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Sunday, 14 April 2013
Being Scouse Bird
Well I’ve now just past the 1 year mark of having the Scouse Bird account. I’ve already alluded to what a roller-coaster ride it’s been in the 2012 round up but new things happen all the time.
It’s not all plain sailing, I have my share of critics and haters which I have to deal with and it’s very hard to keep a level head and to not to get caught up in all the hype. On the one hand you do get people calling you a celebrity and treating you like a celebrity which is very strange cos on the other hand YOU know you’re not and no one would even look twice at you walking down the street. To be honest I’d hate all that anyway, I find the attention quite embarrassing at times but it is what it is. As for the hate tweets, well it just comes with the territory really doesn’t it? The higher you climb the more people will try and bring you down. I just ignore them...occasionally one will get to me and I’ll go to write a reply and then think “Hang on, am i actually assed what they think? No.” and delete it. Why give them attention?
The way I see it is that Scouse Bird is a character, I’m just her creator. I write her. I’m no one special or famous, I’m not more or less Scouse or perfect than the next girl walking down the street. She is though. She’s the epitome of Scouse. She’s a little bit of me now, a bit of me from the past, a bit of my friends, a bit of my enemies, a bit of celebrities, a bit of overheard conversations - she’s like a patchwork quilt of the whole city. I’m not her in the same way Brendan O’Carroll isn’t Mrs Brown or Ricky Gervais isn’t David Brent. In a way she doesn’t exist except in our imaginations. Even I talk about her as if she’s another person, I don’t say “I think this” i say “No I don’t think Scouse Bird would think this”.
This brings me on to the Circle of Sheow. Most people love it and appreciate it for what it is - a superficial critical assessment of an outfit or a shoe, but some people genuinely take offence to it and call it cruel. It’s critical not cruel and magazines have been doing it for years, it’s not a new concept. Right, here’s how i see it - I make sure ‘Scouse Bird’ is never personal, she never attacks people’s looks or weight, NEVER, she also makes sure to show as little of the person as is possible while still demonstrating the point she’s trying to make and she NEVER shows the face. I’ve had people create captions for pictures they’ve snapped and sent in which are making fun of people for being fat or whatever and i’ve explained there’s no chance I’m using them. Now if i put a picture up saying a shoe is horrid or a dress is vile some people do then take it upon themselves to go personal with it and leave nasty comments, I’m not there to censor or police that - that’s up to the individual. Someone suggested I have a responsibility to stamp out bullying the other day...I disagree. I’m not pro-bullying, far from it, I’ve been bullied myself in the past, it’s just 1. I don’t see the Circle of Sheow as bullying, it’s one isolated comment about something extremely superficial which like or not we all do. We all make comments to our friends when we’re out like ‘look at her shoes’ or ‘state of that, wtf is that she’s wearing’ and I see Scouse Bird as someone people recognise in themselves or in their mates. I get sent in about 20+ circle of sheows a day. I don’t use most of them. and 2. When exactly do I get this responsibility bestowed on me exactly? Was it at 10k followers, 50k followers? Did someone come along and go right that’s it now, you can’t say what you want anymore because someone might get offended? Because I must have been hungover and missed that. I’ve been doing ‘circle of sheow’ pictures of kitten heels etc since the account started, it’s only now I’m hearing dissent (and mostly off Facebook users *rolls eyes*). It’s not me personally sitting here dishing out judgements, I’ve worn enough dodgy outfits in the past to be in the Circle of Sheow a few times myself (and have actually put myself in there once) and I’ve as much chance of anyone as being snapped and sent in to Scouse Bird. I frequently change my outfit 3 times before I leave the house nearly having a breakdown over whether Scouse Bird would like it or not - I’ve created a monster! I’m frightened of her. In every one of us, like it or not, there’s a fashion critic - no one knows best, we all have our own personal style. If it makes you feel uncomfortable then I urge you to press the unfollow button, go free my crank.
So what’s next for me and Scouse Bird? Well there are new offers coming in all the time and I feel a bit like I’m spinning plates in the air, and I love it! I’m always busy (which means I have to say no to a lot of things) and I don’t often get time to chill out and do nothing (and even when I do I get fidgety) - she’s literally changed my life, even though it’s like I’m working 2 full time jobs at the moment. I do have one very big project I’m working on at the moment which hopefully I can make an announcement on in the next couple of months BUT I don’t want to jinx it - when I know, you’ll know. But it’s VERY VERY exciting indeed. Dream big! And haters, you can shove it up your jacksy, I’m not arsed what you think ;-)
X O X O
Scouse Bird
Friday, 8 March 2013
Under the hammered
Last Saturday night a few friends and I attended a charity ball in aid of the Dental Mavericks at the Hilton as volunteers helping out with running the auction etc. I’d found out Chris Maloney was gonna be there and already I’d envisaged us in a mad scrap like the scene out of Bridget Jones when Colin Firth and Hugh Grant go through a window. I’m not dramatic honest.
Anyway we got there early for the briefing, CM my arch-nemesis came in and started introducing himself to everyone, I made sure I was otherwise engaged tweeting etc. Soz lad, without telling you who I am there’s no way in good conscience I could shake your hand. Besides I might catch gobshite-itis. No one needs a dose of that on a Saturday night.
After all the glam, rich people went in for their dinner, we were sat about in the bar having a couple of drinks and a bit of food while we waited for our cue later on for the auction. Gotta get these people nice and drunk before you hold an auction. Advice I should have heeded. Having not eaten all day, a couple of glasses of wine had gone straight to me head, so it wasn’t the wisest time to head over to ‘just take a look’ at the silent auction of signed photographs. I spotted a signed Audrey Hepburn picture which would look amazing in my make up room alongside Marilyn Monroe & Ingrid Bergman so I thought “Okay, it’s gonna be expensive BUT it’s for charity, and I do love her, and I’ve just paid off my credit card and most importantly, I’m drunk. I’ll bid say £150, everyone’s happy.” I filled in my details for the super posh man who was running it and then he handed me over the bidding card and said “Just put your maximum bid there.” It was only then that I flew into a blind panic when I saw the reserve price was £700. Oh god, I can’t back out now, the man is dead posh and I’m at a posh ball, he’ll know I’m poor and a fraud and he’ll judge me and look on me with pity! I best put £701 and hope all these rich people outbid me. I deffo won’t win. As we all know, alcohol mixes well with most things, except decisions.
I heard no more about it and relieved at my lucky escape I later egged me mate on as she bid up to a grand to go on Rossie’s breakfast show on Radio City but got outbid at the last minute. She’s starting up her own business at the mo and I’m pretty sure she would have been getting divorced if she’d won.
Anyway back to us sitting in the bar. We were perched on a couch thing eating our steak when who should walk past, back from (I assume) a ciggy break but dun dun dun, my arch-nemesis CM. “Oh haven’t you’s got a table?” The shame! No we’re volunteering for charity actually, we’re not loaded or getting paid to be here. My mate told him who I actually was and he just looked at me an went “But WHHHYYY??”
Me: Cos ur horrible.
I then went onto explain the contents of my other blog about CM explaining my beef with him and obviously went into actual details.
He said “Well alls I can do is apologise for my actions, I must have been going through a bad period in my life. But I’m not gonna stand here justifying myself to you.”
“Sound. Best of luck.” And carried on eating my steak. What an anticlimax, I wanted drinks thrown an all sorts. It was like an awkward scene from Desperate Scousewives. Am I convinced? Hmmm not sure. But as far as I’m concerned he apologised for the offence caused to me personally so that’s that.
Other highlights of the night included:
• meeting Atomic Kitten which was more emotional for me mate cos he’s a die hard fan of Kerry Katona, loves the bones of her.
• Wearing a necklace containing John Lennon’s DNA. Felt pretty damn scouse after that.
So anyway, Monday rolled around and I was in work, typing away, minding my own business when I got a phonecall.
“Hi, you attended an event on Saturday night?”
“Yes….”
“You’ve won a signed photograph of Audrey Hepburn.”
Oh shit. Fuck. Twat. I burst out laughing down the phone to her and said “Oh my god I am in so much trouble, me fella is gonna kill me” I had to think quickly, I got my diary out and started organising delivery for the day I knew he’d be at work and I’d be home. I’ll just hang it up in the make up room, he’s not very observant, he’ll never even notice. It’s my credit card, I don’t get statements, no one has to die here.
I quickly started googling Audrey Hepburn photos to see how much I could flog it for on ebay…turns out I could maybe actually make a profit on it if I ever decided to sell. In the end I’ve decided to keep it cos I love her loads. I had to break it to me fella this morning and I’ve sold the situation to him by sayin it’s like investing in shares, it’ll increase in value, plus it’s all for charity! He’s not speaking to me now though. Oops.
Could be worse babe, it could’ve been shoes. Again.
X O X O
Scouse Bird
Anyway we got there early for the briefing, CM my arch-nemesis came in and started introducing himself to everyone, I made sure I was otherwise engaged tweeting etc. Soz lad, without telling you who I am there’s no way in good conscience I could shake your hand. Besides I might catch gobshite-itis. No one needs a dose of that on a Saturday night.
After all the glam, rich people went in for their dinner, we were sat about in the bar having a couple of drinks and a bit of food while we waited for our cue later on for the auction. Gotta get these people nice and drunk before you hold an auction. Advice I should have heeded. Having not eaten all day, a couple of glasses of wine had gone straight to me head, so it wasn’t the wisest time to head over to ‘just take a look’ at the silent auction of signed photographs. I spotted a signed Audrey Hepburn picture which would look amazing in my make up room alongside Marilyn Monroe & Ingrid Bergman so I thought “Okay, it’s gonna be expensive BUT it’s for charity, and I do love her, and I’ve just paid off my credit card and most importantly, I’m drunk. I’ll bid say £150, everyone’s happy.” I filled in my details for the super posh man who was running it and then he handed me over the bidding card and said “Just put your maximum bid there.” It was only then that I flew into a blind panic when I saw the reserve price was £700. Oh god, I can’t back out now, the man is dead posh and I’m at a posh ball, he’ll know I’m poor and a fraud and he’ll judge me and look on me with pity! I best put £701 and hope all these rich people outbid me. I deffo won’t win. As we all know, alcohol mixes well with most things, except decisions.
I heard no more about it and relieved at my lucky escape I later egged me mate on as she bid up to a grand to go on Rossie’s breakfast show on Radio City but got outbid at the last minute. She’s starting up her own business at the mo and I’m pretty sure she would have been getting divorced if she’d won.
Anyway back to us sitting in the bar. We were perched on a couch thing eating our steak when who should walk past, back from (I assume) a ciggy break but dun dun dun, my arch-nemesis CM. “Oh haven’t you’s got a table?” The shame! No we’re volunteering for charity actually, we’re not loaded or getting paid to be here. My mate told him who I actually was and he just looked at me an went “But WHHHYYY??”
Me: Cos ur horrible.
I then went onto explain the contents of my other blog about CM explaining my beef with him and obviously went into actual details.
He said “Well alls I can do is apologise for my actions, I must have been going through a bad period in my life. But I’m not gonna stand here justifying myself to you.”
“Sound. Best of luck.” And carried on eating my steak. What an anticlimax, I wanted drinks thrown an all sorts. It was like an awkward scene from Desperate Scousewives. Am I convinced? Hmmm not sure. But as far as I’m concerned he apologised for the offence caused to me personally so that’s that.
Other highlights of the night included:
• meeting Atomic Kitten which was more emotional for me mate cos he’s a die hard fan of Kerry Katona, loves the bones of her.
• Wearing a necklace containing John Lennon’s DNA. Felt pretty damn scouse after that.
So anyway, Monday rolled around and I was in work, typing away, minding my own business when I got a phonecall.
“Hi, you attended an event on Saturday night?”
“Yes….”
“You’ve won a signed photograph of Audrey Hepburn.”
Oh shit. Fuck. Twat. I burst out laughing down the phone to her and said “Oh my god I am in so much trouble, me fella is gonna kill me” I had to think quickly, I got my diary out and started organising delivery for the day I knew he’d be at work and I’d be home. I’ll just hang it up in the make up room, he’s not very observant, he’ll never even notice. It’s my credit card, I don’t get statements, no one has to die here.
I quickly started googling Audrey Hepburn photos to see how much I could flog it for on ebay…turns out I could maybe actually make a profit on it if I ever decided to sell. In the end I’ve decided to keep it cos I love her loads. I had to break it to me fella this morning and I’ve sold the situation to him by sayin it’s like investing in shares, it’ll increase in value, plus it’s all for charity! He’s not speaking to me now though. Oops.
Could be worse babe, it could’ve been shoes. Again.
X O X O
Scouse Bird
Saturday, 23 February 2013
The moment I wake up - my love affair with makeup
Some people are shoe people, some people are bag people. I like shoes and I like bags but my great love affair is with make up. It’s getting to the point where I really think I missed my calling in life as a MUA. Imagine just doing make up all day every day – heaven!
I have tons of the stuff, everything from Maybelline to Mac, Collection 2000 (doesn’t get used) to Chanel – it’s a luxury I don’t think twice about splurging on. Don’t get me wrong, I was recently almost reduced to tears at how beautiful my friends real Louboutin collection was but the average girl cannot just simply drop a grand on a pair of shoes at a whim – but £50 on a new foundation? No problem! It’s the designer gear we can all afford, at least every now and again. Every girl should feel the buzz that comes from strutting through town with an array of designer bags on her arm (in the crook of the elbow of course). Grey Goose lifestyle on a handbag vodka budget.
I’ve been to get my make up done professionally a couple of times and I know people I can rely on to do a fantastic job but truth be told I very rarely get my make up done by a ‘trained professional’ because I ENJOY doing it myself (I say trained professional, the amount of girls now who’ve been to a demo day at the MAC counter and now reckon they’re boss, setting up Facebook business pages with wonky eyes all over the gaff is ridiculous. They look like they take their inspiration from Picasso rather than Peaches). It’s like the adult version of ‘art class’. I get my palettes, my brushes and I can express myself on a blank canvas. Do I want natural (answer normally no), dramatic, gothic, 50’s, glamorous? Do I want it to be all about the eyes or the lips? Do I want glitter (always)? I can let my creative side loose.
As with most things, unless you’re some sort of child prodigy, doing make up well is a skill that needs to be learnt. I remember looking back at pictures of a night out after my first dalliance with black eyeshadow and I looked like Uncle Fester from the Addams family, smackhead eyes I called it. I was scared of black eyeshadow for a long time after that – I’d look at pictures of glamour models rocking the dramatic black look and start shaking and crying in the corner. I never wanted to look that much like a wool ever again.
Probably one of the hardest things to learn (other than sticking your eyelashes on straight and perfecting an even eyeliner flick – which is NOT like riding a bike, you can definitely get rusty unless you constantly practice your technique) is the smokey eye. A few years ago when Benefit released their smokey eye kit, including a handy step by step guide to creating the look, I felt like a mysterious new world had finally been unlocked for me. Their safe, neutral pinks and browns and plenty of practice gave me the confidence and skills required to pull off the smoke well. Now the make up world is my oyster and I’ve developed the 60 second smoke technique (patent pending ha) for having fab Scouse eyes every day - even when you’re late for work. NB Those who are still drawing their eyebrows on wonky need not apply, requires good hand to eye co-ordination.
When MAC first opened in town I was overjoyed, like a Scouse Bird at a footballers party, I was in my element. Everyone soon cottoned onto it though and now I dread going in because I know I’ll have to wait at least 15 minutes while the staff are either serving some wool who doesn’t know her pink from her coral and is gonna look a show no matter how much she buys (you can buy all the make up that MAC can make, but if you look inside you, see you’re a wool through and through, you can accept that you’ll never be a damn scouse fitty), or they’re talking about who’s copped off with who the weekend before “Oh Louise I was a proper sheeeooow yano, I slobbered on his shoulder!” – Listen Louise, never mind that, I want a lippy and I want it NOW! Thank god for Illamasqua opening opposite.
If you ever go to New York one of the things you absolutely MUST experience is make up shopping at Saks Fifth Avenue and Barney’s. I was served by two of the most overly dramatic camp guys I’ve ever met in my life (and I live in Liverpool, the city home to Pink & Garlands) and they had me wanting to buy the whole make up counter, which I very nearly did. “Oh hunny that colour looks FABULOUS on you!! I am sooo jealous! This colour was made for you!” Eyar here’s me credit card, just take it, it’s yours!
Scouse Bird 4 make up 4 eva IDST xx
Thursday, 14 February 2013
REPOST - 50 First Dates
Well not 50 first dates, but seeing as it's Valentines day I thought I'd get into the festive spirit and share with you some of the first dates I've experienced. None of these led to second dates. So whether you're single or in a relationship - either way just be glad you're not me.
1. The Vampire Soldier.
I met this fella back when I used to work in a face to face customer service job (something which I thank my lucky stars every day that I no longer do), we got on well, we had a bit of banter and a bit of the old eye sex and that was that. He was a soldier and he went back to Afghanistan or wherever. Anyway about a year later he came back in and we swapped numbers. He told me how he'd always remembered me but he'd just started seeing someone when he'd been back on leave early on in the year. I took that as my cue to stop texting him and thought nothing more of it. A few weeks later while I was on holiday I got a text saying he's split up with this bird and did I want to go out. "Sure." I thought. Unfortunately it was all downhill from there.
First of all I got to the bar, he was nowhere to be seen so I got the bevvies in. I'm sound like that. He turns up twenty minutes later with no apology and said he'd been drinking beers and lost track of time. Really?? He then told me how upset he was because he'd just been dumped that day. Wait a minute.....What??! I was young back then and inexperienced in the world of dating so I gave him the benefit of the doubt and just went with it. After a couple of drinks we went over to the Living Room on Victoria Street (for you out of towners) and it was my round. Yeh I'd worked out he wasn't a gent by this point. So i'm queing up at the bar in my backless dress and I feel him behind me. Next thing I know he bites me. Now I'm not talking a playful nibble I'm talking like a rabid dog. It hurt. I spun round as if Satan himself had just rammed a hot poker up me arse, "Did you just BITE me?" His answer to this was to bend down and bite me again, harder, on the bottom of my back. IN THE MIDDLE OF THE LIVING ROOM!! I was mortified! Game over pal. Taxi! He followed me outside and delivered the final punchline, "So we goin back to yours or mine?" Yeah. Really.
2. Benjamin Button
Now Im happy being single at the moment, but there have been times I haven't been so happy and I'm ashamed to say I've ventured into the world of online dating. For the record, every single one of those dates has made this blog. Dating sites are as infested with psychos as Frankie Cocozzas undies are infested with crabs. Don't do it, unless ur a weirdo yourself, in which case, knock yourself out! This is one of those dates.
I'd been talking to Jack for about a week or so. He was funny, I was funny....but he was from Widnes. I should have known it'd be disastrous. I had to meet him off the train at Lime Street (urgh) and we went to a nearby bar. He got through half of his first pint and went the toilet. We chatted a little more. He finished his first pint and went the toilet. More chatting. Some extremely crude jokes on his part, enough to offend even me and I consider myself pretty unshockable. He got through half his second pint and went the toilet. He finished his second pint and went the toilet. I was gettin a bit pissed off by this point. I mean I myself know what it's like when you've broken the golden seal but this fella was takin the piss, no pun intended. He had to empty his bladder at exactly every half pint point. Plus I couldn't get over the fact that he was 22 and had a combover to cover the fact he was going bald. He was prematurely bald AND incontinent. Either that or he had a seeeerrrrious beak problem. Or he was texting another girl. None of this was attracting me. I decided to wrap up the date and made my excuses to go, that when he bowled me over with "So are we going back to yours yeh?" Er no love. No.
3. The Posh Twat
After the disastrous date with Jack, a few weeks later I found myself agreeing to a date with Ben. Ahhh Ben. Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben. Where do I start with Ben?
We'd again been chatting online for about a week and decided to go to the comedy club on the albert dock for something a bit different. Now Ben was from London and had moved up here a few months previously for work. I trotted off to Circo in a killer dress and heels expecting to be meeting up with some sexy cockney talking geezer. I nearly died. He was wearing Deirdre Barlow specs, a bow tie and a pullover. I shit you not. He reached out and shook my hand "Hi I'm Ben." Yup he talked like an 80's yuppy. On more than one occasion he actually said, without a hint of irony, "Yar" instead of yes. Chatting with him, not only was he a Conservative voting city worker, he was also a member of the Countryside Alliance. i.e. pro fox hunting and all that jazz. Sometimes do you ever just stop and think "How did my life so far lead up to this point?" The date with Ben was one of them moments - and it was about to get worse. We went the comedy club, the scouse comedians and vodka helped to take my mind off the fact I was sitting next to a walking, talking shame-bomb for half an hour, but the interval soon came round and I was forced to start chatting again. I hate ironing and I used to get my ironing done by some woman round by ours who'd come and pick it up and drop it all off again a couple of days later for £20. This was pre-recession days and before I'd learnt how to shake something before hanging it up to dry. This somehow came up in conversation and Ben said, "Oh well you wouldn't make a very good housewife would you?", I looked at him, he didn't seem to be joking. He pressed on, "So how many children do you want to have?" Jesus this man meant business! "None" I replied, "I hate kids." He looked annoyed, "Right we should leave this conversation for another time because I want lots of kids." WHAT??? I had a feeling Ben was only dating me for my womb. I ended the date as it began, with a shaking of hands. When Ben text me the next day inviting me out for dinner I politely declined with a 'I think we want different things'. Very, very different things.
4. The Sweet Gobbler
Another internet date. Like an on-off relationship, you keep going back hoping that you can work it out, that things will be different this time. NO.
This guy had a grin that made Julia Roberts smile look like a cats arsehole. It was fucking huge. Freakishly so. He looked like the Joker every time he smiled and it FREAKED.ME.OUT. He very shadily wouldn't tell me what he did for a living. Now you should never refuse to tell me something because it absolutely drives me mad. I need to know things. I have a natural curiosity. This guy was making out like he was some sort of mafia boss. I eventually got it out of him that he owned a cafe and had purchased the fridges for it illegally. Oh wow. Big deal. Do I look like an undercover policewoman? Give a shit. He then told me how some smackhead used to come in every day and buy her sprog a Twix for breakfast. One morning...for a laugh apparently...he locked the kid in one of the glass front fridges for an hour and laughed at it. I hope it wasn't on at the time, I really do. He then went the bar in the Ship & Mitre and came back with a ridiculous amount of jelly sweets which they sell above the bar. He then stuffed every last one in his mouth - without explanation. I went the bogs and did a runner. Fuck that.
5. Jimmy Carr
I obviously didn't really date Jimmy Carr. Last August I split up with my ex just before the Mathew Street Festival. I was made up if I'm honest. He was a whole world of hassle. But that's a tale for another time.
So of course me and @Susielovesvodka went the festival and had Bubba Kegs (like giant flask cups) the size of our heads filled with vodka and cranberry juice and a decent few cans of cider. We were trawling the streets hammered and causing a general nuisance of ourselves.
We got talking to a fella who was cracking the funnies left right and centre. He had a certain look of Jimmy Carr about him sure, but in my vodka buzz I could deal with that. Funny men really do it for me, well more than fitties, I quite liked him. Next thing this fat mess bounced over screeching, "JIMMMMMYYYYY, U SWORE UD NEVER CHEAT ON ME JIMMY!" and proceeded to eat his head. Or maybe she was trying to neck him. I don't know. We realised that this was the same classy bird than not five minutes earlier we'd actually seen taking a shit down the side of cavern walks. Yes, a shit. And now she was dragging her tits along the floor and cock blocking me. Time to make a swift exit.
The next day me and @susielovesvodka decided to sign up for internet dating, yano cos we never learn. The next morning rather freakishly I woke up to a message off him. I messaged him back saying, "Did I see you at the Mathew St festival?!" This was fate. This was destiny. We HAD to go on a date. Well destiny can fuck raaaaar off!
He turned up, he looked more like Jimmy Carr than Jimmy Carr does. Damn you vodka haze. His sense of humour was weird. He proceeded to tell the barman we were here on our first wedding anniversary as I stood there, awkwardly cringing and having some real 'fight or flight' instincts. But I decided to stick with it and he ordered me a small wine. It was awful. Just awful. The date not the wine. My cheeks ached from politely fake smiling. I checked my exits, there was no way out without being seen leggin it. I went the bar for my round, because despite spending the last half an hour telling me how rich he was and me being quite clearly out of his league he let me get the round in.
As I ordered the wine the barman asked me, "Small or large?"
"Better make it a large mate."
"So it's not your first wedding anniversary then?"
"Is it shite. It's the date from hell."
I got a bit more pissed and he got a bit more bearable but it was certainly not enough to get a second date. I couldn't watch 8 out of 10 cats for weeks without wretching.
So there ya go guys. If you're single, thank your lucky stars and just have a ball! And if you're in a relationship be happy you've found someone who's either as normal or as weird as you are! Happy Valentines day.
Inabit
@boobleyboo
xxx
Sunday, 10 February 2013
Marilyn Monroe was NOT a size 16
~I’m all for people having a healthy body image, but there’s one phrase that gets wheeled out at every available opportunity and certified as fact (by people who quite possibly want to make themselves feel better and/or are ill informed) that Marilyn Monroe was a size 16. Let’s face it, she wasn’t. She has curves, I’ll give you that but can somebody please watch ‘Gentlemen Prefer Blondes’ or ‘Diamonds Are a Girls Best Friend’ and tell me she’s anything but absolutely tiny? I mean she makes Jane Russell look big and you’re not telling me she was a size 20. Come off it.
I’ve seen several experts from the fashion industry say that at some point she may have been a size 16 but that’s much more like a modern day 10-12 and actually for the most ~part she was no more than a size 8. Don’t be holding the woman up as a shining beacon for a healthy bigger body image while you’re stuffing your face with crisps and chocolate and spilling out your Primark leggings. That’s NOT a healthy body at all. You’d have to be about 6’5” or something for a size 16 to be medically healthy – I used to be there and trust me it was not healthy. I’m not suggesting it’s wrong to be a size 16, if you’re there and you’re GENUINELY happy about it, then g’wed girl but that Marilyn would’ve shopped in Evans or Simply Be if she was about today is quite simply…bullshit.
Now don’t think I’m preaching to you from a pair of size 6 skinny jeans, I’m not! I’m pretty tall and normally range between a size 12 to 14 depending on how well I’m doing on the salad graft (and it IS a graft) – I don’t consider myself to be fat. Even when I was 2.5 stone lighter than I am now I was still a size 12, that’s just my frame. It’s taken me many years to accept that, but accept it I have. Don’t get me wrong there are some days when I feel bloated and think I look aesthetically inferior to a sack of spuds but every girl gets that bloated feeling. Norassed, it passes. What I strive to be is in the healthy weight range. I eat right with the occasional fall off the wagon, I used to exercise a lot but I’ve moved house away from the gym (badly need to get back there or join a new one) and it IS a struggle to maintain that balance when there’s scones and kettle crisps and lazy days on the couch calling my name – but I don’t want to get to my mid 40’s and be faced with a plethora of health issues just cos Domino’s keep texting me with their special offers (the bastards). So I graft to be healthy - Every. Single. Day
It seems to be more acceptable now to pick on images of the really skinny and say it’s unattractive but shock horror if someone says it about an overweight person. That's also not attractive because it’s just not how we were designed to look.
~
Size is all relative to height. If I was shorter and kept the same proportions I probably would be a size 8-10…..if someone is a size 16 and really short they ain’t gonna be looking anything like Marilyn Monroe so don’t use that as an excuse to fall down the cakey rabbit hole girlies. If you're not happy with your body then why not make it your goal to get healthy not to starve yourselves to get skeletal or give up and eat yourself into type 2 diabetes. Marilyn Monroe was gorgeous and a stunner, a 50’s version of Beyonce or Kelly Brook – she IS what we should aspire to be - womanly. I saw a twitter user say regarding skinny girls: “Only a dog wants a bone.” And I love that. I’m not saying that everyone MUST get fit and healthy, nor that it’s easy (it’s definitely not) just don’t be using ‘MM was a size 16’ as an excuse to trick yourself into feeling sexy when you’re actually miserable/unhealthy. 
~I think there is a definite, if sometimes imperceptible switch towards a better body image in recent years. We don’t want the unhealthy skinny, nor the unhealthy fat, we want the nice curvy, ‘something to grab’ in between body, and since the Olympics especially, the fit, athletic body. Well pretty much all of us that is, apart from Katie Price – My first thought was ‘You cheeeekkkkkyy bitch!” when she had the nerve to call Kelly Brook a heifer this week. Yes love you may have the hips of an 8 year old child but you’ve got a face like a smacked arse and Kelly is still considered to be one of the most beautiful women in the world. Get back in the kennel Jordan. Soz aba you.
Happy salad grafting girls xx
Friday, 11 January 2013
The Fresh Prin of Liv-Er
Now this is a story all about how
My life got flipped turned upside down
An I'd like to take a minute just sit right there
Ill tell you how I became the Prin of a pool called Liv-er
Innnnn West Walton central I lived an lazed
At the sunbeds is where I spent most of me days
Just chillin out, tannin, an scrannin all food an
Shoutin at wools from outside of the pool
Then a couple of times me brows were up to no good
Wonky eyed nobhead of the neighbourhood
I did one little tweet an tagged 3 lil words
It's the start of scouse bird probs an the start of scouse bird
I pulled up all the probs since age 7 or 8
An i lashed them all on twitter "soz ba use, see ya later"
Now I fall out of Kingdom
But have fabulous hair
An I sit on the throne
As the Prin of Liv-er
My life got flipped turned upside down
An I'd like to take a minute just sit right there
Ill tell you how I became the Prin of a pool called Liv-er
Innnnn West Walton central I lived an lazed
At the sunbeds is where I spent most of me days
Just chillin out, tannin, an scrannin all food an
Shoutin at wools from outside of the pool
Then a couple of times me brows were up to no good
Wonky eyed nobhead of the neighbourhood
I did one little tweet an tagged 3 lil words
It's the start of scouse bird probs an the start of scouse bird
I pulled up all the probs since age 7 or 8
An i lashed them all on twitter "soz ba use, see ya later"
Now I fall out of Kingdom
But have fabulous hair
An I sit on the throne
As the Prin of Liv-er
Tuesday, 8 January 2013
The 0151 by Scouzalea Banks
Hey, I can be the scouse bird
I'm ready to dance get ur tan on
And when I pout that lip get your camera
An if you see that bitch in the same dress
Get ready to swill with mojito
That bitch she wants to compete tho
I can freak out pump that fist with the peeps and
You know what your bitch become when her weave in
I just wanna sip that goose with your peeps an
Sit in that booth if you're treatin'
Kick off with a bitch an go get a pizza
You know ill get a kebab and four season
Now he wanna piece of my scran in the evenin'
An get his tongue on me deep pan
I guess that cunt gettin' beaten
I guess that cunt gettin' beaten
I guess that cunt gettin' eaten
I guess that cunt gettin' eaten
I guess that cunt gettin'...
I was in 0-151
Livin town up yeh
On the pull
Yano it's on now dont you?
Shit make-up on you
I'm a rude bitch divvy
You lookin made up for?
Need to eat your food up girl
Think ur boss in ur 8
I'm a cool 1 - 2
Fuck you gone do?
Al av 2 large Big Mac
I'm a look a right pig
But do i give a fuck?
Fuck em like you don't do this hun
Its sly to get discovered shaggin all them lads
Cock-a-suckin' in a delta by the big Costco
Catch the clap soon
In the mornin who u son?
Minger you've overstay you
Plus your bitch might kick off
Wonder who let you come to Walton?
Ring that delta crew son
The fuck, you doin, hun?
Girl put in your big bun bun
Hungover an hot
If you do want to go to nandos
Tell your girls don't blag
There's no goss bigger
You know youre a big show
Bitch I'm 'bout to throw up too
New me from today
Got the new stens too
From Rapunzels
Where are you bitch for lunch?
I'm a proper bad cunt
I'm a proper bad cunt
I'm a proper bad cunt
I'm a proper bad cunt
A-yo, A-yo,
I heard you struttin' with the same tall, tall heels tall heels
Til you see cobbles cobbles
Tryna' be runnin' but you ain't goin' no where no where
Why you always late girl? Late girl
You lookin hot but you just waste all your time
You'll forget their name soon
And ain't nobody be to blame but yourself, yeah
Why you do this when Vodka appear?
W-when shots premier?
Bitch the end of your life feels near
It's shit this time, time
When you gone get ur life in gear?
Why not this new year?
Bitch the start of your life is near
It's fuckin time time
I'm ready to dance get ur tan on
And when I pout that lip get your camera
An if you see that bitch in the same dress
Get ready to swill with mojito
That bitch she wants to compete tho
I can freak out pump that fist with the peeps and
You know what your bitch become when her weave in
I just wanna sip that goose with your peeps an
Sit in that booth if you're treatin'
Kick off with a bitch an go get a pizza
You know ill get a kebab and four season
Now he wanna piece of my scran in the evenin'
An get his tongue on me deep pan
I guess that cunt gettin' beaten
I guess that cunt gettin' beaten
I guess that cunt gettin' eaten
I guess that cunt gettin' eaten
I guess that cunt gettin'...
I was in 0-151
Livin town up yeh
On the pull
Yano it's on now dont you?
Shit make-up on you
I'm a rude bitch divvy
You lookin made up for?
Need to eat your food up girl
Think ur boss in ur 8
I'm a cool 1 - 2
Fuck you gone do?
Al av 2 large Big Mac
I'm a look a right pig
But do i give a fuck?
Fuck em like you don't do this hun
Its sly to get discovered shaggin all them lads
Cock-a-suckin' in a delta by the big Costco
Catch the clap soon
In the mornin who u son?
Minger you've overstay you
Plus your bitch might kick off
Wonder who let you come to Walton?
Ring that delta crew son
The fuck, you doin, hun?
Girl put in your big bun bun
Hungover an hot
If you do want to go to nandos
Tell your girls don't blag
There's no goss bigger
You know youre a big show
Bitch I'm 'bout to throw up too
New me from today
Got the new stens too
From Rapunzels
Where are you bitch for lunch?
I'm a proper bad cunt
I'm a proper bad cunt
I'm a proper bad cunt
I'm a proper bad cunt
A-yo, A-yo,
I heard you struttin' with the same tall, tall heels tall heels
Til you see cobbles cobbles
Tryna' be runnin' but you ain't goin' no where no where
Why you always late girl? Late girl
You lookin hot but you just waste all your time
You'll forget their name soon
And ain't nobody be to blame but yourself, yeah
Why you do this when Vodka appear?
W-when shots premier?
Bitch the end of your life feels near
It's shit this time, time
When you gone get ur life in gear?
Why not this new year?
Bitch the start of your life is near
It's fuckin time time
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About Me
- @scousebirdprobs
- Liverpool
- Scouse bird with a vodka dependency and an acute sense of social observation. Always self deprecating, always blunt. Follow me on twitter WARNING: Non-scousers may not understand language of this blog.
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