived with them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">Let me just remind you here...they were the size of potatoes.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">Every time I went to the doctors they did the usual and tested me for an STI. I've honestly had more STI tests than the whole of Geordie Shore. Nothing was of course found so they would just change my pill again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">When I was 19 I'd been on five different pills, things were getting worse and I was getting seriously down so I pushed for help again. My pill was changed again and the doctor just casually exclaimed "to be honest, you'll probably find it extremely hard to have children when you’re older". However, there was no explanation to why so at 19 I naively just left the surgery and I believed I was never going to have kids.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">When I moved to London two years later at 21 I told the doctor my history and she suggested I get the coil, so I did. Things improved dramatically. Yet, there was no explanation to why I should have the coil and I just went along with it. Looking back, this is so frustrating because the doctors knew what my symptoms were suggesting, but never bothered to explain and I stupidly never thought to ask anything because I thought they’d tell me if there’s something I should know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 9.5pt;">Although things had improved with my periods I started to suffer with a lot of pain, sometimes so bad I’d spend hours curled up in a ball crying on my bed. This was around the time I met my</span><span style="font-size: 9.5pt;"> boyfriend and when we started getting serious I started to worry more about my future. I remember when we went to Edinburgh for the weekend and we were staying with his family. One night we got to our room and I just burst out crying because I knew he 'was the one' and I knew I had to tell him that I might not be able to have kids. I was so scared he's run a mile, but I knew I had to be honest, so I told him. He was so supportive and understanding, but at the same time I was 25 and he was 23...did he even care about kids then? Would it be a problem in the future? I still didn't really know. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 9.5pt;">Even though I know nothing for sure, it’s hard to explain, but you feel a bit of a failure of a woman knowing that your organs to help you have children are not in good order. At this point I didn't even have answers to why, I had just been told by a </span><span style="font-size: 12.666666984558105px;">doctor</span><span style="font-size: 9.5pt;"> that it would be very difficult, so I was very confused.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 9.5pt;">When I was 26 the pain got a lot worse. I went to the doctors and they gave me a tablet for thrush and said it’s probably also constipation. Every time I got the pain I would therefore buy thrush tablets thinking that I just kept getting thrush. The pain got worse and worse and I couldn’t have sex with my boyfriend anymore. I would try and ignore it because I didn’t want to ruin the moment, but I’d end up just bursting into tears because the paid was too much, which wasn't </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-size: 12.666666984558105px;">ideal</span><span style="font-size: 9.5pt;"> to say the least... This is when it really started to affect my mental health. Not only was I scared I couldn’t have kids, I now couldn’t have sex at all. Why would anyone want to be with me?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">Even though I was suffering in pain I’d given up trying to get any answers, as I’d always feel the doctors didn’t take me seriously. However, my manager at the time encouraged me to go and push for help again, so I did. Yet as usual the doctor asked me to do an STI test and a pregnancy test, supplied me with a thrush tablet and that was it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">Of course once again the STI test was clear and so was the pregnancy test. My manager pushed me to go back, but I’d given up. However, she wouldn’t let me give me up, so I did go back and this time I burst out crying in front of the doctor and he finally understood that for 12 years I’d been given no answers, I was scared and I was becoming depressed. That week I had a pelvic scan, which revealed I had Polycystic Ovaries. He then referred me to a Gynaecologist for further tests.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">My first appointment was great; I was seen by a wonderful lady who booked me in for every test possible. I finally felt I was going to get to the bottom of all of this pain. However, when I went back to get my results and to be internally examined I had a different Gynaecologist who did not give me the same respect. He told me the blood tests had been lost, he said my scan was clear and so I didn’t have Polycystic Ovaries after all, he told me there was no point in having an internal examination and in fact all I needed to do was lose weight as I was, in his words “pretty obese”. I was a UK size 12. He encouraged me to exercise more and even waved at me as I left his office and said “see you at the swimming pool”. It was like a joke to him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">I walked out of the hospital at 3pm and I stopped crying at 11.30pm. It wasn’t just normal tears, I was a hysterical mess. All of those years of not knowing what was wrong with me, I thought that day I’d finally get an answer and I ended up walking out feeling ashamed of myself and feeling fat and ugly. I stayed inside all of that weekend and cancelled every plan, I didn’t want to see anyone and I felt ashamed of how fat I was. I didn't even talk to my boyfriend. I remember feeling embarrassed that people were even friends with me and I couldn’t work out why my boyfriend would like me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 9.5pt;">I went to work on Monday and immediately burst out crying as soon as I got to my desk, my colleagues urged me to send an email of complaint to the hospital, so I did. If I hadn’t have done this, I </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-size: 12.666666984558105px;">honestly</span><span style="font-size: 9.5pt;"> don't think I'd </span><span style="font-size: 12.666666984558105px;">still</span><span style="font-size: 9.5pt;"> have an answer to this day. I was so lucky I had amazing people around me that encouraged me to keep trying and supported me when I was at a very low point. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">Although the complaint didn’t really get me anywhere - the gynaecologist was given a warning and it’s on his records, but because no one had complained about him before they couldn’t do anything else. However, what it did mean is that I had another appointment with a more senior gynaecologist who was LOVELY. She found my blood test results straight away (funny that), she explained that my scan reconfirmed I DID have Polycystic Ovary Syndrome and when she examined my stomach area she could feel something wasn’t quite right around my uterus. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">It was suggested I had a Laparoscopy and a Hysteroscopy – keyhole surgery with a camera going into my stomach and into my uterus to find out what’s going on. I jumped at the chance because I just wanted answers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">At 27, after twelve years of living with awful pain, horrendous periods, blood clots, anaemia, bad skin, low confidence and being told I couldn’t have kids, I was finally going to find out what was wrong. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 9.5pt;">Last Tuesday I had my operation. I won’t go into detail about the operation itself, but topline – I had to stay overnight because I couldn’t wee, so </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-size: 12.666666984558105px;">awkward.</span><span style="font-size: 9.5pt;"> I was also violently sick three times in the paper bowl thing that my boyfriend was holding so had to deal with that...and he had to help check when I went to the toilet that it was wee coming out and not just blood. He saw everything...</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">In the operation the surgeon found that not only do I have pretty endometriosis, but I also had a lot of scar tissue in my uterus. They’re not sure what caused the scar tissue, but they presume I had an infection for a long time. They don’t what it was, but it would explain why I kept being given thrust tablets! It wasn’t an STI before you think it either...I had enough of those tests! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">The endometriosis and scar tissue were lasered off during the operation, however the results of the scar tissue unfortunately mean that I’m now at a high risk of an ectopic pregnancy. If I was to get pregnant I would need to have a scan within three weeks to check it’s not ectopic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">It’s actually really crap news because I have three things diagnosed that can </span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">cause infertility.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">I probably should be more down about it than I am, but to be honest I’m just happy I know what’s wrong with me. Although, I do worry about the stress it may cause my relationship if I don’t become pregnant in the future. However, if my operation taught me anything, it’s that my boyfriend definitely loves me a lot. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 9.5pt;">I know this was a long post and I’m sorry it wasn’t my usual humour, but I just wanted to share my story and hopefully encourage everyone to never give up. If it wasn’t for other people’s support and encouragement I probably would have never had an answer, I would have carried on living in an unknown pain for years, which could have had worse consequences, like getting an ovary removed or even a hysterectomy. Unfortunately a lot of women with </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-size: 12.666666984558105px;">endometriosis</span><span style="font-size: 9.5pt;"> get to this stage before they're diagnosed. It takes an average of seven years to get diagnosed in the UK and it's just not good enough, especially as 1 in 10 women have it! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 9.5pt;">I really hope this post encouraged people to get checked out if they suffer with any of the same </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-size: 12.666666984558105px;">symptoms. </span><span style="font-size: 9.5pt;">Knowing the truth about your body is so important. If you think something is not right, don’t stop until you get an answer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 12.666666984558105px;">Also, I didn't have all the symptoms that NHS have on their site, but even if you have one or two it could mean you have PCOS or endometriosis. Doctors have said to me "oh you don't have PCOS your skin is fine and you're not hairy". THAT DOESN'T MEAN I DON'T HAVE PCOS, AND I DO!!</span></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">Three years after that operation:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">My pains have improved dramatically, I do still get endometriosis pains now and again, and to be honest I do still get a bit nervous having sex, but most of the time I’m OK. I really urge anyone with endometriosis to have the operation because it has genuinely changed my life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">The mirena coil has been amazing too and I hardly even have periods anymore. I feel normal and I haven't leaked down my leg for 9 years!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">I do still worry about whether I can have kids, but you just don’t know until you try. At the moment I’m not trying so there’s no point really thinking about it until I do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">I don’t really talk to anyone about what I went through or how I feel about it, but I am open with people that I have PCOS and endometriosis. It’s funny the reactions are always the same ‘oh my friend has that and they have kids’, or ‘I have PCOS and have kids’, which is great and very encouraging…but I can’t help but think they’re throw away comments, like ‘oh having that is no big deal’. It is a big deal, I really really struggled with my symptoms, I’ve felt SO LOW, and I do feel scared for the future.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">Oh and I’m marrying my boyfriend in August.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 9.5pt;">Here's some links that might be helpful to anyone with symptoms:</span></div>
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https://www.endometriosis-uk.org/information</div>
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https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/polycystic-ovary-syndrome-pcos/</div>
the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-51693903540202393652014-12-23T09:20:00.003-08:002014-12-23T09:39:00.363-08:00Rule No.95: Mutually Beneficial Presents Are The Best Ones To Buy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Warning, this post is not ladylike. </div>
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I'm sorry.</div>
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It's not long until Christmas, which is great because now my ever increasing belly (caused by high alcohol and food consumption) looks 'festive' - well, I look like Father Christmas. <br />
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It's alright though, you get away with wearing big jumpers in winter so after Christmas I can just layer up as much as possible. <br />
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I presume I'm not on my own here?</div>
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People will just think we're wearing lots of layers...with fat underneath.<br />
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Anyway, I've just come back from a weekend away with Archie (my luckyish bf) to Bath, where I had arranged a spa weekend for his birthday. The perfect present, because a) he once mentioned it would be nice to go to a spa and I remembered b) I got to enjoy the present too. This is the best type of present buying, mutual beneficial ones. I recommend it. </div>
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During the weekend we ate a lot, and when I say a lot I mean LOADS. However, we thought it was necessary after we swam four slow lengths in the pool at the spa. It's surprising what swimming can do to you, even granny swimming. WE WERE STARVING. The problem was though, we ate so much at dinner that we became ridiculously full. Then when we got back to the hotel room we just had to lie on the bed with our bellies sticking out, watching TV.<br />
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Uncomfortable fullness to the extreme. <br />
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(This is where it becomes unladylike) <br />
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We both decided that maybe we should go to the toilet (the toilet, toilet) because we felt THAT full and uncomfortable. However, after I asked Archie if he could leave the hotel room for a while and he declined, I made him listen to loud music with headphones in and wear my hat to reduce any possible way his ears could hear anything from the bathroom.<br />
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He did...</div>
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Romance at its best. </div>
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If it improves the situation, I did fall asleep with my head on his chest and my arm wrapped round him. But, he did tell me in the morning that I snored all night... Romance points are still 0 from me. </div>
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Actually wait, we held hands on the pool sun loungers. Two points. </div>
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And the weekend was ace. Bath gets 10/10. </div>
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To change the subject and to quickly finish as I need run for my train... a message to all of you sods at home with your family already, I hope you're bored. I'm just leaving work and about to get my the train to COV, which does mean I'll be listening to Bublé on repeat all of the way. I can't wait.<br />
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And of course me and my parents are going for a curry as soon as I arrive. SCORE. </div>
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Have a merry Christmas, and remember, MUTUALLY BENEFICIAL PRESENTS. x<br />
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the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-33312437834288598892014-11-10T08:51:00.000-08:002014-12-23T08:51:33.913-08:00Rule No.94: Dating A Younger Guy Has Consequences<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">So I've decided that Americans think I'm old. </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Mainly because I didn't get asked for ID once whilst in New York. NOT ONCE (this might not sound like a big thing for someone who is actually 26, but in America, particularly New York, they ID everyone. EVERYONE - but me). </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">To add to this, whenever we ordered a beer and a lemonade (beer for Archie, lemonade for me...I had a cold at the beginning of the holiday) they would give me the beer. EVERY TIME. </span><br />
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I've also decided that they think Archie is a child, which is a bit of a kick in the teeth. Not only was I never ID'd, but Archie was even asked if he wanted a childs menu (slightly awkward). <br />
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Therefore, do they think I'M HIS PARENT?!? </div>
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My usual bad luck continued in New York. Not that we let it bother us...you know the usual...get tickets for the top of the Rock and there wass 0% visibility, go to the New York library and the main room is closed, go to MOMA and the main exhibition is not on, go to Shake Shack and it's closed for five months... But, it's ok, I bought a Michael Kors coat and was given SEVENTY percent off by a confused shop assistant. Swings and roundabouts.</div>
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Anyway, I love 'real' New Yorkers, I'm not talking about the types that work on Wall Street, I'm talking about the REAL New Yorkers. The types that shout "you smell guuuud miss lady" as I walk past. The type that shout "DID YOU SEE THAAAT? I SEE THAAAT!" When a rat ran across the street. </div>
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I also love chicken and waffles with maple syrup. And pancakes with bacon and maple syrup. And tacos with shrimp. And big hotdogs. And just all tacos.</div>
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Talking about tacos, I also had quite a few people think I'm South American...people greeted me in shops with "ola" and when I responded "hello" in a British accent they looked like I'd just revealed I was from out of space. <br />
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A South American woman even picked me out on the subway to ask for directions in Spanish, I replied "sorry, I'm English" and she looked baffled - like I was actually a dinosaur, or something.<br />
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I felt disappointed that I wasn't living up to my looks. </div>
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Since being back I've actually been quite chirpy. It definitely helped that I only had to work two days before it was the weekend and boy did I take advantage of the weekend. I woke up at 1.30pm and then left the flat without makeup and no bra to go to Sainsbury's...don't worry the braless boobs were hidden with a coat. </div>
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I must say...not wearing a bra is only good when you're chilling on the sofa or in bed thouh. When you're walking it is NOT GOOD. I felt like I was being punched in the chest everytime I made a step. Never again.<br />
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the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-59119179971240781642014-10-16T13:44:00.001-07:002014-10-18T06:49:06.771-07:00Rule No.93: Don't Let Men Order Things Unless You Also Want To Turn
Into A Man<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">So...having a boyfriend for over nine months has resulted in me walking around with my trousers unbuttoned without shame. Not in a pervy way. In an 'I've eaten a burger and chips and my belly is too full, I need to breath and I don't care if people think I'm weird' kind of way. </span><br>
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I don't think I've actually put on weight, but I would be lying if I thought a salad diet wouldn't be a good idea. I have been walking through Covent Garden with my trousers undone after all...</div>
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Now I didn't want to begin my blog with an apology, so I haven't, but now I'm ready... I am sorry for the lack of blogging. </div>
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As I'm sure you can sympathise, it's hard to find the time and the energy. And in the past few months I've had a lot going on. One thing particularly that has been taking up my time is Breaking Bad and if you have already watched Breaking Bad then you'll understand.<br>
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Joking aside, any spare time I've had I have wanted to lie down and play sleeping lions. I've been tired.<br>
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But now I'm back.<br>
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If you're not friends with me on Facebook then I need to fill you in. My boyfriend (still feels weird that I actually have one. A nice one. Miracle.) took me to Barcelona for my birthday! I mean seriously, this guy is good. </div>
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I've never really been to Spain before though, unless you count Magaluf. Therefore, my Spanish is lacking. Seriously lacking. For example, on the first night in Barcelona in a busy 'hip' bar I accidentally used the men's toilets because I presumed 'H' stood for women and 'M' for men.<br>
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I had a suspicion that I had made the wrong choice when I got into the cubicle and saw the toilet seat up and wee splashed everywhere (I still went to the toilet - I hovered). Then when I went to wash my hands a gentleman came and stood next to me. It was there that it was 100% confirmed I was currently standing in the men's bathroom.</div>
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Despite this, my trip to Barcelona was bloody amazing. My boyfriend isn't perfect though...tonight I came home to my new (and last because I'm now too old) 17-25 young persons railcard. When ordering it Archie had offered to fill in the online form for me whilst I was in the shower. A lovely gesture, but I now regret taking up this offer.<br>
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I am now a man.<br>
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It reminded me of the time my dad thought 'name on card' meant 'name of card' when booking a hotel room. We therefore had to check in at the hotel as the 'Goldfish' family. I was about 12 at the time and had a wannabe 'street cred' to maintain so this was deeply upsetting.<br>
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The moral of the story? Don't let men book or order things unless you want to be turned into a man. Or a goldfish. </div>
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Bye x</div>
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the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-45876256964025744032014-06-16T03:11:00.001-07:002014-10-18T04:44:45.168-07:00Rule No.92: Don't video yourself jumping off a cliff. Your boobs willbe on camera.<div>
I'm back from my family holiday in Greece. I have mixed emotions. I'm sad as I've left the beautiful weather, beaches, pool and my American family. Yet, I'm excited as I am now reunited with Archie...two weeks without seeing him was as hard as I expected. I don't understand what's happened to me. I only used to miss cadburys chocolate when abroad. </div>
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A lot of things happened in the two weeks...my two year old nephew Luke has now learnt to say 'Gina' so I'm no longer 'nana'. This really excites me, and I even loved it when he woke me up at 8am and shouted 'wake up Gina' in his really excited, giggly voice. I wish I had that kind of alarm clock in the morning before I go to work. I don't think I'd grunt and have the 'I hate life' look on my face, well not as much anyway, </div>
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The holiday has also taught me not to drink too much, but this lesson will soon be forgotten and I'll be once again slurring my words in front of my family and shouting 'woooo' across a posh restaurant, whilst taking huge gulps of my drink like it was necessary to keep me alive. </div>
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I have also learnt not to video myself with a waterproof camera when jumping off cliffs into the sea. My bikini never stays on and no one wants that on video. Especially my brother whose camera it was.</div>
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Massively awkward. </div>
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This is also a delightful picture I took using the camera. </div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I look like my face has been stung by one thousand bees. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I didn't just eat Greek salads everyday like I stupidly thought I would either. In fact I think I only ordered one about three times. Instead I've tried all of the different Greek cuisines, such as ribs, a club sandwich, chips, prawn cocktail crisps and pizza. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The plane journey back wasn't too bad, although it took so long to land and get our suitcases the taxi I had preordered had left, which meant I had to wait an hour for another taxi and didn't get home until 5am. I wasn't the most pleasant person to be around at that moment. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The main annoying thing about the flight however was two 'know it all' 20 something's that were talking so loudly and wanting everyone to hear their conversation... You know when people want you to hear their conversation when they say things like 'yea one of my boyfriends' and her friend replied with her story 'yea one of my boyfriends' ITS NOT A BOYFRIEND CONTEST! And you obviously don't have that many as you're irritating. Then they'd say things like "have you watched that film, bla bla bla, the one directed by bla bla bla, yea I met that actor and saw it being filmed, bla bla bla". WE DON'T CARE AND STOP SHOWING OFF. Idiot. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Anyway. </span></div>
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Tomorrow I'm going back to work. I knew I had made the right decision to take Monday off to go to Thorpe Park. Sometimes I surprise myself with how smart I am. </div>
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Here's my Thorpe Park face. </div>
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I understand why people think I look like David Mitchell now. </div>
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A tanned, female version. </div>
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Bye x </div>
the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-4892240080234038962014-06-06T16:31:00.000-07:002014-10-18T04:43:46.894-07:00Rule No.91: Always check what you've packed<div>
I'm in Greece for two weeks and it's bliss. </div>
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It's 1pm and I've already had a strawberry daiquiri and a rum and pineapple (triple measures)... I am helping to look after five children though so alcohol helps. </div>
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It's my brothers wedding on the 6th June so the family have all come out together for an amazing two weeks in the sun. It's bloody brilliant already and it's only my first day. </div>
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There are a few problems though...I packed my suitcase one night after work and didn't get chance to check it again before flying out. I therefore have a small tube of toothpaste that will probably last a couple of days, no shower gel and two flip flops for your left feet. I think I've remembered everything else though, and I even accidentally packed a big book on New York. I don't know how it got into my suitcase, but no wonder I was 4kg over on my weight allowance...however, I got away with it because I am a legend.</div>
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Another slight problem is that my two year old nephew, Luke, seems to think my name is Nana. I think this confused a lot of people on the plane. I have tried to explain to him that my name is GINA, but I've given up already. I'm just going to be Nana for a while. He seems to get excited when he sees me though so that's all that matters. </div>
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I'm hoping to actually look Mexican by the time I leave Greece. Or Greek, which would probably make more sense as I would have been here two weeks and I do love feta cheese and tzatziki. Mexican food I like too, but only the non spicy version, so basically nachos and guacamole. Realistically, I wouldn't make a very good Mexican, I'm not really a fan of tequila either. Although I do drink it when I'm drunk as everything seems great then. </div>
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Over the next two weeks you'll be glad to know I'll be blogging. I'm back. And you can't get rid of me now. </div>
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Muhahaha. </div>
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Bye x </div>
the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-51978017332930548552014-05-06T10:48:00.001-07:002014-10-18T04:48:12.410-07:00Rule No.90: Willy headbands will never be an appropriate fashionaccessory<div>
I don't like cats, but I like this one... </div>
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Not many cats are clever enough (I don't think?) to use their paw to try and pull a door open. I applaud this cat. Although, it was so clever it actually freaked me out a little bit. Like the cats with thumbs advert.<br />
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On to another animal topic...I got the Dream Boys into the office last week to perform for one of my colleagues, my manager and my group director. It was their work hen do and I felt it appropriate. Despite the slight risk of being sacked, it went down very well. <br />
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We then drank ridiculous amounts of Prosecco, and after leaving a gay bar in Soho all I remember was sitting in a Chinese restaurant ordering BBQ pork and rice. I ordered it in Chinese and the waiter understood me too. I'm practically fluent now. Well, basically my colleague Jojo told me what to say and I drunkenly copied it.<br />
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My boyfriend then got a taxi to Soho to come and meet me as he'd been out too. According to him (not sure how much I should believe) he'd been telling the taxi driver on the way to meet me how much he loves me. When the taxi pulled up to Wardour Street the driver said, "Is that your girlfriend?" and pointed to me standing in a doorway wearing a willy headband and leaning on the wall half asleep. Archie replied, "Yep, that's the one!" to which to the taxi driver probably felt a bit confused to why Archie loved me so much and said... "good luck with that one mate".<br />
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Charming.</div>
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I also took these photos of myself that night as I obviously thought I looked really fit. <br />
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Yes, that's right. I was wearing a red wig.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOMk3gkIv_mXUJ_EwmURd_JpspbrgzRDWfZsGH53L1UmVKdl1BOHOe9GK7NKyyrOOOoU-ySosB2nbGwkRG-bR2aDENQUrKQy5p2WQxU87Af5CSbljR7AyY9ruUff8jruKupxpIPmT4Uhek/s640/blogger-image-1208979479.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOMk3gkIv_mXUJ_EwmURd_JpspbrgzRDWfZsGH53L1UmVKdl1BOHOe9GK7NKyyrOOOoU-ySosB2nbGwkRG-bR2aDENQUrKQy5p2WQxU87Af5CSbljR7AyY9ruUff8jruKupxpIPmT4Uhek/s400/blogger-image-1208979479.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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I'm sure I don't have to explain why I spent the journey to work the next day listening to Eva Cassidy and drinking ginger beer. However, I did notice an advertisement for a thrilling exhibition.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbiOAvyfoXnRdlvWXOGV94laf5NjeO7qSUUb9aenwSX5CjE5Fa-bOcNF-vcvszLuGJJKLO6C4EzBQCw_kdcjddkdnmJ_uYYJJohT9OAZmlu1WC7i-QMa7QSgKxkT6owzx9L7Xs8eIP598O/s640/blogger-image-1548238468.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbiOAvyfoXnRdlvWXOGV94laf5NjeO7qSUUb9aenwSX5CjE5Fa-bOcNF-vcvszLuGJJKLO6C4EzBQCw_kdcjddkdnmJ_uYYJJohT9OAZmlu1WC7i-QMa7QSgKxkT6owzx9L7Xs8eIP598O/s400/blogger-image-1548238468.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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I can't wait to go and see this pile of wood. </div>
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Art confuses me sometimes.</div>
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Another thing that today confused me is why Posh and Becks hold hands like children.<br />
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This makes me wonder how 'real' their relationship actually is.</div>
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x</div>
the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-74731801335302690082014-04-18T09:54:00.002-07:002014-04-18T10:02:24.583-07:00Rule No.89: Don't tell a girl that she has a big bum. Especially in
public.<div>
I'm going to Scotland tonight with my boyfriend. Eek.<br>
<br>
Five nights together is quite a lot (isn't it?), but for once in my life I'm not thinking "oh god, we're bound to fall out", or "what if we get bored or fed up of each other?" I genuinely cannot wait to spend five days with him, and with no work, etc.<br>
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Oh god, I'm getting all loved up and pathetic.</div>
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<br>
SLAP ME.<br>
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<div>
Let's change the subject...<br>
<br>
Yesterday I got given two creme eggs at work. Every year a guy comes round the office to give us one creme egg each. And this year he accidentally walked past me without giving me one, so me being 'miss big mouth' shouted, "EASTER BUNNY YOU FORGOT ME!!"</div>
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"Sorry love, you can take two" </div>
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That's right, I GOT TWO EGGS! I therefore changed my Facebook status to the following, as I did feel there was a little bit of harmless flirting involved... </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwK6tM1lmgOJuRyB35BYtwTJzg57nbc_2uaqPzCKckYMCw8mkOI3UH5LMzF8XR4UF2nlsBhyiVWzPMbKRYPQx-ABIcrmdwSKg0tSFWPf_B1rsZLXbIQGx_TjQBKm3nVZmLZXZaMoRC4oVi/s640/blogger-image-161922555.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwK6tM1lmgOJuRyB35BYtwTJzg57nbc_2uaqPzCKckYMCw8mkOI3UH5LMzF8XR4UF2nlsBhyiVWzPMbKRYPQx-ABIcrmdwSKg0tSFWPf_B1rsZLXbIQGx_TjQBKm3nVZmLZXZaMoRC4oVi/s400/blogger-image-161922555.jpg" width="225"></a></div>
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It's funny how such a simple thing can get so many likes...I think it's because people can relate to it. Everyone likes the surprise of getting something extra, or winning something. I still think I'll win the lottery every time I buy a lucky dip.<br>
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I think we need to realise that we're all very much alike a little more often. Just like when people say "I'm not very good at doing that..." Well, you're not the only one that's not very good at doing that, there will be lots of people exactly the same as you. Even if you do think you're the only one. For example, how many people knew you could do all of these <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/jessicamisener/things-you-didnt-know-your-iphone-could-do" target="_blank">things with your iPhone?</a> I bet very few. </div>
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I've come to conclusion now that I am not musical. I can't even play the triangle (do you even 'play' triangles?). I'm just not that way inclined, but then there's things I can do that people who play in an orchestra can't. I don't know what, but I'm sure there are things...</div>
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Anyway, I hope you have an amazing Easter. Think of me eating haggis and drinking whiskey. </div>
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Oh and by the way, I'm guessing when a removals guy shouts "baby got back", it isn't a good thing? Then again, I suppose the song does go "I like big butts..." so maybe he liked my bum?!? Nevertheless, it wasn't the greatest compliment. And the worst thing about this is, my boyfriend turned up to my house half an hour later and said "I just saw a guy I used to play football with. He was moving in some furniture for the house next door" That's right, it was the same guy. Typical.<br>
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I am actually going to leave you this time. And I'll leave you with a picture of the dog I am currently obsessed with. A Chow Chow.<br>
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It's SO CUTE. You can also dye the hair so it looks like a panda.<br>
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It probably is a bit cruel...let's be honest...<br>
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x</div>
the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-4144768988799635672014-04-07T15:05:00.003-07:002014-04-07T16:04:33.651-07:00Rule No.88: Don't serenade someone when you sound like a tone deaf baboon <div>
Today I attempted to make my own juice for breakfast. This resulted in me sitting at my desk forcing bright green lumpy slush down my throat, whilst trying not to choke on small chunks of celery. </div>
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What I have mainly learnt from this is that you need to make sure you've blended the juice enough before drinking it. Secondly, there's a reason people use a juicer and not a blender to make juice (the hint is in the name). However, I'm not going to give up as I have a fridge full of vegetables so I'm going to have the joyful task of sieving it tomorrow morning...<br />
<br />
I must say the cucumber, celery, kale and apple concoction wasn't too bad. Even if the reactions from my colleagues when they saw it were "ergh, what is that green slime?","are you actually drinking that?", and my favourite, "it looks like liquidised bogeys". </div>
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You wait, tomorrow they'll be jealous of my new sieved creation. </div>
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Anyway, I have news from this weekend... after drinking a pint of bitter, two white wines and three cocktails at my friend, Suze's, birthday drinks on Saturday, I ended up telling my boyfriend that I loved him (we had previously gone as far as 'I really like you'). It was far from romantic. We were stood outside Londis on Clapham High Street and I was talking about the fact he gets on so well with my friends, and I blurted out, "see that's why I love you". I then realised what I had said and went on to say, "Oh wait, I just said that I loved you... I do though'. </div>
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Luckily, after a pause that felt like the most embarrassing eternity, he said it back. And then he said it again on Sunday morning. And then he said it again today. Therefore, I don't think I need to feel embarrassed anymore. Except for the fact I sang the Moulin Rouge version of 'Your Song' to him last night. This time I wasn't drunk. I think I mainly did it because I wanted to make up for the unromantic Londis situation. I think it worked, although he did screw up his face when I attempted to sing the higher notes.<br />
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I got a sympathetic round of applause though.<br />
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In other news, I have found the best website for anyone that loves dogs but hasn't got a dog of their own. Of course I have a profile.Well actually that's a lie, my housemate has a profile. That way she has the responsibility of looking after the dog and I can just stroke it. Perfect.</div>
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<a href="http://www.borrowmydoggy.com/" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="background-color: white; color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Www.borrowmydoggy.com</a></div>
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Bye x</div>
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the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-33755814649506427712014-04-03T06:06:00.000-07:002014-04-04T05:25:35.076-07:00Rule No.87: Don't laugh at random people's children when you're not supposed to<div>
Yesterday I got told I looked tired and pale. Obviously this filled me with joy as these are two words every woman wants to hear before they leave the office to meet a friend for drinks. Yet, my colleague was right. Therefore, it was a good excuse to drink two glasses of red wine to bring the colour back to my cheeks. And because I like wine. A lot.</div>
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I enjoyed myself.<br />
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The wine didn't exactly help with the tiredness though, and as soon as I got home I passed out on the sofa, which let's be honest is never the most ideal place to sleep.<br />
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This is why I've still been rubbish at blog posting, despite getting my new laptop. Work is just so busy at the moment, which is actually a great thing, but it just means I don't have much spare time or energy to write. I promise I'm not ignoring you, and it's nothing to do with the fact I have a boyfriend. Although, I must admit it's weird not writing stories about weirdo guys, dates, Tinder, etc.<br />
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Although, there are still a lot of strange people about...<br />
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For example, this rather possessed-like two year old girl kept screaming horrificly loud on the tube yesterday. Then she would look ridiculously innocent each time she stopped as if she hadn't done anything wrong. She repeatedly did this for a good five minutes, 'scream, innocent face, scream, innocent face' (it felt like eternity). Her scream was horrendous as well, it was as if someone had just told her there were monsters under her bed and they were going to eat her. And her teddy bear.<br />
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I couldn't help myself, after trying to do the typical London commuter thing and ignore it or tut, I just looked at her and burst out laughing. She then stopped screaming and looked at me like I was an alien. An odd looking alien, not a scary one. Luckily her mum was oblivious to everything and so I didn't get told off for laughing at her daughter. It's probably not the best thing to do when someones child is screaming. But at least I inadvertently stopped her from screaming and I'm pretty sure the commuters appreciated it. Although, obviously no one talked because that would just be 'weird'... No one talks on the tube, it's against the tube rules. </div>
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A couple of hours after this I was walking through Clapham Junction station after meeting my friend Vicki for food, when a man walked past us and rather loudly burped right by our faces. He didn't have a single ounce of emotion on his face after he did this. It was as if he'd just yawned and I'm pretty sure he wasn't drunk either. Obviously, Vicki and I burst out laughing because even though it was pretty disgusting it was bloody funny.<br />
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Then, on the tube home I witnessed a girl on crutches, and her leg was in a strappy cast type thing. She was standing up whilst her friend with normal working legs sat down. This confused me. Why does her friend deserve a seat when her legs are working and her friend is there trying to balance on her crutches in a moving tube carriage? The only thing I could think of was that her friend was a bitch. I think I was right.</div>
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Anyway, I thought I'd share a video with you as it is pretty cool. I went to a Robinson's Squash'd press event last week, and the maker of Gravity was there as he has designed a short film for Robinson's. It was shot in a Zero G plane that goes so high and drops so fast there is no gravity for 20 seconds. They only had 12 attempts to shoot the video and they managed to capture it on their last take... <br />
<a href="http://youtu.be/uweiXnxKY-M" target="_blank">Watch it here</a></div>
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Oh, and this is me on the cool cow sofas in the cinema after a couple of red wines...<br />
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I thought I looked like this at the time:<br />
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Bye x</div>
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the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-10489878999315667872014-03-25T14:06:00.000-07:002014-10-17T05:10:16.063-07:00Rule No.86: Don't ever announce that your fingers smell like fish on a busy train<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxkbhBgbzK-BpIDc9i72ZsP7TH1d7-JGhaDFKXyYFkBKmJn9_gfSG274s2Gfit7ch0dse2F10HuVO30mAID1hmnaXAL_07akC3I12oqE4am-byih_Nz16KeodY5n7-OaM-6Bxkj3KgfZ9C/s640/blogger-image--1664565503.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It's been a while. I'm sorry. However, you'll be glad to know I have just ordered myself a new laptop so I'll be back to my usual blogging self soon. And it only cost me £1,288...vom.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The past eight days have been rather busy. Starting with a weekend in Liverpool, three days on a shoot in Marbella and then a trip back to Coventry to see my friends and family this weekend. I feel like I don't know what my London flat looks like anymore. However, that will soon change when I get home tonight, I won't be going anywhere for at least a month. Unless you count going to work and Waitrose. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Liverpool was bloody hilarious. When five girls similar to 'The Inbetweeners' characters come together for one weekend it results in a lot of laughter. One of the most awkward moments for me particularly was when I decided to buy prawn crackers for the train journey, which not only made the whole carriage stink of fish, but made the girls heave slightly. I then announced "ergh my fingers stink of fish". The men behind me on the train looked horrified and so did my friends. No matter how many times I tried to explain it was because of the prawn crackers they wouldn't let it go. I'm now called fishy fingers. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Whilst on the train we also decided what type of facial hair we'd have if we were men. These were the results:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7kUZ3ueVVezorXV0GMX5T5_2s45_cIAdOsqO5OnCxZAYsKFlOSalV-ZqEEFQ4sMlDpHfaLb7uAkED1I78WWJqq_TKPpUBVk-L7jZ3V8v2g3rl8rLiJYNvPWVbYKITxbjBdNCqjQoio4Ic/s640/blogger-image--1178508285.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7kUZ3ueVVezorXV0GMX5T5_2s45_cIAdOsqO5OnCxZAYsKFlOSalV-ZqEEFQ4sMlDpHfaLb7uAkED1I78WWJqq_TKPpUBVk-L7jZ3V8v2g3rl8rLiJYNvPWVbYKITxbjBdNCqjQoio4Ic/s640/blogger-image--1178508285.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAml1Y-ZDztetzWHfs31mAAemjIX3Ym355rj-Th1TfSz38W0B9Kv0gPTGKzMJUgo5gtqvD_eyaJO7xXZG0JlKRHE04VzTRBzSxF2ZfQ27vESd9iQc3Be3dB4smrtcVDt6mF5oVEosEjvQC/s640/blogger-image-914024941.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAml1Y-ZDztetzWHfs31mAAemjIX3Ym355rj-Th1TfSz38W0B9Kv0gPTGKzMJUgo5gtqvD_eyaJO7xXZG0JlKRHE04VzTRBzSxF2ZfQ27vESd9iQc3Be3dB4smrtcVDt6mF5oVEosEjvQC/s640/blogger-image-914024941.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmwJep2xyIwv2kN60q06b23yHn3KE46gSg4ZXKrm0g2lswC9euglffkxAl-xDZv4hNTXv9-UbEqCeHT_i94JNuFBBn0Of9YASy5jlmSZA69cak3uxDq7QmEFxJI2BPPUT5rDLH8cugpExW/s640/blogger-image--386007545.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmwJep2xyIwv2kN60q06b23yHn3KE46gSg4ZXKrm0g2lswC9euglffkxAl-xDZv4hNTXv9-UbEqCeHT_i94JNuFBBn0Of9YASy5jlmSZA69cak3uxDq7QmEFxJI2BPPUT5rDLH8cugpExW/s640/blogger-image--386007545.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsi_cGWudPlxt5MTpToLC7r3sqgO5Ox2tVZq13VSRB9hnGl61xe9_uMzvClNcULzBKFlmhwpKMGo6EkK6FGkFsCyahARYHdQO-uOZWgidcdIOmOekA2R2DdfHuhvqSfKw_TrDjQJOZ47UZ/s640/blogger-image-1042470186.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsi_cGWudPlxt5MTpToLC7r3sqgO5Ox2tVZq13VSRB9hnGl61xe9_uMzvClNcULzBKFlmhwpKMGo6EkK6FGkFsCyahARYHdQO-uOZWgidcdIOmOekA2R2DdfHuhvqSfKw_TrDjQJOZ47UZ/s640/blogger-image-1042470186.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Obviously we weren't implying Emma was actually like Hitler. And I am definitely not as smooth as Craig David, but I think they so suit us well. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When in Liverpool we found this 'quality' student accommodation by Liverpool Lime Street Station.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIvJd79jB-bh02jCPuNuRTJS9xL61Ki-59UZ3DMhMYhXbw7ZikAaZy6xUsZ8NPvfmPG96w1cSLHjKbVOxxXZd18A628x-unacQ_4sEbQvR-W3Q80HFnXXlQKFvn1iuB2URHuzWpd8Qfo9a/s640/blogger-image-1775474894.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIvJd79jB-bh02jCPuNuRTJS9xL61Ki-59UZ3DMhMYhXbw7ZikAaZy6xUsZ8NPvfmPG96w1cSLHjKbVOxxXZd18A628x-unacQ_4sEbQvR-W3Q80HFnXXlQKFvn1iuB2URHuzWpd8Qfo9a/s640/blogger-image-1775474894.jpg" width="555" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I think the advertiser should learn what the word 'quality' means. He also deserves to be kicked in the shins for his false advertising. I feel sorry for any student that ends up here. RIP.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We also found these flowers, because obviously on St Patrick's day everyone wants to receive green flowers.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxkbhBgbzK-BpIDc9i72ZsP7TH1d7-JGhaDFKXyYFkBKmJn9_gfSG274s2Gfit7ch0dse2F10HuVO30mAID1hmnaXAL_07akC3I12oqE4am-byih_Nz16KeodY5n7-OaM-6Bxkj3KgfZ9C/s1600/blogger-image--1664565503.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxkbhBgbzK-BpIDc9i72ZsP7TH1d7-JGhaDFKXyYFkBKmJn9_gfSG274s2Gfit7ch0dse2F10HuVO30mAID1hmnaXAL_07akC3I12oqE4am-byih_Nz16KeodY5n7-OaM-6Bxkj3KgfZ9C/s400/blogger-image--1664565503.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Supermarkets will try to sell anything these days. Next they'll be promoting parsley as 'perfect for St Patricks day' just because it happens to be green. Some daft folk will buy it though. This is, after all, the nation that causes a cardigan to sell out in 24 hours because Mary Berry wore it on The British Bake Off. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">On the way back to London we read this wonderful story: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; text-align: left;">There's many words to describe this man, but 'SEXC' does not come to mind. I think I've been put off chicken for life and I never thought that would happen. Well actually it hasn't because I had chicken earlier, but you get my point. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">On a much less disgusting note, Marbella was brilliant and the shoot for Red looks incredible. Here's a behind the scenes pic: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzRHxDCygxEIHjba4ufA8629m-LdOSQ53iefiPyYH7Xwk8CLAdAFS9M_F9B7HLjLbS5V2A613l0UEo_4vgRpAe3eGo-oIX5POEWOHlF1iBqSrZmOtUunphXABcS3XP7dWSiHJ0nZO1qYdP/s640/blogger-image--1279043310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzRHxDCygxEIHjba4ufA8629m-LdOSQ53iefiPyYH7Xwk8CLAdAFS9M_F9B7HLjLbS5V2A613l0UEo_4vgRpAe3eGo-oIX5POEWOHlF1iBqSrZmOtUunphXABcS3XP7dWSiHJ0nZO1qYdP/s640/blogger-image--1279043310.jpg" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Anyway, it's back to normal work life tomorrow. Hope you all had fantastic weekends. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">X </span></div>
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the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-92077207769788985882014-03-11T11:17:00.002-07:002014-03-11T11:33:26.830-07:00Rule No.85: A 'man ban' does quite the opposite<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm going to begin with showing you something we all need to start doing more often. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDP_bAYkD3jVVyutN34zkXVKET5w-LmGf1pfQMVLS9tlnw-hiBMeTZK7kVQcgXoSrJ8pQI9X4bV8XjehNf3YfnLOiVsaibjPITxgVAzAdaqgnnQSrYmW7_lCbhaEZYQ9xqpdyW6h6Q2VWN/s640/blogger-image-412633876.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDP_bAYkD3jVVyutN34zkXVKET5w-LmGf1pfQMVLS9tlnw-hiBMeTZK7kVQcgXoSrJ8pQI9X4bV8XjehNf3YfnLOiVsaibjPITxgVAzAdaqgnnQSrYmW7_lCbhaEZYQ9xqpdyW6h6Q2VWN/s400/blogger-image-412633876.jpg" width="225"></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Telling people you love them and brightening up their day is a WONDERFUL thing to do. I'll be honest though, I'm terrible at it. You can see from my last message to Fern how horrendous I am at texting... "Lol xx" doesn't even count as a text message, surely? I'm surprised people still hang out with me. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The last thing I want to do after work is communicate with people though, I just become a socially awkward potato. I like to lie on my bed and listen to Lion King and occasionally stumble to the kitchen to get food. And don't even get me started on mornings, I look like a cave woman, sound like a man with a cold and I act like a teenager that has just been grounded for the first time. However, making the effort to write a message to someone and spread the love is a great thing to do, so maybe we should start doing it?! We could call it the 'Learn from Fern' campaign. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyway, it's now time for an announcement. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The zoo guy...you know...the guy who I called a chav when I first bumped into him in a bar, then he took me on a date to London Zoo? Well he is now officially my boyfriend. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I have a boyfriend. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">That's right...</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I HAVE A BOYFRIEND. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This is proof that there's hope for us all. This is also proof that when you're not looking you're more likely to find someone. I was on a serious man ban when I met him. Therefore, it's a good job I don't stick to most of my bans. Hence why I didn't give anything up for lent.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I will also announce that I am going to Marbella on Monday. Although, it's only for two nights so it's not a massively long holiday. In fact, it's not a holiday at all as I will be on a shoot for Red magazine so I'll be working. Therefore, I'm basically not sure why I'm announcing this. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Obviously I'm not sticking to the no carbs before marbs rule either. Especially as I had frankfurter potato salad for lunch yesterday #germanheaven and tofu Chow Mein for dinner last night. And I would say the no carbs before marbs started today, but I had left over Chow Mein for lunch and I'm about to go out for sushi with Aimee. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm going to stop my weirdo rambling now and I </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">think you've probably had enough announcements for one day. Although, unfortunately we'll also have to mourn the death of my MacBook. After eight loyal years it has passed away. This is a very sad and frustrating situation. Yet, it means I can get a new one without feeling guilty. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">OK that's the end of my announcements. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Well actually I have one more. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sorry I lied, I don't. And I couldn't think of anything that was remotely 'announcement like' except for the fact my plant died, but I didn't think this would interest you.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Bye. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">x</span></div>
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the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-54563533943475637812014-02-26T14:00:00.000-08:002014-02-26T15:18:17.605-08:00Rule No.84: Don't just nod and smile if you can't understand someone (unless that's your only option)<div>
It's funny how clever our bodies can be, isn't it?<br />
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I set my alarm for an hour earlier than usual on Tuesday as I had lots to do that day. However, I turned it off in my sleep (not so clever) and woke up naturally at my normal time (clever). I was quite proud of myself for waking up and not being late for work, but annoyed at the same time that I wasn't going to be early. </div>
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How did I turn my phone off in my sleep though? Obviously it was likely that I was awake, but just too tired whilst doing it to remember doing it. The point is, how did my body know to wake up an hour later at exactly the same time that I usually get up? </div>
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It baffles me. </div>
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Just like every morning when I get to my desk and type in my password to log in to my computer. I do it without even thinking. Yet, if someone asked me what my password was, I wouldn't know. I'd just get confused with all of my other millions of passwords, and I'd have to spend a good half an hour trying to work it out. However, my fingers seem to know what it is every single morning.<br />
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<img alt="http://img.wikinut.com/img/211heg1l061vhx_f/jpeg/0/I-Am-Confused!.jpeg" class="shrinkToFit decoded" src="http://img.wikinut.com/img/211heg1l061vhx_f/jpeg/0/I-Am-Confused%21.jpeg" height="326" width="400" /></div>
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You know exactly what I'm going on about don't you!?</div>
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In other news, I went to the hairdressers yesterday after work so I am now free of split ends. I was really looking forward to sitting and relaxing with a coffee and a biscuit whilst getting my haircut. However, two things were wrong with this, 1) I didn't get given any sugar with my cappuccino 2) I didn't get a biscuit.<br />
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Now, I know I work in Soho, where most people live on smoothies and curly kale. And I know I shouldn't really have sugar in my coffee, never mind a biscuit on the side - especially as I'd already consumed four custard creams throughout the day. But, my ideal haircut experience was shattered. </div>
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To make the haircut experience slightly more irritable, my hairdresser who was a very cute Italian guy would not stop talking. I don't think he stopped for breath for at least an hour. To make matters worse, I couldn't understand a word he was saying. At one point I wondered if he thought I was Italian and was actually speaking to me in Italian.</div>
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I nodded a lot, laughed a lot and pulled a shocked face in the places I thought were appropriate (I basically just copied his expressions). Yet, this wasn't 100% successful as I had a couple of awkward moments. For example, when I realised he had asked me a question as he paused for a while and stared at me for an answer. I don't think my answer was correct or even slightly related, but I'm pretty sure I managed to blag it. Either that or he was just being polite. </div>
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Another horrific moment occurred when he pushed my head forward slightly so he could cut the back of my hair. I looked down and noticed my knees in the mirror... It was a very long mirror that went down to my ankles so the 'mirror ledge' was really low down, which meant I had to reach rather far for my sugarless cappuccino (I could probably have done with the extra stretch anyway - that counts as exercise, right?). Back to my knees. I couldn't help but realise they looked like raw sausages in tights. I have therefore discovered that I don't have any knees, they're just raw sausages that bend. </div>
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I've now Googled exercises to get skinny knees. Apparently leg extensions, squats, lunges and step-ups are the best way to get them. I will therefore walk up the escalator in tube stations more often and I'm going to lunge when I walk around the office. <br />
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I may also sit like this at my desk:<br />
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<img alt="http://www.alexandrafriedman.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/Screen-shot-2011-04-10-at-4.34.16-PM.png" class="decoded" src="http://www.alexandrafriedman.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/Screen-shot-2011-04-10-at-4.34.16-PM.png" height="338" width="400" /> </div>
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Not sure how I would type though.</div>
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I'm going to leave you with tonight's tube experience... As I was writing the hairdresser scenario out on my phone I didn't realise but I had gently placed my hand on top of a young gentleman's hand. There was about five hands holding on to the same germ infested pole and for some reason his hand felt rather 'pole like' for a few seconds. To make matters worse I didn't think to say sorry and instead I just looked at him and moved my hand away slowly. None of this was on purpose, but I ended up looking like I was flirting outrageously, where really I was just too busy typing to think what the hell I was doing. </div>
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He then kept smiling at me in a creepy, I want to stroke your hair kind of way and I felt rather vulnerable. </div>
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I have therefore come to the conclusion that hand stroking is a great pulling technique. Well I think it could be. Maybe I should test it on a guy that isn't ten years younger than me and doesn't look like he hasn't washed for over a week.<br />
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Oh and also, you'll be excited to hear I have been given the official 'desk move coordinator' role on Friday. If you hadn't of guessed we're all moving desks in the office on Friday afternoon and I am in charge of making sure we pack everything up and label it correctly. I therefore feel important.<br />
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Good bye x</div>
the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-58219039964070192432014-02-23T14:58:00.001-08:002014-02-23T15:02:25.916-08:00Rule No.83: Don't be concerned, but you could be a Neanderthal (OK, that's not a rule)<div>
Did you know that lions and rhinos used to walk (would you say they 'walk'?) around Trafalgar Square 125,000 years ago? That's what I learnt yesterday. Also, hippos used to roam around the River Thames. Weird to think really. </div>
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What's even weirder is that Neanderthals and homo sapiens used to sleep with each other so some of us could be part Neanderthal. It would probably explain a few things. </div>
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I learnt all of this when I went to the 'Britain: One Million Years of the Human Story' exhibition at the Natural History Museum yesterday.<br />
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I then had a quick look round the V&A after. I'm a wannabe cultured young lady at the moment (probably not so much the lady). </div>
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Last night I made fajitas for Heather, which I always feel is a family tradition even though I'm not at all Mexican. It's funny, now I keep getting mistaken for Mexican I'm starting to feel like I am Mexican. Maybe I should tell people to pretend to mistake me for Kelly Brook, then I might start looking and feeling like her.</div>
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Anyway, the fajitas were extremely good, if I do say so myself. </div>
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They were actually the best fajitas I've ever had.<br />
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OK, that might be an exaggeration. </div>
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Today I had four tickets to a film preview in Leicester Square. The film isn't out until the end of March so I'm not allowed to talk about it. But, what I will say is I'm not too sure why four adults (me and my friends) were so excited to get up early on a Sunday morning to watch a kids film. However, I must say we all really enjoyed it. </div>
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Afterwards I went to the British Museum. I've never been before and it was really good! Out of all of the museums in London it's definitely one of the most 'grown up' ones. I was therefore rather proud of myself. Plus, THREE museums in one weekend is pretty good going.<br />
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This blog basically confirms that I deserve a medal. Or a trophy. Even better, a statue in the British Museum. Not a naked one though. My brother would probably say something like "yea, a statue in the Natural History Museum next to the gorillas". I don't blame him, that's what brothers do, but I'd much rather be with the dinosaurs. People queue an hour to see these and I like feeling special.<br />
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I will leave you with my Starbucks cup. I told them my name was Gina and this is what I got...<br />
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Apparently Gina was too hard to write...to be honest, the smiley face gave me a smiley face so I liked it.<br />
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Good night and hope you have a lovely Monday.<br />
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the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-79341953166309782502014-02-20T14:25:00.001-08:002014-02-20T14:36:57.668-08:00Rule No.82: You actually do learn something new everyday<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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In the past week I have learnt a number of things. This is the great thing about life, it teaches you valuable lessons: </div>
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1) Never go for a wax in a salon where men get their hair cut. Apparently giving your name to the receptionist isn't enough... "oh yes, for a Brazilian?" Thanks. Now the two guys standing next to me know about it you stupid woman.</div>
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To add to this, when I was sitting on the sofa in the middle of the salon, the beautician appeared and shouted "Gina? For a Brazilian?" Now a total of nine men knew about it. Plus one woman. Why the salon had so many men get their hair cut there, I do not know. I blame valentines day. </div>
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2) Don't write this story whilst you're on the tube. </div>
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The guy next to me now knows about the wax. He also knows I'm writing about him and I feel awkward. STOP LOOKING AT MY PHONE. </div>
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3) Drinking soft drinks instead of alcohol can actually be a good idea. </div>
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I went to see Foals on Friday night. Aimee and I high fived each other after we got through security because we managed to sneak in an orange juice and coconut water. </div>
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It was the first time I had ever been to a gig and not had my usual cider or Red Stripe. However, I liked waking up the next day without a hangover. Plus, I liked laughing with Aimee on the way home about how granny like we have become. </div>
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Who high fives for sneaking in coconut water? Me apparently.</div>
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Oh god, I am pathetic.</div>
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4) Think before you speak. And listen carefully (yes, that's two things).</div>
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On my fourth date (yes, that's right FOURTH) on Saturday night the guy said during our conversation on the type of people living in different areas of London (I agree it doesn't sound thrilling), "yea, they're the class above". In my slightly gin intoxicated state I thought he said "they're class bruv". I therefore replied rather loudly in a rude boi voice "YES BRUV". To which baffled, he said "did you just call me bruv?" </div>
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That's right, I called him bruv. </div>
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I do have a fifth date though.</div>
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5) Making Moroccan food is expensive. </div>
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I spent £36 on ingredients to make dinner for my housemates on Sunday. Mainly because I didn't own tahini, harissa, cinnamon, cumin, fresh ginger... This kind of stuff is EXPENSIVE. However, it was worth it and I proved to myself and my housemates that I can actually cook. I also know what tahini and harissa is now...as if you thought I knew before!?!</div>
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6) My brother shouldn't trust me (and I shouldn't trust myself) to take my nephew to the all you can eat Chinese buffet. </div>
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My nephew got himself a plateful of chips, battered chicken and a poppadom (strange Chinese buffet I know). I did try to get him to put some broccoli on his plate, but he knew that I'm too soft and he just helped himself to some more chips. </div>
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He then had three helpings of ice cream.</div>
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At least he doesn't think I'm like Miss Trunchbull I suppose...</div>
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7) If you're going to wear a long coat then make sure your skirt is longer than it. You may otherwise look like you forgot to put a skirt on. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVAWg50ZFjgsrvJHC_Y1mo2o__Iex5NjbVQxBJzxNSyXUVRdNA1ipjEXXy68Xs2Hj9lYuOqAwPZ2xzGiV0iPOOBwYhZOnTrp3IeTwjuGiZ47h6rfOA_qrd-fxpBtRk4MaCjdh9smDuA8DS/s640/blogger-image-1193855758.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVAWg50ZFjgsrvJHC_Y1mo2o__Iex5NjbVQxBJzxNSyXUVRdNA1ipjEXXy68Xs2Hj9lYuOqAwPZ2xzGiV0iPOOBwYhZOnTrp3IeTwjuGiZ47h6rfOA_qrd-fxpBtRk4MaCjdh9smDuA8DS/s400/blogger-image-1193855758.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Yes, that is a Vietnamese style hat. No, I do not know why I bought it.<br />
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8) Don't 'swear on your life' when you're actually lying. I'm now scared I'm going to die after a random guy stopped me and asked if I had any money to buy one of his reggae CDs.<br />
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To be fair I only had £1, which I don't think he would have appreciated anyway... (I still might die)<br />
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Good bye.<br />
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the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-80875283621105683662014-02-14T01:36:00.001-08:002014-02-14T04:49:08.663-08:00Rule No.81: Cool people don't celebrate Valentines Day<div>
It's valentines day. The day most women in the office receive flowers, chocolates and balloons. And as I work for three women's magazines, this is a lot of women. For the past three valentines days that I have worked here I have so far received a packet of love hearts from my previous manager, who is gay. </div>
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This year is no different. Yet I do have a fourth date tomorrow so I'm definitely in a more positive situation than last year. I would say last year was the worst valentines day yet. Splitting up with my boyfriend two weeks before then having another ex boyfriend (slightly psycho) call my work phone, ask if it's me then hang up, wasn't the most romantic gesture. In fact I was in so much rage I had to buy a chicken burrito to calm me down. </div>
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Tonight I'm going to see Foals at Alexandra Palace with Abi and Aimee. We're cool like that. Aimee even has a boyfriend, which is one of the many reasons why I love her. #foalsbeatballs </div>
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I think when it comes to friends there's six main categories. </div>
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1) The first person you call when you have great news. Consequently, the first person you also call when you're crying into your pillow </div>
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2) The one you know will always be up for getting drunk </div>
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3) The one that is always with their boyfriend, but you enjoy catching up with her when she wants to be with someone other than her boyfriend </div>
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4) The one who you're not really sure how she became your friend because you're so different, but despite this you love everything about her </div>
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5) The one (usually many) you've known for years and will always be a friend even though you might not see them often, but when you do it's like you haven't been apart </div>
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6) The one (hundreds) you're friends with on Facebook, sometimes stalk, but have no further interest in. You probably wouldn't even say hello (unless drunk) if you saw them in the street </div>
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I think all six are vital. I wouldn't say number six is a friend, but they're vital stalk material. Especially the ones that think their life is over everyday because work is busy, or they've ran out of pies at the local chippy. These people provide me with entertainment and generally make me feel good about my life.</div>
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Now I hope you have a romantic day. And if you don't, you're not alone. I'm currently treating myself to a salmon and cream cheese bagel and tonight I'll be with two of my best friends drinking cider and having men sweat all over me. And not in a sexual way. </div>
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I have worn a dress with hearts on it today though. Well, I didn't want to look too lonely and bitter. </div>
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<img alt="http://www.hercampus.com/sites/default/files/media_crop/428356/public/2014/02/03/valentines-chocolate_1.png" class="decoded" src="http://www.hercampus.com/sites/default/files/media_crop/428356/public/2014/02/03/valentines-chocolate_1.png" height="280" width="400"> </div>
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I'm also going to leave you with this as I love everything about it. </div>
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Bye x</div>
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the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-43321047049774951852014-02-09T11:15:00.001-08:002014-02-09T11:31:06.521-08:00Rule No.80: Don't bother trying to take a nice photo when it's windy<div>
This week has been the week of the watering eye. It's just one eye and it won't stop. I've been on the way to work with fresh make up on and tears streaming down one cheek. It's been a massive pain in the arse and pretty embarrassing. Do you think it might be because something is happening? Like when your ear burns? I hope it means I'm going to become rich.</div>
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It has also been the week of the peeling lips. Generally my lips decide to peel once a week, which has always worried me a little. However, this week it has been EVERYDAY. The main reason I'm worrying is because snakes shed their skin so they can grow (and get rid of parasites). If my lips are doing the same then I am going to end up with each lip the same size as a banana. </div>
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I think they've already grown.<br />
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I'm going to ignore the parasite bit as I'm pretty sure I don't have any parasites on my lips.<br />
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In other news, I sold Superman yesterday and I miss him already. He sold for £1 on eBay, but to be honest it wasn't about the money. I just wanted him to go to a good home. Yes, that's right he was like a pet to me. When I answered the door to the woman collecting Superman she said her five year old son was in the car. He didn't know what they were picking up and I could see him looking out of the car window, excited with anticipation. I felt like I'd done a very good deed. It would have been the equivalent to me getting a cardboard cut out of Stephen Gately when I was nine. That would have been INCREDIBLE.</div>
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Little did the woman know that underneath my zip up jumper was an 'I love porn tshirt', and underneath my jeans I was still wearing my pj bottoms. Sometimes I worry that my university student habits will never leave me. I even went to the post box with my slippers on when it was RAINING. Obviously my feet got completely soaked and the slippers had to go in the wash. Why was I such a lazy IDIOT? All I had to do was put some shoes on!<br />
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Once I was showered and finally out of my pyjamas I went on a third date. Then I went out for my friend Amy's birthday. We went to STK at the ME hotel, which was a surreal experience. It was like a scene out of TOWIE. I even witnessed a woman in a skin tight dress revealing a very large (fake) cleavage, and extremely tanned skin, dance around her husband like he was a pole. He just sat there drinking his champagne and eating his steak as he admired his wife. This was in the middle of a rather expensive restaurant.<br />
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I have never enjoyed watching people so much in my life. It was brilliant.<br />
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Later on we went to the Radio Rooftop Bar, where Aimee and I took this amazing picture.<br />
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I honestly don't understand why we haven't been snapped up as models yet.<br />
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Good bye x</div>
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the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-47323710461105647752014-02-04T16:26:00.002-08:002014-02-05T10:58:28.565-08:00Rule No.79: Don't completely lose faith in humanity<div>
Let's start with the thing I know you'll be most eager to hear about.</div><div><br></div><div>The zoo was good.<br>
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Ten minutes after meeting my date (still to be left nameless) a photographer working at the zoo asked to take our photo, "smile you two". I could feel the awkwardness between us, but as I love awkwardness and as I am also a massive poser in photos I just smiled and did my 'Gina pose'. We didn't actually see the photo so who knows what it looked like, but I probably looked more like Susan Boyle than Kate Moss.</div>
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To sum up the day at zoo I've decided it's probably best to focus on both the good things and the embarrassing things that happened. I'll start with the good:<br>
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1) We saw every single animal possible<br>
2) I stroked a goat<br>
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The embarrassing things:<br>
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1) We witnessed a big scary gorilla jump on top of a female gorilla and put his two fingers up her bum (this was both awkward and embarrassing to watch)<br>
2) Immediately after this happened a man shouted to me "I'm sorry my daughter has her hand up your skirt"<br>
3) A monkey jumped and nearly landed on my head so I screamed like an absolute drama queen and people genuinely laughed at me...including my date<br>
4) A camel blew sawdust all over me and my date had to pick it out of my hair... a bit like an ape picking fleas<br>
5) I saw a rat and freaked out. I screamed really loudly and did a really strange shuffle dance to get away. I genuinely don't think I've been that scared for years. My date found it hilarious, I did not<br>
6) I tripped over, panicked and grabbed my dates hand by accident. Actually this wasn't too bad, but it was rather forward<br>
7) I told my date the story of how happy I was to pick up my duvet from the dry cleaners on Saturday. I instantly regretted sharing the story<br>
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I think that's about it.</div>
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Anyway, I still haven't put him off as I have date two tonight. However, that's all I'm going to share with you for a while now I'm afraid. Mainly because a) I don't want to jinx it and b) I don't want him to find this and think I'm a freak writing about it. <br>
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Moving on...<br>
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I'm not sure if you've seen the below already, it's one of those crappy things that always seem to get shared on Facebook. However, this one intrigued me:</div>
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When I first saw this I expected to see thousands of comments saying "Ryan Gosling", "George Clooney, "Kelly Brook"...you get the idea. However, not one comment (I probably read about 80) included a celebrity, instead they named a member of their family or a friend. It was so heartwarming to see how many people cherish their family and friends. I genuinely felt that my faith in humanity was lifted slightly. It seems One Direction aren't going to rule the world after all.</div><div>
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Just in case you were interested, I would sit with Joseph Gordon-Levitt.<br>
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Jokes, I would sit with my grandma of course.<br>
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I would share a bed with Joseph Gordon-Levitt though. </div>
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<br></div>
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In other news, I now have a tongue scraper...not sure why they exist to be honest, but my colleague got it from a press event and left it on my desk. She thought out of everyone on my team I'd be the one to actually want it. She was right.<br>
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I will carry on using it even though I'm not sure if I'm using it right and I'm not really sure what it does.</div>
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I'm going to leave you with what I came home to last night. I have great housemates. This was courtesy of Lucy. I LOVE PIE.</div>
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Apart from the pie I've actually stuck to eating healthily, even though I have had to hold back the tears whilst eating my homemade soup at lunch, WITHOUT bread. That's right, WITHOUT BREAD. </div><div>
<br>
good bye x</div>
the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-34114456226624404792014-02-01T17:54:00.001-08:002014-02-01T18:24:45.675-08:00Rule No.78: Be mean to guys. It actually works<div>
You are all going to be extremely proud of me, I WENT TO THE GYM! Yes, you read correctly. </div>
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I wasn't very happy about it though... </div>
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<div>
<br>
...but actually I was really happy afterwards, so I celebrated with half a bottle of red wine and some chips that I stole from my housemates dinner plate.<br>
<br>
Then I had a jumbo sized bag of Wotsits. </div>
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I have been reasonably healthy this week though and my lunches have mainly looked like this:<br>
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I know it looks disgusting, but it actually tastes alright when you dip a baguette covered in butter into it (not so healthy after all).</div>
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Anyway, I've stayed in tonight as I got a little bit too drunk last night, which of course is not like me... I weirdly spent most of my night telling people that my friend Jonny was thinking about me whilst holding his willy. This came from the fact that when I first saw him in the bar he said "Giinaaaa, I was just in the toilet and thought 'I wonder if Gina is coming?' and here you are!" I then asked if he was thinking this whilst weeing and he said yes. Now I'm not too sure why I thought I needed to tell everyone the slightly exaggerated story, but I think white wine was the main reason.<br>
<br>
Say that, I'm now sober and I still find it funny. My inner child needs to calm down. </div>
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On a less weird note, I met a guy last night. We randomly started talking to each other after he held a door open for me (gentleman). Most of the conversation revolved around me telling him that he looks like a chav. I also told him he talks like a chav and sounds like Professor Green, where really it was just an East London accent. At one point I said "I bet your favourite music is rap and I bet you take loads of photos of your torso and put them on Instagram'. He obviously fought his corner and it turns out he actually isn't a chav at all. Then again I could have had my wine goggles on. Surprisingly though, after all of this he offered to buy me a drink and asked for my number.<br>
<br>
Therefore, the moral of the story is that being mean to guys actually works. He even phoned me today and we're going on a date to London Zoo tomorrow.<br>
<br>
Baffling I know.<br>
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Let's not monkey around though (lol, dad joke) it is bound to go wrong so let's end with this.</div>
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Night x</div>
the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-85866384378118443372014-01-27T11:47:00.002-08:002014-02-02T15:08:04.168-08:00Rule No.77: Superman isn't much of a hero after all<div>
I'm slightly concerned as one of my main highlights from the weekend was picking up my duvet from the dry cleaners. I can't believe how mature (sad) I'm becoming. I'm like the cheddar cheese that only older people eat because it's so strong... </div>
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...I don't really know what I was trying to say with the cheese thing either, but here's the dry cleaned duvet anyway (and my elephant):</div>
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I have also just received a message from my housemate to say she's bought a new light bulb for the kitchen. I AM SO EXCITED.<br />
<br />
Please see the other old and boring things I have done this weekend in the following list below:<br />
<ul>
<li>Cleaned my bathroom </li>
<li>Hoovered and tidied my room </li>
<li>Booked the hotel for the Liverpool trip (five of us are going in March to see Bombay Bicycle Club) </li>
<li>Set up an ISA at the bank</li>
<li>Did two lots of washing</li>
<li>Made my bed </li>
<li>Made dinner for my housemates (microwavable)</li>
<li>Sat
in Starbucks and started writing my book... I thought I would be able to
meet men in there whilst appearing to look sophisticated, but so far it doesn't seem to be
the best place to go. There's a mix of families, girls and old
people. Therefore, I think I might change my writing place to a pub, especially when the
football or rugby is on </li>
</ul>
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I didn't even drink all weekend. Mainly because I have got into the bad habit of drinking red wine nearly everyday. Therefore, I had a weekend detox. </div>
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OK, that was a humongous lie. I went out in Brixton on Saturday night and consumed a rather large amount of vodka. Although, most of it was free vodka as a 7ft tall (nearly) guy spilt his drink all over my face. And when he saw how sad I was with the vodka dripping from my nose and eyelashes he suddenly felt very guilty. He then offered (which I gladly accepted) to pay for mine and Hayley's drinks all night. I know, I might try and get this to happen to me more often.</div>
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I am not going to out for a while now though and I'm going to eat healthily AND start exercising (one of my New Years resolutions remember). I don't want my thighs to look like tree trunks anymore and I don't want my liver to turn into solidified red wine. </div>
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In other news, Superman is now on Gumtree as he failed to protect our house...we saw a mouse last week. Yes, that's right we have mice AGAIN (I think they've actually now gone). </div>
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I'm also back on Tinder, which is already depressing me as it's more addictive than Candy Crush. However, so far I've matched with 95% of the guys I've 'liked' so I'm actually pretty impressed with myself. Although only 5% of these guys have actually started talking to me...<br />
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Good bye x<br />
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the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-11893744170641373622014-01-20T16:16:00.000-08:002014-01-20T23:51:40.733-08:00Rule No.76: Don't chicken out<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Why do the weekends go so quickly?</span><br>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm already sitting in bed after the dreaded Monday at work, and it only feels like five minutes ago that I arrived in Newton Abbot, which was actually on Friday evening. It's depressing. Although, it does mean it's only four days until the next weekend...</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I was in Devon this weekend (hence arriving in Newton Abbot), which was lovely. I was staying with my brother as he'd organised an event packed weekend for my mums 60th birthday. My parents (obviously) and my auntie and uncle were also staying at his house. This meant I was left with my six year old nephews bed to sleep in. Good job I'm pretty much the same height as him. Sometimes being short is useful. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We went to Bovey castle on Saturday for afternoon tea, which was very posh. They even parked our car for us when we arrived and the staff all wore horse riding clothes. I was on my best behaviour despite dropping the tea strainer in my teacup and having to drink leafy tea. It's just a shame I don't have more control over how I behave when I'm asleep. I woke myself up on the train yesterday with my snoring. Not exactly attractive on a full train carriage. Luckily there wasn't any young, handsome men around. Not that it makes it that much better...</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Tonight I went to my first work shop at the writing club I joined. I was nervous, tired from work and craving sausage and mash, but I went. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm glad I did too, hence today's simple, but wise rule.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I have come away with so much more knowledge about writing a good book. Especially when</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> writing dialect as I'm terrible when it comes to that. I've also come away with a red wine stain on my top, but I definitely didn't learn how to do that. That just seems to come naturally.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It just shows though, sometimes the scariest things and the things that are most out of our comfort zone are the most rewarding. I'm not confident when it comes to writing. You know how I write, I'm not a good describer, I'm not a clever writer and I definitely don't plan what I'm going to write with precision and thought. I write as me, but actually, I think that's OK. Say that, I didn't have the guts to read any of my stuff out. I will next time though, don't you worry. Small steps...</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I should probably go to bed. I might actually get seven hours sleep for once (I'm still working on going to bed earlier...) </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'll leave you with this. </span></div>
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It's so true. Although arguably, panda eyes aren't a very good look...</div>
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X</div>
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the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-10214885133633469442014-01-14T11:14:00.000-08:002014-01-14T13:52:53.091-08:00Rule No.75: Hire someone to drag you to the gym<div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> It has begun.</span><br>
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=5402024779975659777" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYO7lD2R5M1OeFKRyrQ6N1nS7xJrBuKI9xpZTvkJQuQXRVUuyI7rc8TL5EWk64Lwo08QUsuJBTnoSrVfgTOM-37oOS2u_ZkefHmGJCnaln7j1VmhyiUALwoHG6yHQpysHFs4w7QlAH4_7i/s640/blogger-image-1630673830.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYO7lD2R5M1OeFKRyrQ6N1nS7xJrBuKI9xpZTvkJQuQXRVUuyI7rc8TL5EWk64Lwo08QUsuJBTnoSrVfgTOM-37oOS2u_ZkefHmGJCnaln7j1VmhyiUALwoHG6yHQpysHFs4w7QlAH4_7i/s400/blogger-image-1630673830.jpg" width="300"></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I've started with Othello as apparently it's one of the easiest and most interesting ones... I have to say I felt pretty intelligent on the tube this morning. I was holding the book up like it was a sign for everyone to read, with the not so subliminal message "yes, that's right I'M READING SHAKESPEARE". I particularly waved it under the nose of a rather attractive guy.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">In other news, I had a moment of fame the other night (kinda). Cosmo held Google Hangouts all last week for Clinique. Bridget March the online beauty editor for Cosmo had been discussing key fashion, beauty and nutrition trends and advice, and taking questions from real readers via a live Google Hangout. I was a standby reader just in case someone had Internet connection problems.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I was needed, hence my moment of fame. I enjoyed it, but watching it back I have realised that I don't have any eyes.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I need bigger eyes. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I might get my eyelids removed. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">If you want to actually watch the video then <a href="http://www.cosmopolitan.co.uk/beauty-hair/clinique-healthy-start?click=main_sr#" target="_blank">click here</a> and click on the fashion bit. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Sometimes things aren't very obvious until you see them for yourself (like the image above) or until someone points them out to you. Like the time in secondary school when I was going to be Sandy in Grease. Then one day the show producer said "Gina, I've been thinking...since your voice is so low maybe you should be Danny?".</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I had no idea people thought my voice was that low. This was made worse when I phoned a clients house phone a couple of years ago and the daughter answered, "Mummy, there's a woman on the phone, she sounds like a man".</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Stop laughing. </span><br>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I think I've managed to make my voice a bit higher over the past few years. I particularly make an effort to sound like a woman when I'm speaking to guy on the phone for the first time. When I'm hungover though it's a completely different story, even my best friends sometimes ask "Gina, is this you?" when they phone me. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm going to leave you with a quick summary of last weekend...</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I organised a day out in London for my mum's 60th birthday, which was amazing. I highly recommend doing the backstage tour of the Royal Opera House. We also went for lunch at Sketch, which was incredible and they even did this for her:</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">On Saturday I went to the Planetarium in Greenwich. It was SO FUN and Greenwich is amazing. They have the BEST haloumi wraps in Greenwich market. After visiting the Planetarium I decided that I want to be an astronomer so I might buy a telescope (yes, another one of my 'New Year' hobbies...but at least I won't have to learn to play this one).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Please can someone buy me a telescope? A big one.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=5402024779975659777" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=5402024779975659777" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The rest of the weekend consisted of red wine, food, films and pubs. And I'm now writing this blog to avoid the gym. I need someone to start dragging me there. Literally. It's been SIX MONTHS.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Yes, you did just read that right. Six months. </span><br>
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the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-16664481643600528492014-01-07T16:23:00.003-08:002014-01-08T06:02:48.825-08:00Rule No.74: Don't use the word 'stuff', unless you want to sound stupid<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">To add to the New Year's resolutions I wrote in my previous post, I have listed below seven things I want to make sure I do this year (I don't think these are the same as New Year's resolutions..?). Anyway, here it goes: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">1) Go to the cinema (I haven't been since I went to see American Pie the Reunion in 2012)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">2) Read at least three Shakespeare plays</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">3) Learn to understand Shakespeare</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Just in case you're interested, the background to this Shakespeare situation is that I met an actor on Saturday night (fit, 6ft2, rather posh, might see again). He was telling me about some plays he has been in recently and I asked him "so do you understand this Shakespeare stuff then?". He laughed, but I suddenly realised how stupid I must have sounded. I've just never 'got' Shakespeare. I might have achieved an A in English Lit, but it's only because of Spark Notes. I couldn't even tell you what any of Shakespeare's plays are about. Except for Romeo and Juliet (obvs). Therefore, I want to read his plays and try to understand what he's talking about. I might even go to watch a couple.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I know, I'm confused too. What is happening to me? Why am I trying to become 'cultured'?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">4) Learn to play the ukulele...it's still sitting in my wardrobe after my first attempt at playing it and after throwing a tantrum because it was too hard</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">5) Join a writing club...well I may as well and there could be potential husbands there</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">6) Join a film club (this will help with the cinema situation)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">7) Start making YouTube videos for my blog </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I think this will be enough for now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">You'll be surprised to hear that I've already planned to go to the cinema tonight, and I joined a film club and a writing club last night. Therefore, I've pretty much done three of them already. Although, I need to actually go to these clubs, just joining doesn't really count.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In other news, there's been another case of extinction. Men have become dinosaurs once again. This time I think it's linked to Christmas. Even Scrooge doesn't like to be alone at Christmas. However, January is the start of the year, the start of new beginnings where guys want to be free to do whatever they want. Is this right guys? I'm just guessing here.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This case of extinction has happened to four people I know in the past week. Whether they had been on one date or six, over Christmas they had been speaking to the guy everyday. Then as the clocks stroke 12 on the 31st of December the extinction begun, soon all males were turning into dinosaurs. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It's OK if this has happened to you. You're not alone. Plus, I was one of them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I'm going to call these the Knobowankersaurus Rex.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Right before I go, I will leave you with some weird food.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Exhibit A:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF4uyR4KAF_veNrAj3TlkZI-skiX5w6K_tTjqAaWu_le9-vn1sk_CkUHWEgVyIjnXPFvjZ8RIV7rAcQHJv-xwZFUgxJBZj4A4yg4X9BbJhaGd6mY7QbG5N5L_yfFFg6VK0zeS8htg7Fy9G/s640/blogger-image--172245289.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF4uyR4KAF_veNrAj3TlkZI-skiX5w6K_tTjqAaWu_le9-vn1sk_CkUHWEgVyIjnXPFvjZ8RIV7rAcQHJv-xwZFUgxJBZj4A4yg4X9BbJhaGd6mY7QbG5N5L_yfFFg6VK0zeS8htg7Fy9G/s400/blogger-image--172245289.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">How can you even call this steak? It's like hard vegetable pâté.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Exhibit B:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2C7-ECn84Sg9-WGXV4gOp0lwHVbQfSVZJsPokBLMVVTtldezRVA4y0qO6SspdDC63QqwcmAF_oyLWTSLgoGvYk5uRqPj2HRE8IYcJmU3NFpemZwXq2Ui6S-tjB3mKxF9rVmtjG1qYHjAr/s640/blogger-image-1238407260.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2C7-ECn84Sg9-WGXV4gOp0lwHVbQfSVZJsPokBLMVVTtldezRVA4y0qO6SspdDC63QqwcmAF_oyLWTSLgoGvYk5uRqPj2HRE8IYcJmU3NFpemZwXq2Ui6S-tjB3mKxF9rVmtjG1qYHjAr/s400/blogger-image-1238407260.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I just don't even know where to start with these.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Bye x</span>the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-45388955003564338202014-01-04T11:51:00.002-08:002014-01-04T12:02:05.705-08:00Rule No.73: Don't buy chocolate covered cheese<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A causally late Happy New Year. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After 12 hours sleep last night I have finally recovered from Poland. I don't think anyone should consume as much vodka as I did. I honestly think if I had drunk any more my body would have just blown up. Not that it's stopping me from going out tonight. Single ladies cannot just stay at home on a Saturday night. Fact. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Anyway, NYE in Krakow was ace. I was with great people in a town filled with cheap</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> but tasty vodka, polish sausage and mulled wine. However, t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">he only non alcoholic thing I drank all day was a coffee so the next day my liver hated me. And my kidneys hated me. And my head. And my skin. And most likely my stomach. My throat wasn't too happy either. However, after three days of detoxing I'm feeling pretty lively, plus I've actually drank water and eaten vegetables again.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A lot can happen in Krakow in three days and a lot definitely happened. Therefore, I thought it was probably best to create a list. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1) We witnessed men using plastic forks to eat from a bin (sober).</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2) A homeless woman opened my legs to crawl between them and reach for a key under the bench I was sitting on. She then grabbed my knee to help stand herself up again. She didn't even talk to me, not that I would have understood her.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">3) Suze sat down on a chair in a bar and it completely broke. Instead of helping her as she lay on the floor we pointed and laughed. But, that's what 'true' friends do...well maybe we should have helped her.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">4) We bought all of the below for £10. Yes that includes the vodka.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">5) An Austrian woman took a photograph of me (without asking) and sent it to her 35 year old son. She couldn't speak English, but her friend translated that she thought I'd be a perfect match. I'm still a bit confused how this romance was supposed to happen?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">6) I bought some mistletoe to create some funny photos (and snogs) and then got pounced on by Jade. The mistletoe wasn't even in the air!!! I'm obviously just too irresistible. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">7) Two Italian men came over to speak to the four of us when we were sitting on a wall drinking mulled wine. One really liked Suze and said to me 'can you please move somewhere else so I can sit next to your friend'. Bloody charming. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">8) I had the worst pillow at the hostel. It was like sleeping on a flat brick. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">9) Suze and Jade had to buy ear plugs on our second day so they could sleep through mine and Aimee's snoring (particularly mine...I had a cold). </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">10) Suze thought it would be a good idea to buy chocolate covered Camembert. It definitely wasn't. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">11) I got a kiss off two Italian men just after midnight. The two on the back left.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Such an international PIMP.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I also need to point out that Jade is once again using the mistletoe. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">12) I had a polish sausage at 4am on New Years Day. Therefore it was the first food I consumed in 2014 and I'm proud of it. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">13) We all decided to get on the first tram that arrived at our stop instead of using our common sense and looking at a map. We ended up in the middle of nowhere and it was scary, it was like the Krakow ghetto. We jumped on another random tram and again ended up in the middle of nowhere. We did this a third time before giving up and getting a taxi to our hostel. Never again shall we use the YOLO method of catching trams.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This is our 'we're cold and lost, but trying to stay happy face'. I didn't manage to get in the selfie, but you can see a bit of my hair and hat.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm going to leave you with my New Years resolutions: </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1) Don't swear so much</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2) Become more ladylike</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">3) Actually do some exercise </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">4) Watch TV (I feel socially awkward that I can't join in on TV conversations with people. I only watch max an hour a week)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">5) Get a boyfriend</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So far in three days I've only stuck to number 4.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">LAD.</span><br />
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the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5402024779975659777.post-8880329569932575462013-12-28T17:11:00.004-08:002013-12-28T22:24:35.428-08:00Rule No.72: A reduced jumper is not more important than family<div>
A belated Merry Christmas! </div>
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Sorry about the lack of Christmas Day posting. It was a busier day than expected. Plus, spending time with family around Christmas is definitely the most important thing to do. No offence blog fans, you know I love you too.<br>
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My Christmas day consisted of a lovely walk around the Memorial Park in the morning with my mum, dad and my ugly dog, Taz.</div>
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I hope I'm not one of those owners that looks like their dog. If so, shoot me. </div>
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After the walk I worked at a homeless shelter for a few hours, where I helped prepare food, sort out clothing and make a bag of toiletries for each person dropping by the shelter. The bags included shampoo, conditioner, a razor, toothbrush, etc. Everything is donated by the public and it's really heartwarming to see how many people donate. An Indian restaurant had made curry for all of the people staying at the homeless shelter the night before too, which I was pretty jealous of. I LOVE a curry.<br>
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I highly recommend volunteering at a homeless shelter over the Christmas period. I usually help out at the The Methodist Church in Coventry, where I help serve the Christmas dinner and sit with the visitors, pull crackers and share stories, etc. This year it was more 'behind the scenes' work and I must say I prefer getting to chat to everyone. However, one thing I have definitely learnt this year is that things people probably don't even think to donate are actually really vital. Things like toothpaste, deodorant and razors.<br>
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When I got back to my parents house I had a little nap then we had the best Christmas dinner ever (and lots of wine). After dinner we went to my aunty and uncles house for more food, alcohol and a game of trivial pursuit. It was girls against boys, and the girls lost by one point. I was useless, I didn't help out with a single question. <br>
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Ever since Christmas day I've been drinking all day everyday. I'm starting to think my dad thinks I'm his dustbin for alcohol. He asked me to do him 'a favour' on Boxing day, which included drinking a bottle of wine he didn't like. Obviously I drank it, followed by whisky and Baileys (not at the same time). I think Christmas is the only time you can get away with drinking constantly.</div>
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Can you believe people were queuing outside Selfridges from 11pm on Christmas Day for the sales? Is that really what Christmas means to people? Surely, family and friends are much more important than some reduced tshirts?<br>
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These are the two main people I've been spending my days with. My amazing nephews.<br>
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<br>Anyway, I'm currently at Birmingham airport on my way to Krakow. A 4am alarm was set and my parents drove Jade and I to the airport. What absolute gems!<br>
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Yesterday however, I felt like absolute crap. I had four lempsips and lots of oranges so I'm hoping my nose will stop running and I'll stop coughing. Although, it did mean that I was able to sit in bed and do this most of the day.</div>
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I hope you have an amazing NYE and I'll catch up when I'm back. That's if I'm alive after all of the vodka I'm going to consume. <br>
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the new bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12818507220729664434noreply@blogger.com0