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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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Sunday, 27 May 2012

My Quarter Life Crisis

Right this is something which is very personal to me, but I think the fact that I can poke fun at my own bad experiences is a testament to how far I've come. This is the story of how my life went from shit to hit in less than a year - and if anyones ever feeling low I hope it'll give you a bit of an example as to how things WILL get better cos right now I'm as happy as a scouse bird when Glenns is on special offer in the bargain booze.

It all started when I got with my ex. I was out partying all the time and I was in a very man hating place so he got me at a vulnerable time. My last two boyfriends had dumped me and fucked off to Greece. I'm not entirely sure what it is exactly about me that screams Greece is the opposite of me so if you don't want me, you must want Greece! But yano, shit like that  can't a be a co-incidence. The first ex used to like a bit of performance cross dressing and the second definitely had certain effeminate traits. I was starting to think my type might be 'closet jobs'. Maybe I should just resign myself to being a fag hag? Maybe I look like a bad manhead? As every girl does I naturally assumed it was all my fault.

Then I met my ex, it took us a while to get together about  4 months of the odd date here and there, both dating other people etc, both torturing the livin daylights out of each other. It was textbook toxic. I should've known then it wasn't gonna pan out - I'd filled my head with mantras such as the path to true love never did run smooth. That's bullshit, it does! It does run smooth! If it's not running smooth fuckin run!

Anyway it turned into an abusive relationship - obviously, why wouldn't it? Now I'm not sayin he knocked seven bells out of me or anythin but he did bite and "play punch" me - to the point where I had to plead with him to pack it in a few weeks before we were goin on holiday. I'd spent a load of time on the salad graft (Skinny for Dominny) so I didn't want the whole look to be ruined by legs full of bruises and arms full of beefys. The thing with....what shall I call him? Knobhead, yeh lets go with that classic. The thing with Knobhead was it was more about the mental abuse. He'd come out with corkers on the reggers such as "You're the fattest girl I've ever dated." Now I'm not bein funny but I'm 5'10" and at the time was a 14, not exactly massive and Knobhead had fuckin moobs like jabba the cheeky cunt. 

He had a best girl mate who was like a poison dwarf. Now I'm not against girl mates, I'm not jealous like that, I myself have lad mates - but I'd never recommend goin out with a lad with a 'best' girl mate. Particularly one who is deffo a bad virgin and looks like chucky when she's havin a good day. Let me tell you, she will think your boyfriend is also her boyfriend and that never sat right with me. She would only see him if they could go the pictures together or out to dinner together but he was always too skint to go out for dinner with me OR I wouldn't be allowed to go see a particular film with him cos she wanted to see it. WTF thats all about?? Now I'll reiterate I'm not a jealous person but that sitch will turn the most secure woman into a crank I promise.

There were many other things wrong with him too - anything from bad debts, a weird sibling relationship, a secret lovechild (yeh if anyone works out who im talkin about ask him about THAT one!) and oh yeh...he used to bum men. Yeh this one wasn't even a closet job! He was a full on homo! But he was a manipulative little shit and he somehow managed to convince me that I couldn't do any better and that I was actually clinically crazy. Everyone else loved him as well, to everyone he was a funny charming lad only I ever got to see the other side of him. Lucky me.

I'd been signed off from work with stress, a job I had been quite successful and happy in for 5 years and all of a sudden he comes along - you can see why I was stressed right? The kind little soul that he was used to reasearch conditions on the internet such as borderline personality disorder and tell me he thinks I might have it. The only personality disorder I had was thinkin I should be in a relationship with that tit.

Anyway around that time I turned 26 and I started doing weird things like seeing a 22 year old friend of mine change her relationship status on Facebook to engaged and rather than being happy for her I'd burst into tears cos I was left on the shelf and I was already startin to get wrinkles. I was clearly destined to die alone amidst my 20 cats stinking of piss and St Moriz. I genuinely panicked and I think I would've married him if it came down to it cos I had it in my head that I needed to settle down RAAARRR NOW! I blame Bridget Jones for this, that film planted a seed in my head that I absolutely MUST get married before I'm 30 or I have failed at life. Well fuck you Renee Zellweger I am sound. Imag if I'd ended up with him??? My life would have been worse than a wools. And that's pretty bad.

I think these days 26 is the new 30. Me ma said she nearly slit her wrists when she turned 30 but to me turnin 26 knowin I was suddenly on the wrong side of 25 made me proper devoed like. I'd be out in town thinking "I'm 26, I'm too old for this shit!" but I took myself to one side, gave my head a wobble and had a word with myself - cut to a few months later and I'm bladdered fist pumpin round the Revo thinking "Wooo yeeaahh 26!"

Anyway we thought it'd be a good idea to go on holiday to Dominican (what an absolute  shithole that is, don't bother) and after a couple of weeks of arguing (normal behaviour) things came to a head one night when he started winding me up about some girl he'd been talkin to at the bar. And also calling ME a slag and a whore. He was so sweet like that. Anyway I was sat at the table in tears as usual and excused myself to go the toilet. The toilet right near the exit. Yeh I legged it out the door and left Knobhead sitting there waiting for a girlfriend who wasn't comin back. I walked past the window and laughed smugly as I saw the little shit sitting there. I found a secluded corner of the hotel to sit in and got pissed on all inclusive cocktails on my own cos alone was better than puttin up with that. He tracked me down later full of apologies sayin that he only called me those things because he was scared I would cheat on him. Ah yes he liked to read straight from the insecure abusive twat textbook. The damage was done, we split up. On holiday. 6000 miles from home. Oh my god, yano those awkward moment shouts? The next 3 days were one long awkward moment. It was hellish.

We reconciled briefly towards the end of the holiday but split up again as soon as we got home. He decided that going out and swapping facebook details and phone numbers with girls he'd "been talkin to" on nights out was perfectly acceptable behaviour. The next couple of weeks were filled with torturous head games til eventually I had to get out of there and ended up comin back from the gym one day and fucked off to Paris for 3 days on me bill. Not the most obvious choice to visit the city of love when you're trying to mend a broken heart but you haven't banked on the French men there! My god, they are the embodiment of an ego boost. Where else would a scouse bird actually get an ambulance pull over so the paramedics can tell her how beautiful she is. Nice one frogs!

I was sound after that, once I managed to cut ties with him in my heart the change in me was noticeable and instant. I slept properly for the first time in a year and woke up happy. I went back to work and most importantly I joined twitter.....and you all know me from there. If not as @ScouseBirdProbs then as @Boobleyboo. Let me tell you, twitter is a ball and without sounding too cheesy, it, and the the people I've met through it have actually changed my life.

Not long after I went back to work I applied for a new job. After I'd been for the interview I found out my ex had also applied for the same job. I got it. Smack in the face number one.
Cos I got that job he was sent over to the Wirral to take my place there which was loads more travel for him. Smack in the face number two.

He's been suspended 3 times and now I've recently found out been sacked and had to move out of his city centre apt an back in with his mum. Smack in the face number 3.

I was sat in the hairdressers yesterday and overheard that I was actually sat next to the fella who had got the other job my ex wanted. OUCH.

Now I'd never wish any of these things on him but I do believe in Karma and I think everyone gets what they deserve ultimately. (Possibly one of the worst things he did was to bin all my Chanel and Dior makeup over £300 worth that I'd left at his rather than passing it to a mutual friend - that in itself deserves a swift knee to the bollocks courtesy of Karma. As if you bin Chanel!!) My life at the moment couldn't be better, I have a job that I love, I have a man that I'm pretty sure is the last man I'll ever be with (and deffo isn't gay!!) and I'm havin a whale of a time on twitter and with all the doors its opening up for me. So I think that speaks volumes.

Hope everyone's havin a boss weekend an gettin frazzled in the sun. Saves on St Moriz like. Next weekend sees me gettin my hair done in the celeb salon Herberts of Liverpool @herbertoflpool (follow them), attending a VIP wedding and going out to Ruby Sky to meet the cast of Geordie Shore an show them that compared to Liverpool girls they are both fannies when it comes to drinkin an a holy show when it comes to lookin boss.


@booblyboo AKA @scousebirdprobs

Saturday, 19 May 2012


Every scouse bird knows it's not all about the fake tan and the eyelashes, to look good you've got to permenantly be on the salad graft and ideally get your arse off the couch from watching re-runs of Desperate Scousewives crying and thinking "It could've been me" and do a bit of exercise. The way I like to squeeze this in is by goin to Zumba.

I started going to Zumba about a year ago cos I'd just turned 26 and was having a quarter life crisis (1. Yeh that's a real thing and 2. That's a blog for another time), I'd heard it was the new in thing, and me being on the cutting edge of cool obviously, I thought I'd give it a go.

I don't know if anyone of you are a Friends fan but my first attempts at Zumba class were very much like Phoebe jogging. I was all over the show. I've never bothered learning to drive because although when I think about it I can tell left from right if you put me in a split second pressured decision I'll invariably say the wrong one. The amount of times I've been pissed and told the taxi driver I live in the last house on the left (I blame the film) when I really mean the right just doesn't bear or bare (never know the right one to use for that) thinking about. I like to call it directional dyslexia...I don't know if that's a real thing or not - It is now cos I say so. Anyway bit by bit I started pickin the moves up and every time I mastered a new step I felt like the dogs danglies and a career as a backing dancer for Marcus Collins was a dead cert. It wasn't, I still looked like a bad ming flailing all over the show. I still love it though - Zumba is an outlet for the inner 12 year old in me who used to make up dance routines in her bedroom to PJ & Duncan.

Now however, a year on and a dress size an a bit smaller without dieting and rocking me very own set of lady guns I've migrated to the front of the class and have my own spot an everything. God help anyone who tries to stand in my spot in class cos I will intimidate and snarl you the fuck out of it cos unless I'm hungover or daydreaming or worrying where hot gym instructor's lurking (see here for those who don't know THAT saga http://handbagvodka.blogspot.co.uk/2012/02/mr-hot-gym-instructor.html) I'm now boss at Zumba. Unfortunately not everyone is as gifted as I. Not that I'm conceited or anything.

I'm convinced everyone has that one person that they could quite happily murder in cold blood and they wouldn't even be arsed. Mine is Fluffy Head who stands right in front of me - so called cos she has a fluffy semi balding lesbo haircut. I fucking hate her. I have secret fantasties that she'll drop down dead of a heart attack and yano what I'd blag I was on pay as you go and didn't have any credit so that no one would expect me to ring an ambulance. Why do I hate her so much?? Well let me tell you, she's been doin Zumba longer than I have and has NO rhythym. No rhythym AT ALL. None. I'm telling ya she's deffo shit in bed.
 I'd have put money on her being a 64 year old virgin if she didn't sometimes bring her greasy haired, fila trainee wearing daughter. Fuckin hell, SHE's got even less rhythym than Fluffy Head and she wears pants that fall down so I'm affronted with her crack of doom raar in me grid while I'm trying to Samba. Because Fluffy Head insists on standing right in front of me, I have to memorise the moves so I can just go into autopilot and don't have to look at the teacher and therefore have Fluffy Head in my eyeline putting me off. I mean take some responsibility woman, if despite doing the same dance in excess of 100 times I didn't know when I was supposed to move the fuck forward I wouldn't stand in the front row of class and have 100 people behind me tripping over themselves in a chain reaction started by me. Get some co-ordination and get out of my sight. As if bringing her meffy daughter wasn't enough sometimes she brings a mate (also with zero rhythym - where is she getting these people from??), her mate offends my eyes. Her mate has no eyebrows. She's like shaved them off or something or plucked them to within an inch of their life and all I can think about doing is tripping her up, pinning her down and going to work on her with a scousebrow pencil. Drives me nuts the weirdo.

A fairly new addition to my Zumba class is Princess. I call her this cos she deffo thinks she is one. I imagine everything in her house to be perfectly neat, tidy, pink and frilly. I imagine that when she laughs she does a little squeak at the end. I imagine that she constantly flicks her ponytail. She deffo got bullied in school - I know this cos I badly want to bully her. She's tried to stand in my spot on a number of occasions - listen bitch, you can't just walk in here an go straight to the front of class, pay ur dues at the back and when Fluffy Head dies you can come and torment me in her spot. Dems the rules. One time Princess had the cheek to come and stand in @susielovesvodka's spot halfway through a class while she went to get a drink of water, just plonked her Zumba weights there. When Susie came back and moved them, Princess whined, actually WHINED "That's MMMMYYYYY SPOT!". Thought she was gonna burst out cryin the silly tart, get to the back I'm norassed. Go flick your hair and giggle squeak somewhere else.

The rest of the class are sound like, some people are good, some people will never get the moves but they have the good sense to stay out of my way. I'm sure every Zumba class has their pricks but don't let that put you off. In all seriousness I've never been into exercise but although I leave everytime drenched and I mean DRENCHED in sweat it never feels like a boring gym workout, it's fun. I've even been able to keep up with the Samba dancers on stage in Alma De Cuba - so it gets you fit, you have fun and it deffo makes you a better dancer. The only problem is if you hear a Zumba song when you're out in town you deffo won't be able to resist breaking out into a routine. Your choice.


@boobleyboo AKA @scousebirdprobs

Sunday, 13 May 2012

Preggo at Prego

I've got to hold my hands up this week I've been a bad bad housemate. I got to work the other morning and got a text off @susielovesvodka askin if I'd seen her keys. I said I hadn't, had a quick look in my handbag and couldn't see them (amidst the vodka obv) and that's it just went to work and minded my own business. Meanwhile unbeknownst to me she was running round the house like a smackhead who's mislaid their stash searching high and low for her keys. Not only were her car keys & house keys together but I'd also locked the door when I left that morning so she was imprisoned....and late for work. I checked my phone half an hour later and I had like a million missed called and desperate texts so I had to send my arl fella round to free her and then her ma had to drop off the spare car keys. FREE THE VODKA LOVING ONE. I got an e-mail from her saying she'd turned up 3 hours late for work, been done for speeding on the way, nearly got into a crash and then when she got to work she got sent home anyway cos they were all on strike. I think an 'FML' was in order. She was havin a mare, I couldn't help it I burst out laughing. How could so much shit happen to one person in one day? Of course on the way way home I found her keys nestled in my gym trainee winking at me. I'll be honest I was scared to go home, she seemed a bit angry like!

She phoned me at work the next day in a flap cos she'd found a slug had made its way under the back door and was havin a whale of a time whizzin round the kitchen. I advised her to cover it in salt and leave its dehydrated carcus there as a warning to all the other slugs that dare invade my gaff. FTM.

I decided a little housemate bonding time was in order so with Saturday bringing a bit of sunshine we decided to bust out the 1.5l bubbe kegs and go shopping on Jacques. Shopping when pissed is hard as we soon found out and as our fashion choices were becoming more and more "out there" we decided to fuck it off and go and sit in the sun in Chavasse park pointing at people in kitten heels and laughing. I clocked one particular monstrosity in lace purple tights and brown snakeskin kittens and sent Susie chasing after her to get a picture, something like that just couldn't get away without being named and shamed I'm sorry. Unfortunately after legging it from Tavern on the green all the way down to Prego she discovered the light was behind her so the picture didn't capture the horror that the eyes witnessed. Shitty ipone camera, why can't you be like me peepers??

Anyway after runnging into Paul O keefe the enigmatically handsome lead singer of @the 53s, I discovered, thanks to my mate Ciaran the barman, that the cakes on the bar of Tavern on the Green are in fact free. Well I was in my element! Free cake. FREE FUCKING CAKE!! How often does that happen?? So we sat eating muffins in the sun and I popped one in my shopping bag to take to Kirkby for @maverick85p. I was pissed so this seemed like a boss idea at the time. I fell asleep on the bus twice. Some fella woke me up near Walton sayin I was gonna miss my stop, which freakishly enough would have actually been my stop had I been gettin off in Liverpool but I was crossing the border into Kirkby and I was takin the bus to the end of the line. I mumbled something Father Jack-like to him and fell back akip. I turned up at Paddy's house still bladdered and had to try and talk to his ma like I was sober. I did that proper bang on overcompensating thing that pissed people do, she was deffo onto me. I opened my bag ready to present the cupcake and show what a boss thoughtful girlfriend I am only to find it had completely crumbled all over my bag and all my new clothes were covered in cake. Best idea I ever had like.

So now I'm sat here after goin for a meal to that Prego in liverpool one and I fuckin look preggo let me tell ya, I'm stuffed! I know San Carlo is usually the Italian of choice in Liverpool but be assed goin an sittin there while I'm chowing down a pizza and having to watch a load of skinny posers push a salad round a plate. Nah. 

I'd been to the Prego in Aintree before and the family of some Italian lad I went to school with owns the gaff so I know its genuine Italian scran. Can't go anywhere too mad cos Paddy is a typical lad and unless it comes with chips he's just not interested, you can't go wrong with Italian though. Eating our starter he whispers " Ay babe, how dya start with the cutlery? Is it inside out or outside in?" How adorable is he? I just told him I generally go for the implement that will get the food in my mouth fastest. Cos I ooze class.

 I ordered some cheesy tortellini gear and the waiter told me he can never finish it. "Yeah right" I thought, "You're a bad fanny, I can deffo polish that off." Tellin ya now, if I didn't go the gym so much I'd be the size of a house cos I am serious about scranning like but that meal had me off. I'm dying. Even Paddy the bottomless pit couldn't finish his pizza and chips. 

"Arr I can't eat another thing babe." He goes.

"So we're not having desert then?"

"Oh no, I can fit a cake in"

Love that man! 

We downed our sexy Chocolate Nut martinis and headed off home to lie on the bed and rub each other bellies. Sexy. It'll be a proper nice place to go on a summer night like overlooking Chavasse Park, I deffo recommend it. @PregoLiverpool1

Right I'm off to go sleep this food off. Inabit scousers.

Luv @boobleyboo AKA @scousebirdprobs

Tuesday, 8 May 2012

Get this scouser off my motherfuckin train!

Lying in bed with @maverick85p last weekend I had the devestating bombshell dropped that @LazzyMash (the artist formerly known as @OMGitsLambo) was fuckin off to Spain for 5 months so go and soak up some sun and STD's. The little tit. No sooner had he entered my life as he was fuckin off and leaving me, he's like the fit little brother I never had. Even though I have a little brother I can't really comment on his fitness cos that would just be weird. And illegal.

I knew I wouldn't forgive myself if I didn't see his cheeky little face one last time so a few 'quiet' drinks one night was deffo on the cards. Quiet. Yeah alright. So I bloranged up on Tuesday night, lashed me rollers in after Zumba on Wednesday and I was all set to go.

Being the classy high maintenance WAG that I am we decided to meet in the Ship & Mitre for a few Cherry Bombs (a drink of my own invention involving cherry beer and handbagvodka) where a lad @susielovesvodka had been texting also decided to meet us. Well worra bellend he was. I instantly hated him anyway cos he's messed her about a bit and that's strike number 1. Strike 2 was he was 30 odd and terminally unemployed. Strike 3 was that he'd turned up only because SHE offered to buy HIM a drink and he actually asked her for it and finally strike 4 was he was 30 ODD and turned up in cropped skater jeans and hi tops. Fuck off mate. Seriously grow the fuck up. His mate was so scouse it seemed like it hurt to talk like "Arrrr meeeet gerron me traackeeee there meeeeet" while squinting with a pained expression.

I got rid of Hi Top Wanker in the most obviosuly arseholey way I could think of, " So what are you up to tonight then?"

"Oh yano just seein where the night takes me, where are you going?"

"Oh WE'RE gettin off in a minute, hope you have a good night like."

"I get the impression you don't want me to come."


See ya mate don't wanna be ya. Sometimes that girl needs to be cockblocked for her own 

We fucked off to Baa Bar on Hardman Street, downed a few cheeky Baa Bakewells - sometimes I love gettin a cough cos I have the medicine out of a shot glass an pretend it's a bakewell. Yessss! We put in a few requests, 'The Lonely Island - I'm on a boat' naturally and then I embarrassed LazzyMash & SusieLovesVodka by doing the stripper-esque Zumba routine to Loosen Up My Buttons. Cos that's how I roll. Norassed.

After stumbling down to Mojo for a swift whiskey and lemo I had to get off cos I had a business trip in the manana. cos I'm proper dead important like. So I left Susie out with LazzyMash and heard the next morning she'd been crying in the taxi on the way home cos he was leaving. She's met him....twice. Gotta love that girl after a vodka like.

I got up the next morning and braced myself for a trip outside of the fair city of Liverpool cos I just knew I'd be seeing some fuckin sights. I was not disappointed. The journey down there was pretty unremarkable, I was still fucked so I barely paid attention - I just got to the office in Middlesborough, did what I had to do then fucked off the hotel to order my weight in free room service and kip. I love free shit.

The train journey home the next morning went via York, Leeds and Manchester. It was like goin on Wool Safari.

I knew it was gonna be a fucker of a journey. I was sat with the girl from work in a table seat cos I needed the sly phone charger under the table seein as the iphone holds charge like a post menopausal woman holds her piss. At York the woman who reserved the seat next to me got on and stood over me with a shitty attitude "That's MMMYYYYY seat." Yeh alright love chill the fuck out you can have the seat I just want the charger. She then proceeded to take out a leather document wallet, a highlighter, an iphone AND a blackberry. She took some papers out of the wallet and started highlighting shit to try and look important. It just made her look like a tit - especially as she seemed to completely miss the point of a highlighter. Now correct me if I'm wrong but to me the point of a highlighter is to highlight important points? Yes? She seemed to think it was for colouring in, she was highlighting every fuckin sentence and it was winding me up to death. I had proper train rage. I felt like grabbing the highlighter and scribbling all over her grid and screaming, "WHY DON'T WE JUST AGREE THE WHOLE THING IS IMPORTANT LOVE???". I mean she highlighted bullet points.....not even the point the bullet was in itself highlighting, I mean the actual dot. Get a grip love, assess your life.

I tried looking away but on the other side of me was a disgusting student wearing toms and elasticated chinos. I didn't look up any further in case he was wearing a cleavage top. I wouldn't've been able to take it. 

Fortunately the student got off at the next stop (Highlighter bitch was in it for the long haul unfortunately) only to be replaced by some hippy middle class family. I mean the kids (aged roughly 7)  were dressed in what looked like fair trade clothing and straw trilbys and scranning on carrots and houmous. I mean when I was that age it was all about the E numbers - don't push me push a push pop an all that shit. I decided to 'get away from it all' and go the first class bogs for a break. 

It was one of these tilting trains and I felt like I'd downed my entire nights allocation of handbag vodka as I lurched down the aisle. I nearly landed in some scousers lads lap (identifiable by his head to toe grey trackie) which would have been better than that time I was on the way back from London and stood on some womans foot on the way to the bog an then actually sat in her lap on the way back. Soz aba me love. Clearly me and trains don't mix.

We changed at Manchester and I felt like the whole trip was worth it when we saw these two fitties. I don't know what I was more jealous of, the streaky St Moriz that hadn't been rinsed off, the afro hair extensions or the baby pink lippy that came free in Sugar magazine in 1998.

I'll leave you with that mentally scarring image.


@boobleyboo AKA @scousebirdprobs

 PS I did what any self respesting scouse bird would upon her return to Lime Street station. I'M BAAAAAAACCCKKKK!!