To the shining star, Michael Handley. 1993-2014.

When I woke up on Sunday, I didn't expect one phone call to effect me the way it did. But it's true, the facts are out there, everyone knows now. You're gone. And I hope you realise what a positive effect you had on people's lives. 

You were the definition of grabbing life by the balls, it was true when I used to say to you you're never in one country long enough, almost like you were scared of growing roots, and with that, you touched every life you came into contact with. Whether it was India, or Devon, or France, you were always in my mind in the box firmly named "people to remember". You were going places, obviously in true Mike style, you didn't do it the way anyone else did, but you were doing it, and you were an inspiration and for that, I thank you.

You taught me what it's like to believe in your self, even if your plan is shit. I remember getting drunk at Emily's and us deciding it would be a top class idea to go to the park and you kept pushing me into hedges because I couldn't walk straight, and yet you still said it was the best plan ever (even though, let's admit it, it was chucking it down and we both had a cold afterwards). Plus you never needed fizzy pop to get giddy with me. You were a star. I could go on for days/weeks/months about the funny memories, peppered with bitter sweet nostalgia, but none of that will bring you back. And that's all I want. Even if, just to hear you dog whistle to me from the other side of the canteen, which, by the way, still not cool. The more I write, the more memories are coming back, the more I want to smile, and cry, and laugh, and just generally miss you. I was so lucky to even have you in my life, and I know people always say this at the passing of a loved one, but in this case, it's genuinely true; you were the most genuine person I ever knew. You told me straight when I was wrong in an alcohol fuelled argument, and you told me you loved me when you knew all I needed was a hug. God, what I'd give for another one of those hugs. Or even a head massage in the shitty canteen while we share 75p potato wedges. (Bet the prices have gone up and I bet we would both throw tantrums about that).

It's such a horrible time, for all involved, and my heart 100% goes out to your family.  I keep wanting to scream "it's not fair!" And cry and shout and break things, but I know you'd just look at me, call me a dickhead and tell me to chill out. And so I'm doing it your way, just like you did. I'm going to educate myself on the Mike way of life and I'm going to live my life to the fullest, because it know it's what you would of wanted us to do. 

It's hard to grieve when everything seems a bit hazy. Big Sandj keeps coming out with all these really shit cliches that just make me cringe, as they used to do you, and all I'm left with is the bits and bobs of huge stupid Scottish sayings that join together like a jig saw. "You don't get over grief, you get through it." Which is true, but like those sayings, I feel like my adolescent jig saw is now missing a piece, a piece that was destined for bigger and brighter things than what Blackburn could ever provide. A piece that shone too bright, and burnt out too quick. 

This is getting harder and harder to write, but as I get to the crux of it, it really hurts knowing you're not here. I miss you, more than I would ever admit to you. And I love you, definitely far more than I would ever admit to you! I didn't realise that grief would be such a physical ache, there are moments when I forget, and I feel elated, and then I remember, and I cry all over again. I know I've said it, but I miss you Mike, and joking aside, I hope you knew how dearly I loved you. OLSJ/College bums forever.

My thoughts are with your family.

Rest in peace Michael Handley. 1993-2014.

He's just not that into you babe.

This is, by far, one of the most under rated, yet fantastic films I have ever watched. And the book is even better. (The book is currently being passed about my friends everytime one of us goes through a particularly horrific break up, which more often than not, is every four months or so). Now, I'm not saying all the stories in this book are true, or even that we can use all of them and relate them back to our own lives. But the truth still stands, this book is basically the easiest way to understand a man, without having to actually deal with listening to one. ("Grunt grunt footy, FIFA, grunt grunt" springs to mind).

I'm saying now, there will be spoilers. If you haven't watched it, and don't want any spoilers, then stop fucking reading. There. I've told you now. Stop being such mard arses about it.

Basically, the film follows the lives of women in New York - all intelligent, beautiful women. One of them is Jennifer Anniston for fucks sake - who are struggling to deal with the fact that they are not the exceptions to the rule. These rules range from; he's just not that into you if... He's not marrying you, to he's just not that into you if... He doesn't call. Now we can all relate to one of the stories, believe me. I thought I knew everything there was to know about the "game" - as in 'don't hate the playa babe, hate the game' cringe. - but I watched this film, and read the book, and was astounded by how many times I have let fellas get away with shit because their feelings some how came before my own. Which, when you put it like that, is fucking ridiculous mate.

The amount of times I have made excuses for a fella, oh he hasn't text me, probably busy. Oh, he cancelled plans? Probably got a lot of work on. When the truth be told; he just wasn't that into me. AND THAT IS FINE.

Why spend hours, days, weeks, maybe even months, pining for someone who doesn't even have the balls to tell you that although you are a completely terrific person, you are not the exception to the rule. Forget the bullshit "you deserve better" or "it's not you, it's me" (if someone EVER says that to me I will cut off their penis, hand it to them, and politely tell hem to go fuck themselves. Probably not. But you get the picture). The thing is, as the book and film both point out, rather bluntly, may I add, men are scared. They would rather give you some sort of vague minuscule hope of anything becoming a something than tell you straight. And believe me, I understand why. We are an intimidating breed. But we are not always irrational, and let's be honest here princesses, how much easier is it to get over someone when you, and all of your besties have agreed, that he is a bastard? So much easier. And if you say it's not then you're a liar. A liar and a scoundrel. 

Look, I know, honestly, I get it. To take a small bit of something is better than a whole lot of nothing, right? Wrong. Why are we settling, fantasising, romanticising, men? This is not Romeo and Juliet and you are Carrie from sex and the city. Your Mr. Big isn't going to be your ex who swoops back onto your life once or twice for a quick hello. And like the book says, just because you've heard that your best friends sisters aunties mate broke up with HER boyfriend for two years and then they bumped into each other and fell madly back in love, it does not mean that it will happen to you. You are not your best friends sisters aunties mate. You are you. A fantastically wonderful, beautiful human being - who happens to have the ability to bleed for seven days and not die, and REPRODUCE. We deserve fucking medals for living on a month to month basis for fuck sake, not some hope that maybe one day, we will be the exception to a rule. 

This doesn't mean you're going to be single forever, doesn't even mean you'll be single for another year. But I hope you princesses out there realise that you are fabulous. You hold out for the big romantic gestures, but don't pin your hopes on them. Life, and love, is what happens when you're busy making other plans. When one door closes, another one opens. But just because you get bored of waiting doesn't mean you should jump out a window.

And if he's just not that into you (at the risk of sounding like my mother) I am just not that into him. Bastard.

Sisters are doin' it for themselves

I read a quote on tumblr today that said "the best kind of friendships are fierce lady friendships where you aggressively believe in each other, defend each other, and think the other deserves the world." And I genuinely don't think I have agreed with anything more. 

Fierce women need to stick together, and roll with the punches when they get called anything from the stereotypical "men hating feminists" to just being called a simple "bitch". I don't know what it is that people (both men and women) find so intimidating about a gender standing up and saying "we are united, we are not going to take shit anymore, we are not a minority, and we will kick you in the shins if you try to stop us." Because, in all honesty, this should of happened fucking yonks ago. 

I am friends with a lot of feminists, both male and female, and they are simply the most motivated, just people I have ever had the pleasure to be around. They are, in pure form, people who are sick of seeing people using their privileges, whether they be white privilege, male privilege, straight privilege etc. in a negative way. And I think that's fucking glorious.

In a society like ours, in which a rape culture is being battled every day because she was "drunk" or she was married to them, a culture in which the victims get treated like their the ones to blame, I think it's fair enough that we have people who will stand up for not only what they believe in, but the RIGHT way of thinking, and that these people would take punches, even fight to the death for the future generations right to stand up for what they believe in. Like Itch says "integrity is what black eyes were invented for."

I don't know, I'm just sick of living I'm a society where the worst thing a girl can be called is fat, and to make it worse, it is said behind their back by people who are meant to be their fierce defenders. Since when did 'fat' become worse than calling someone callous? Twisted? A horrible person? Narrow minded? Next time you feel yourself sitting there and thinking "what a fat bitch" about a woman who is walking past you, before it comes out like word vomit to validate your own stupid insecurities, have a minute to yourself for think "is it necessary to call this girl something?" "Do I know anything about her?" "Will it make me feel better by saying it?" Chances are, the answers will be no, no and no! (I know this is particularly hard when wanting to bitch about the girl your ex is now with, but believe me, you should just thank your lucky stars she took the gobshite off your hands). 

Seriously, the world will be a happier place if women just looked out for each other. This is not about being a feminist, this is about looking at another woman and thinking "you bleed out your fanny just the same as I do, and god bless you for that" instead of "oh my god you are pouring out that dress like a badly stuffed sausage".

I have fallen guilty to calling someone ugly, but it didn't make me feel any prettier, and it makes me sad to see girls falling for the same societal bullshit. Oh so Vicky from Geordie shore put on three pounds while on holiday? So fucking what. 

Call me a bitch all you want, bitches get shit done. And I have eternity when I'm dead to keep my bitchy opinions to myself. 

Beauty School Drop Out

As I sit here, watching grease in a food coma from my tuna salad - which, by the way, was fucking lush - I found myself realising that slut shaming has been going on a lot longer than what I realised. 

"There are worst things I can do, than go with a boy, or two" seems pretty relevant in this day and age, when celebrities such as Taylor Swift are getting so much grief for being photographed with a fella. Now, I'm not saying she's not sleeping with them, and I'm not saying she is, the point I'm making is, what the fuck has it got to do with anyone that's not them? 

Why do we, as girls, feel the need to validate ourselves by talking about how much of a slag another female is? Is slag even a thing anymore? And by saying this about each other are we giving men the right to call us the same? I remember in high school, a girl lost her virginity when we were in year 9, and dealt with being called every name under the sun and being told she has a biffter*. Which, if she was my daughter, I would of grounded her for life for having sex at that age, but, however, she was none of our daughters. She was just a girl who slept with her boyfriend - but this made her different, and a slag. But by year 11, literally two years later, 730 days, if you were a virgin, you were also weird, and frigid. 

Like Alison says in The Breakfast Club "It's kind of a double edged sword isn't it? Well, if you say you haven't, you're a prude. If you say you have you're a slut. It's a trap. You want to but you can't, and when you do you wish you didn't, right?" Which is all well and good when you are still in school, but when you are of the age of 18 and over, is it really a big deal how many people other people are sleeping with? Or if they are in fact, not sleeping with anyone?

I don't know when it became something that should be public knowledge about who is involved in your sex life, but I'm not a fan of it. Although, having never been slut shamed before, I find my words falling on deaf ears. It just seems bizarre. When two consenting adults have sex, wether it be in a relationship, wether it is a one night stand, or wether (and we know my stance on this) you are seeing that person, does it really need an audience of people passing judgement? 

Whether it be to the confines of your own bedroom, or in the bog of liquid, do whatever and and whoever you want. Because although this sounds trite, like Dr. Seuss says "those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind." Besides, half of the people judging are just jealous because they aren't getting any anyway.

  These people need to grow up, and maybe a little bit of slap and tickle will stop them being so bloody tense about it all. 

*Biffter means having a saggy vagina. 

Valentines day blues (a single girls rant)

I'm sorry to whoever this offends but this is definitely not a thing. I'm not being funny, but we, as strong independent women who don't need no man cannot let one day a year affect us or force us to moan into a tub of ice cream. This valentines day will be the first I have spent from the age of eighteen on my own, and I won't even be on my own, I will be clutching a bottle of wine and watching wicked in London with my best friend. And this does not bother me at all, if anything, it makes me happier. 

Valentines day, even in a relationship is the stupidest of all Hallmark holidays. It is one day a year people buy stupid stuff (sainsburys are selling a plaque with the recipe for love, pass me the sick bucket) and book stupidly expensive meals. If you feel, in a relationship that you need the validation from this stupid holiday then you need to sling your fella to the curb, because they are not giving you the princess treatment you deserve. This sounds bitter, and almost resentful of happy couples, but believe me it's not. I have so many friends who are in happy, long term relationships, and I am so unbelievably happy for them, but they will be the first to agree with me when I say; just like a dog isn't just for Christmas, a relationship isn't just for 14th February. 

The roses, the chocolates, the pug of love teddies, and oh my word, all the pink! It makes me feel a bit sick. It genuinely astounds me that you princesses are feeling woeful about this upcoming day. Turn off Bridget Jones, put down the Ben and Jerry's, back away slowly. Doll yourself up, go and have a wine with your fellow single friends. The world is a big place, and if you are considering calling your safety net then I have one word for you: don't. Do not lower your standards just because of this bloody holiday, if you don't want to be with him every day of the year, then don't lead him on because you don't want to be alone on this single day. It is literally twenty four hours. Man the fuck up. 

I detest people saying things like "need a spooning buddy" or "I'm so lonely :(" most of the time, but coming up to valentines day it turns my blood to boiling point. You are letting the side down. You are better than a last minute pull, mate, you are better than getting a boyfriend purely so you can have a few chocs to eat. Don't sell yourself short. 

This blog post is slowly but surely making me angrier that single women in the twenty first century feel that they need a man to make them feel better about themselves. We are no longer in the 1920s, and even if you spend valentines day led in bed watching catfish reruns, it has got to be a hell of a lot better than sitting with someone you don't even like, eating over priced food and feeling like you have to slow down your wine intake. 

Repeat after me; I don't want no scrub, scrub is the kinda guy that's getting no love from me. 

The politics of "seeing someone"

We all know the relationship rules; don't cheat; don't tell them they look fat; don't treat them like a pet. And we all know the rules of being single; do whatever the hell you want. But somewhere in between there is a hazy grey area that lacks rules and regulations, and I'm putting it out there, it confuses the fuck out of me.

Seeing someone. Oh, that age old saying that's been on the tongues of 15 year olds since back when I was fifteen. "Is he your boyfriend?" "Nah, we're just seeing each other" and at fifteen, that was pretty cool. It meant you got all the benefits of a relationship (at fourteen it was stuff like cute texts, going to the cinema on orange Wednesdays, and snogging when you're drunk at house parties, and maybe going round for tea after school once a week) without having to tell your mum, but now, with all the politics of sex and crazy nights out (or in my case, crazy nights in with a glass of orange cordial while watching the undateables) it has become somewhat obsolete. I find myself internally screaming when my friends say they are seeing Tom, Dick, or Harry (9/10 times they're Dick) "YES BUT WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?" What happened to telling someone you like them and taking the deep plunge with little regard for the consequences. There's even a separate Facebook relationship status that claims you are "in an open relationship". But are you? What are the rules? 

Are you allowed to kiss other people? Are you allowed to go on dates with other people? Do you sleep with them? Do you text them all the time? I could easily see myself become a crank with the politics surrounding seeing someone. I need someone to tell me they like me, and if I feel the same way, I say it back. And then we kinda see how it goes. Does that mean I am now seeing them? Because I didn't sign up for that?! How do you ask someone if they want to "see you" anyway? Imagine it though, "do you want to see me?" "Uh mate... I can see you. You are stood right in front of me and you sound like a twat." (Sorry mam for saying the T word.)

And if it is established that you ARE in fact seeing someone, can we mathematically deduce that it then means you are in an open relationship? What exactly is an open relationship? (Almost made an opening your legs pun, decided against it.) Is anyone really truly open in a relationship anyway? Or does this mean another kind of open? It seems like seeing someone is like a pre run for the relationship. Almost like a try before you buy, but does that mean we are selling ourselves short? 

I was just discussing this with my friend and she said seeing someone is all fun and games till someone goes and gets attached, but how can you stop yourself from getting attached to someone who is basically your fella without being your fella? You still have to put up with the snoring and the smelly farts and all the crap bits, but there's less pressure, but knowing me, I'd get jealous. 

Now, I feel I should point out that I am not a psycho. I know this is something psychos say, but really. But I don't now if I could commit to seeing someone knowing they could be boning someone else, forget feelings, WHAT ABOUT CHLAMYDIA? I feel like my mam when I say this but when did liking someone get so complicated? 

I have to admit, my last relationship started with the whole "seeing each other", and it ended far less gracefully, but still, it kinda worked. But even when I'm in the "seeing" someone relationship, I am still confused. I didn't understand the difference, and although it had a happy ending (at the time) with us being together, I don't know if my feelings could deal with the rejection surrounding us never becoming boyfriend and girlfriend. This is not me being sceptical, but when you put so much time and effort into a relationship, to never actually get into a relationship, I expect a little bit more than a tub of Ben and Jerries and a good old cry to "why won't you love me?" Maybe we, as girls, should start printing off certificates. 

CONGRATULATIONS! You chose a gobshite. Well done on not letting it go further. 

We don't need no education

As I sit here, watching Jeremy Kyle re runs, my hair in the typical student "up do" (which means I haven't washed it in about three days but don't judge me.) I think it's finally time that I write a blog on being a student. The typical student life is not something that ever really appealed to me. Super noodles every day? Rather have a me mams infamous stovies with party rings for afters. And I know I'm not the only one thinks that way, but here I am, three years in, with a house, and bills, being a proper adult! Proper adult is open to debate, I mean I still throw tantrums and I still have cat naps, but still. An adult. Me. The thought of it is enough to send shivers down my spine and it's almost as if I can actually feel my hair turning grey from the root. 

Gone are the days of saying "swear down, ask me mum" because at uni... No one really gives a fuck. Say goodbye to big nights out on a Saturday and say hello to spontaneous nights out on a Monday, (why would you want a night out with the tourists? Psh!) Now, when I came to uni I thought I would spend my life in a constant state of smashed, but much to my brothers amusement, the reality of uni hit me like a tonne of bricks. It's not easy, at all. And certainly puts your teachers during your GCSE's saying "these are the hardest exams you'll ever do" into perspective. But it is fun. 

When I first came to uni I was in the most minging halls ever, we didn't even have a cooker, and fifteen of us - both male and female - shared two shower cubicles. There was forever arguments about which scrote shit all over the toilet seat, and I spent a lot of time sat on that bacteria ridden bathroom floor, puking my guts up after a particularly heavy night. But I did meet some of the soundest people I've ever had the pleasure to know, and that kinda puts walking up five flight of stairs at 3am into perspective, doesn't it? 

If you're at university, you'll understand me when I say that the biggest lessons you learn aren't from the contribution of a lecturer stood in front of a PowerPoint, (seriously, my housemate told me that we are paying nearly £200 for each stupid PowerPoint in each lecture, but hey ho.) but if you are lucky enough to have youth on your side, and are not quite at university yet, then here are a few life lessons I have learnt over the past two years and five months;

1. There will be nights where you go out and spend £70, there will also be nights where you go out with £20 and come back with £22 smashed, with a take away. Don't question how it has happened, life is funny like that and just be grateful for your chicken burger and cheesy chips. 

2. Don't shit where you eat. Now this can be taken a number of ways, but what I mean is, don't get off with someone that you are going to have to see everyday for the next year if you know it will be awkward for you, or if you have hilarious friends like mine, who will make innuendos at every given chance.

3. On that note, snog whoever you want on nights out (granted, of course, you are single) but don't allow photo evidence to go on Facebook, or to ever be shown to you, as intrigued as you may be, allow yourself to live the rest of your life believing he was a David Beckham look a like through your vodka infused haze.

4. You can boil eggs in a kettle. I don't recommend it, but I have done it before, and I don't know whether it was cause I was drunk or because I am genuinely Nigella Lawson after a few wines, but they tasted pretty top notch. As long as they don't explode. 

5. Don't leave your door unlocked in halls when you are not in the building, and if you do, expect to come back to a room that's been loo rolled, or, as we have done to my good friend, relocated her entire room onto the corridor (sorry Shauna!) 

6. Not everyone will have the same sense of humour as you, that's fine. It is not your fault some people had a personality lobotomy before they came to uni, but don't become one of those dickheads that bully them because of it. We are not in school anymore. 

7. Don't become one of those idiots that forget where they are from. Whether you are from the posh part of Cardiff, or, like me, are from Blackburn. Do not forget that it is because of your surroundings growing up you became the person you are, plus, no one likes someone pretending to be someone they aren't.

8. If you don't like the way someone is behaving, but have to be with them on a daily basis, tell them! It seems so simple, but it is so easy to slip back into the bitchy school persona, especially when living in halls - which feels like some sort of scummy boarding school most days.

9. You will never realise how interesting your ceiling is, or how your bedroom would look rearranged, or how your wardrobe would look colour coded, or, how your shoes would look like in order from heels to flats, until you have an assignment deadline. Procrastination is key, it's a ridiculous key, but the amount of times I have gutted my entire house so that I don't have to start writing about Freud's views on the nature/nurture debate is something I think Freud would have a few strong words on.

10. Do not forget your old friends from back home. Wether they haven't gone uni, or are applying in September or they are happily engaged with kids. These people were there for you during your first period, and they will be there for you every time you come home. Your friends from your younger years know more about you than three years at uni could ever teach you about yourself, don't take that for granted.

11. DO YOUR STUDENT FINANCE ON TIME. I cannot stress this enough. It is ridiculous that nearly every year my student loan has been late, this year and first year it wasn't my fault to be fair (bet you're thinking... Yeah alright then whatever, but really) but in second year I applied in July and didn't get my loan until November! No one wants to be the sponge on their housemates.

12. If someone doesn't like you, fuck them. Say to yourself that you are a princess and that their opinion doesn't effect you, nor should it mean anything to you. You are top. If they don't see it, then it's their loss. (See; journey of self discovery)

13. Ring your mam. Seriously. She asked me to put this in. 

University isn't for everyone, and if it isn't for you don't sweat it. Just sponge off your friends student experience, go to their house parties and live the high life - at least you will never have to clean up for them the day after, and you can sit smugly while working your way up the career ladder, that you will never have to pay back student debts! 

Fucking student debts.