tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84063648922800445702024-03-05T04:47:28.822-08:00Handbag Vodka@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-38454150142301521992015-05-04T09:16:00.002-07:002015-05-04T09:16:21.105-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I HAVE MOVED AND THE NEW SITE IS WELL BETTER, HANG ON A SEC AND YOU'LL BE REDIRECTED XOXO</span></div>
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@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-24510791409025859762013-11-19T10:06:00.001-08:002013-11-19T10:17:27.470-08:00Be Spontaneous<p class="s4" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">I've been invited by lastminute.com to write a blog about being spontaneous.</span></p><p class="s4" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">I like to live my life by the Dr Pepper slogan; </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">what’s</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> the worst that could happen? I’m not even gonna get into the whole YOLO thing. I’m not talking about “OMG I just ate 6 packets of crisps….YOLO!” – that’s not living life to the full, that’</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">s living </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">life to obesity. You do only get one go around (at this point in time</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> anyway</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> if you believe in reincarnation) so it’s your duty to experience and learn as much as you possibly can from life. I’m 28 and I reckon I’ve got more life experience than most people twice my age because there’s not a lot I’ll say no to trying (any lad reading this has just automatically thought ‘yeh she’s into anal her’</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> -</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> dirty gets).</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">One day, a few years ago, I was coming out of a really bad relationship. I came home from the gym Sunday afternoon and thought “Fuck this shit, I’m getting off.” I went on the computer an booked a flight and hotel to Paris and rang me mum,</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“Muuuummm, can I have a lift the airport?”</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“When?”</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“Er, now?”</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">I heard her rolling her eyes down the phone, like actually heard them rolling, but she agreed; she’s used to these kind of antics from me. People always wonder “Weren’t you scared going away on your own?” No not at all, there was loads to do there and I could do it whenever</span></span><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="bumpedFont15"> I</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> wanted to. It turned out to be the best cure for a broken heart ever; the men are so forward there. You </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">can’t </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">walk down the street without men whistling or telling you how fit you are (but then that’s just a normal day for a Scouse bird isn’t it?), I even had an ambulance pull over so the paramedics could wind down the window and tell me how beautiful I was. Needless to say I got home and got rid of that gobshite who was messing me round once and for all.</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">That wasn’t the first time I’d been away on my own. When I was 19 I booked a holiday with my mates and they cancelled at the last minute because they’d been to Paris and decided they couldn’t afford the trip to Zante anymore. I thought “Screw you guys, I’m off!” and went alone. I took going out clothes in case I made friends and loads of books if I didn’t. I went for tea on the first night on my own and came back to sit on the hotel balcony. Two lads from Stevenage were staying</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> in the room next door, we got chatting and they said “Wanna come out with us?” They’d </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">already </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">met a brother and sister from Birmingham and the 5 of us had a ball for the rest of the holiday. I think even now it’s deffo in the top 3 holidays I’ve ever had, it was such a laugh. We were out til the sun came up every night, sneaking into other hotels an jumping in their pools til security came and shouted Greek </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">profanities at us…just general mischief making.</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">Then there’s the Mexico chronicles. </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">There was the time we went on the Pirate cruise and ended up going partying downtown with the Mexicans. I mean their actual job description is Pirate of the Caribbean, how could we not? We ended up in some dive karaoke bar drinking 90p bottles of </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">Budweiser</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15"> and singing the only songs they had in English - Si</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">mply the Best and Like a Virgin.</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And who could forget that the first night of my holiday I got drunk and went to a tattoo parlour, in a club, by the toilets. Well I obviously can’t forget cos I’ve got a tattoo on my wrist haven’t i?</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxcs5iDAolIO5bVn4L22zPmvjBIPyl6m21zqIEOUgFOabw09l9eXYDTiYFXP2U9vVZzc8eoNT5SJwacK2OoB3GiMuu-LnpmIJovXmWbn1-nW0PEzv1RT43lTTxaYse6Ov13tXDhcWxbV3J/s640/blogger-image-92752650.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxcs5iDAolIO5bVn4L22zPmvjBIPyl6m21zqIEOUgFOabw09l9eXYDTiYFXP2U9vVZzc8eoNT5SJwacK2OoB3GiMuu-LnpmIJovXmWbn1-nW0PEzv1RT43lTTxaYse6Ov13tXDhcWxbV3J/s640/blogger-image-92752650.jpg"></a></div><br><p></p><p class="s4" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">Then there was the time I went skinny dipping with a fit Geordie lad at 5am in the sea and the </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">hotel </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">security guard </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">started </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">chasing and swearing at us. GAWWWD, security guards ruin all the fun!</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">Of course being spontaneous doesn’t all revolve around </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">travelling;</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15"> sometimes you have to take time out to enjoy your own city. I happen to think, sorry KNOW, that I live in the best city in the world. There’s nowhere quite like Liverpool, I love the bones of it.</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">One day this summer I was drinking in the back garden with my mate</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15"> Lizzy</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">. I was in a </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">long term </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">relationship which I was desperate to get out of but felt bad because there wasn’t any real reason other than the fact </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">I just didn’t love</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15"> him – </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">I’d realised </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">we had absolutely nothing in common and it was fast turning to resentment. In the same way other relationships taught me what I </span></span><span class="s7" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="bumpedFont15">don’t</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15"> want in a man, this taught me that</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15"> just not being certain things wasn’t </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">enough;</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15"> he taught me what I </span></span><span class="s7" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="bumpedFont15">do</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15"> want in </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">a man. Me and Lizzy made a list:</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15"> he had to be tall, intelligent, ambitious, same sense of humour and loyal….anything else was negotiable. Then the drink ran out.</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We decided to go on a last minute night out (you know they’re always the best…see spontaneity is boss!), I had to lend her clothes and shoes because we weren’t prepared. We went for a couple of cocktails and then decided to go the Sir Thomas to meet my mate and missed him by literally 2 minutes. We decided to head to our favourite haunt Moniques and this is where it gets interesting…</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">When we got there we met up with a couple we know who were already out. As I sat down one of his friends came over who was already out with another set of mates and we got introduced. I said ‘hi’ an carried on talkin to me mate like the snotty bitch I can sometimes be (who isn’t sometimes? I was havin a no man zone night and actually thought </span></span><span class="s8" style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><span class="bumpedFont15">‘He’s too good looking, clearly a gobshite.’</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">)</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">We got talking later on and I suddenly realised he was ticking all my boxes….like all of them, even the negotiable ones. We were getting on so well! Moniques closed and we headed to Garlands, the lads couldn’t get in cos they were wearing polo shirts *rolls eyes* so we ende</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">d up in Passion AKA the arse hole</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15"> of Eberle Street. We chatted some more, I explained I had a fella but it was imminently ending (that old chestnut, but no seriously I’d already tried to finish it a few weeks earlier….it was deffo happening). It got to about 5am and we piled outside. It was light out and the middle of July so still quite warm. I decided I wasn’t ready for this night to end</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">…</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15"> “Lets go the offy and go the Pier Head”</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">So flouting all the public drinking laws we got a bottle of</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15"> G</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">lenns (the fun vodka) and sat on the Pier Head, messing about, talking. It was amazing. Probably the best night out in my own city I’ve ever had. I climbed into bed about 8am and broke up with my fella later that day. He moved out the next.</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">I ended up having a whirlwind romance with the lad I met but it turns out my initial impressions were right and he was in fact a gobshite.</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15"> I got my heart all kinds of broken but would I change it for a second? Hell no. I regret </span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15"><i>nothing, </i>we parted as friends (cos of my overwhelming soundness) an I wish him well. Through gritted teeth ;). </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">Everything that happens in your life, good or bad makes you who you are today and I happen to like me dead loads.</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Think you’re as spontaneous as me? Tell me all about your spontaneous stories, tweet me and I’ll RT my favourites or comment on this blog post or Facebook post. Share this blog with your mates and get them to share theirs as well.</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">Also lastminute.com are running a competition to find a spontaneity champion who will win £50,000 worth of travel experiences, all you have to do is record a 60 second youtube video saying why you should win. Enter here </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"></span></span><a href="http://lovelivinglastminute.com/?intcmp=mainhpb_banner_marketing_spontaneity_microsite"><span class="s9">http://lovelivinglastminute.com/?intcmp=mainhpb_banner_marketing_spontaneity_microsite</span></a><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15"> !</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">XOXO</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Scouse Bird</span></span></p>@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-69005790920834091232013-11-09T04:55:00.000-08:002013-11-09T04:57:26.490-08:00An Open letter to the farce that is Blue Inc<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1049bc; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Dear Blue Inc,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1049bc; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Let me set the scene: A few weeks
ago my friend and I woke up one Sunday morning. I was hungover and we decided
to go to town for a roast. I was in the middle of a crappy break up and I said
to her “I really feel like getting away for a few days, like to London or
Barcelona. I just want to get away from everything.” We were strolling through
Liverpool One that afternoon when one of your representatives stopped Lizzy and
encouraged her to enter ‘The Face of Blue Inc’ competition – all she had to do
was get people to vote for her and the prize was a trip to Barcelona. Wow,
‘what a coincidence’ we thought, it was fate, she had to enter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1049bc; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I have a social media following of
around 200k and Lizzy and I have both got friends with in excess of 20k twitter
followers each who have been promoting her profile. Not to mention her family
and friends. All in all she's been exposed to over half a million people so
she’s been getting her votes fair and square. The people of Liverpool like to
get behind one of their own. I mean take Chris Maloney, he was shite and still
managed to make it to 3<sup>rd</sup> place in the X Factor! This is beside the
fact that Lizzy is actually drop dead gorgeous and thoroughly deserves to win
first place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1049bc; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">There was one girl 'Tammy' who entered
the competition and suddenly within one day she managed to come out of nowhere
and overtake Lizzy. She had more votes than she even had followers at one point
and was boasting all over twitter than it was letting her vote multiple times.
You investigated and found her to be cheating and her votes were reset down to
139 instead of over 1100. Obviously there is a way to cheat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1049bc; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">A similar thing has now happened
with a male contestant 'Chantiman'. His votes were climbing at an UNBELIEVEABLY
fast rate and he has only a couple of hundred followers. Lizzy, along with
several other people emailed you with proof that he has created fake Facebook
accounts to vote for him and that he was likely buying votes, but after over a
week of you saying you would ‘investigate’ him, nothing happened. Not only this
but his ‘fans’ (who are most certainly him creating fake accounts judging by
the way they all speak in the same broken English) have been slandering Lizzy
all over her profile and going after her on twitter. This ‘Chantiman’ posed as
several different people including ‘Jonathan Big Brother’ (who implied he was
working for Blue inc and left her sinister messages saying he was watching her
carefully) and Chantelle Hogg (who was using an American porn stars picture and
claiming it was really her). These people implied all over Lizzy’s competition
profile page that she was cheating, buying followers, photoshopping her photo
etc etc to win. When we pointed out that other pages had received similar abuse
but Chantiman’s page hadn’t, all of a sudden some fake accounts popped up and
started slagging Chantiman off. This ‘Chantelle’ then tried to blame Lizzy for
these accounts. Then the race card was brought into play, all of a sudden
everyone was apparently being racist towards Chantiman. I condemn racism,
sexism, homophobia and discrimination of minorities of any kind (apart from
Wools) but there was no racism whatsoever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1049bc; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Eventually Lizzy’s dad managed to
contact the actual managing director (I believe) of Blue Inc who was furious
that this had been allowed to occur. Within an hour of that phonecall Chantiman’s
page had been removed. By this point he’d managed to buy over 2600 votes –
seriously mate, just BUY a plane ticket to Barcelona.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1049bc; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">On twitter Chantiman started
tweeting about racism. The next day Lizzy received an email saying that she was
being removed from the competition due to ‘dialogue escalating on a matter
which is now damaging the competition for all concerned’. Since then Chantiman
has been gloating under his own @iamchantiman account and some other fake ones
he’s created such as @groupies4ever & @pmslcheater – all in the same broken
English Chantiman favours.<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdNPdaTx7-XstXCgwhTvbjR0otqLFHrOfo37ZmOy4dBp1WZ6qncbVtrYzGrOp-USkr43QdvUp876MN3ZhDxTqqaEm8GTdKgcGAmT6uH1el6OV7a92NQjevkjUDLpG9uMNI0ePi242BnS7B/s640/blogger-image-1340553121.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdNPdaTx7-XstXCgwhTvbjR0otqLFHrOfo37ZmOy4dBp1WZ6qncbVtrYzGrOp-USkr43QdvUp876MN3ZhDxTqqaEm8GTdKgcGAmT6uH1el6OV7a92NQjevkjUDLpG9uMNI0ePi242BnS7B/s640/blogger-image-1340553121.jpg"></a></div><br></div><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1049bc; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">This has made an absolute farce of
the whole competition. Not only have you allowed a 40 year old mentally
unstable man harass and bully a 17 year old girl, you have also disqualified an
innocent girl who was mature enough not to rise to the abuse. On top of taking
her out of the competition to win the trip to Barcelona you actually e-mailed
her the bad news while she’s away for the weekend in Paris with her mum,
effectively ruining that holiday as well. We’re going to London next week, she
has some puppies you could kick if you like? Or perhaps you’d like to set fire
to her beloved leopard print collection? Ruin something else for her?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1049bc; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><br></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1049bc; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPUToWUmX0Hefk395PK04XQCNApWEOqH3q8zFcBWzCjlrrusA64gBzz4e91hxGtivXVhyphenhyphenhnvbtsgkWous0RWZCHTOTkMuIgRQ1F70qfw4YzPZlxxYMcmjfkf-S5K1sAbhJs18Eg9SVXkAn/s640/blogger-image--1910835924.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPUToWUmX0Hefk395PK04XQCNApWEOqH3q8zFcBWzCjlrrusA64gBzz4e91hxGtivXVhyphenhyphenhnvbtsgkWous0RWZCHTOTkMuIgRQ1F70qfw4YzPZlxxYMcmjfkf-S5K1sAbhJs18Eg9SVXkAn/s640/blogger-image--1910835924.jpg"></a></div><br></span></div>
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<br></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1049bc; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">The competition is a joke and so is
your company. Soz. Aba. Yous.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1049bc; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">XOXO<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1049bc; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Scouse Bird.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-86524695201291318562013-08-10T06:11:00.001-07:002013-08-10T06:11:08.960-07:00Ludascouse - Yeah<span style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">Watch out my outfits ridiculous</span><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">In the club lookin so conspicuous</div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">Rowww I'm a woman who's on the prowl</div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">If you feel "bird me up" ready</div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">I can milk you dry now</div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">If you wanna play games</div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">Imma tell the truth</div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">I'm a crank so ill take scissors to all your best suits</div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">Gimme your card an pin an ill have bags of new clothes</div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">Now bend over to the front an kiss my shellaced toes</div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">Me fella works for jag an I take his dough</div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">Gotta head to KG for gorge foot patrol</div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">How you like me now? Cricket bags I got over three hundred thousand</div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">Lets drink, I'm the one to please</div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">Scouse Bird fills bras with double D's</div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">Me an me birds hit the floor an we leaves em dead</div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); ">Cos we're fitties in the street an freaks in the bed</div>@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-70778962334839461902013-07-14T08:59:00.001-07:002013-07-14T08:59:05.217-07:00Braggers, liars & blaggers - an anonymous guest blog<blockquote type="cite"><blockquote type="cite"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); ">.</span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Whatever you want to call them, we've all rolled our eyes</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">at their tweet, status or - god forbid they're ya mate or relative- their text. Those people who no matter what they're doing or who they're with, life is AMAZING. (p.s if you haven't rolled ya eyes at someone, you're that annoying turd who everyone goes "oh ere we go", and forwards the offensive statement to a bezzy who's also a bitchy hater).</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">So, here I am, not perfect by any stretch, slagging people off, they're the reason I deleted Facebook, I just couldn't bear any more status's about someone's "propa gorjus baybee" (who resembles everyone else's potato) reaching an "amayzin" milestone (like everyone else's potato), or someone who's "gorjus fella who's me world" brought a bag of treats home from the asda, so he's "the best fing that's ever append to me". Such status's would be acceptable, if you didn't already know, her baby should have made that milestone MONTHS ago, and her fella was a serial cheat and their entire relationship began the night she fell pregnant, with several episodes of changing her fb status to single. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">That leads me to, the question - why do people polish turds? Golden glitter on the poo & all tha!? I won't lie, I have done it once or twice myself, mainly for the benefit of a boyfriends fat greasy ex who looked like Rick Waller in drag (no offence Rick love) who slagged me off after seeing me in a dark car, where she served us at a drive thru of a certain stinking chicken shop. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But I don't mean that kind of bragging, I mean people who make the most average activities sound out of this world, or describe their baby as the next Albert Einstein. Let me give you a few examples of a "polisher" and a "fly"</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Polisher : awwwwwwwww had the most amazing night with my one & only love him loads</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Fly: awwwwwww babe what yas been up to?</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Polisher: just had a proper lovely walk down the beach the sunset was proper gorgeous yano</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Hang on a minute "babe", you went to seaforth in ya fellas fiesta.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Or another baby related one</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Polisher: can't believe my special little princess can use the potty!! Proud mummy!</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Fly: awwwww babe!!! Made up for ya our Lilly Mae / Lilly Ella / Ella Mae / Ella Rose/ Rosey Lilly has just learnt to stand up! Mad how fast they grow can't believe it.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">A. Why can't you believe it she's 4 it's about time she stopped shittin er pants</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">B. don't refer to yaself like that </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">C. Sort ya kids name out</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">D. Why can't you believe it, she's a kid they actually grow yano? </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Now, here's a few real life examples of people who I call my friends. One poor flower was in an intense 6 week relationship with a serial cheat, every next status was about how happy she was and how lucky she had been to find someone sooooo special and perfect. I swear down these status were posted simultaneously whilst crying down the phone to me after being stood up AGAIN. I was speaking to another friend one time when she said "just enjoying breakfast then off for a nice day shopping" turned out she was in Yates bootle on her way the Asda on a <a href="x-apple-data-detectors://0" x-apple-data-detectors="true" x-apple-data-detectors-type="calendar-event" x-apple-data-detectors-result="0">Thursday morning</a>....is it just me or does that sound more like a reply you get off someone sat on a table somewhere sunny and fun? A real favourite of mine is people who constantly refer to their "perfect" life/partner/baby prodigy, yet every second status is about how overcome with depression they are and how much they "hateeeeee a certain someone" because they've "finally seen someones true colours!!!!" I know someones who once caught their fella of 1 year texting another girl, been devastated & rang me upset, yet the next day for the benefit of facebook, she posted a picture of the brand new phone & clothes he had bought her because "he's my perfect soulmate, my babe, my world". She skipped the minging lying grovelling pig part out of THAT status. Another mate, in a very serious but bang average long term relationship, was once seen referring to a night with her boyfriend as "random and amazing" first of all her night couldn't have been any less random, she's got a clingy toddler and needs to schedule a babysitter weeks in advance, not to mention her OCD for planning & the amazing she referred to was tea somewhere in L1 courtesy of a vouchercloud discount. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Now that leads me smoothly on to the phenomenon that is "date nights" & referral to said nights via status, tweet or text. E.g "can't wait for a fab little date night with my one 💖💕💖" . Can ANYONE explain to me what this is supposed to achieve or represent? The saying proper gets on my tits! One mate text me once & said "can't see you <a href="x-apple-data-detectors://1" x-apple-data-detectors="true" x-apple-data-detectors-type="calendar-event" x-apple-data-detectors-result="1">tonight</a> Hun me & (insert boys name)are having a little romantic date night" evidently I asked her "aww what yas up to?" Only for her to respond "just having a take away and some sweets with a nice film" I thought fuck a duck how lucky am I? Me and my fella are always having date nights! </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I sound like a bitter arl hag with no mates, I'm actually happily settled with a genuinely nice lad and a good circle of mates, it just so happens that I've got a keen eye for those who love the b.s, and I'm a bit of a fuckin bitch. Anyway, going to have a cosy night on me lovely sofa with me gorgeous fella, while enjoying a few wines and some of our favourite goodies. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); ">Nah, fuck that I'm going to reactivate Facebook and refresh me twitter feed, whilst being sat in a comfortable silence on me little couch next to my moody kite fella with nothing but a bag of Doritos and Haribo between us. </span></div></blockquote></blockquote>@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-23160182864899819132013-07-05T09:25:00.001-07:002013-07-05T09:25:59.661-07:00Personal training<div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Have you ever met a man you absolutely cannot lie to? I have, and it's not even me fella. Lying to me fella is easy;</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"No babe, the cats haven't been licking your food." </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"I've got no idea how match of the day got deleted off the Sky plus box" </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"No babe, if the fella from the diet coke advert ever responded to my twitter stalking and followed me back I wouldn't be thinking of him every time we have sex." </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">See? Piece of piss. The fella I cannot lie to is Craig, my personal trainer.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It all started when my yoga place unexpectedly shut down. I was recommended to try Olympus Gym on Hatton Garden in town as they offered hot yoga classes. Craig popped up and tweeted that if I wanted results I should come and see him for PT sessions. I'd tweeted about a week earlier "there's 110 calories in a banana and only 55 in a vodka diet coke, make smart choices" which he'd replied to saying that alcohol reduces the body's ability to break down fat by 73%. I informed him that it also increases your ability not to give a shit by 74% though.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Naturally I was suspicious of him, I knew he was goin to try and tear me and vodka apart. And he did. Home wrecker.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Coming down the stairs into Olympus gym I'm always greeted by Craig standing at the bottom waiting, with an evil grin on his face. And it is evil. One of the pre-requisites to being a PT is being able to derive pleasure from other human beings suffering. I've never seen him eat, he just feeds off sweat, blood and tears. He calls everyone "flower" in a gentle, friendly tone, but don't be fooled. Tell me he's nice when you've experienced leg day. I never knew I could get emotional over split squats. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">While I'm warming up on the rower he'll pose the dreaded question, "So what did you get up to this weekend?" And I swear, it's like he knows. Out of my mouth comes tumbling the truth bit by bit, "Well I had my cheat meal like you said."</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"What did you have?"</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Burger and chips and chocolate cake"</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"...."</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"And I had 2 glasses of prosecco. I know you said I wasn't allowed any alcohol but I had like 2 jugs of water so that probably cancelled it out"</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">His eyes widened.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"And a vodka."</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"What??"</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"And they didn't have slimline tonic so I had to have full fat tonic"</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Are you kidding me??"</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"And a steam boat"</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"I'm gonna kill you. 20 burpees right now!"</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"I had a quarter pounder meal at maccies in the day too. I know you said it was only one cheat meal I'm allowed not a cheat day so that was like me starter.!" (Muahaha didn't tell him I had chicken nuggets as well though)</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Don't get me wrong, he's a hard task master but he gets results. Even with a weekend away in France which included a massive alcohol and carb binge I managed to drop 11.5 inches from my upper chest, waist, abdomen, bum and ham arms in just 2 weeks. I mean I had reservations on whether or not I'd be able to stick to it after the first session which largely included me rolling around on the floor like a slug screaming "No more!!! Please no more!!!" He even has what I call Fergie time and Fergie reps. You'll count 12 reps in your head and he'll insist you've only done 9 the cheeky scoundrel.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But credit where it's due, I'm closer to being sexy for mexi than I have been any other year. I reckon another dress size and ill be happy. This is now even more important as some skinny waif of a Scouse bird informed me the other day that her an her fella are stayin at my hotel in Mexico at the same time as me and as you know scousers are magnets for other scousers on holiday. Abs need to get on my belly right now.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">See picture for typical conversations with Craig.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-muCXo0CZFpVOf-ZiRwtzg08B2l4A6QCeVIjyDYuzWmP6G0SJ575VPvsM6xk_xgClRcDc0aICDpTQIDJzPPlmJdehaWs_S2virUwFVh4MgD4qKQY1WTsupDRiLt6x0BjkZ_0D-yJK20EU/s640/blogger-image--918614569.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-muCXo0CZFpVOf-ZiRwtzg08B2l4A6QCeVIjyDYuzWmP6G0SJ575VPvsM6xk_xgClRcDc0aICDpTQIDJzPPlmJdehaWs_S2virUwFVh4MgD4qKQY1WTsupDRiLt6x0BjkZ_0D-yJK20EU/s640/blogger-image--918614569.jpg"></font></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><font color="#000000"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-muCXo0CZFpVOf-ZiRwtzg08B2l4A6QCeVIjyDYuzWmP6G0SJ575VPvsM6xk_xgClRcDc0aICDpTQIDJzPPlmJdehaWs_S2virUwFVh4MgD4qKQY1WTsupDRiLt6x0BjkZ_0D-yJK20EU/s640/blogger-image--918614569.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhXynWAO0HmQORlPLmayEZ0MHXnzHvQkoZF57BQQfM8w2NvxSBnvPiZiAdox_9h9JxoqrRGGYxvxXPgvDpXqw80HkZl59a7BAFM5S_JVeJd096pbF5cYIiNBJFbdpjbGHXabI0JpPdjk45/s640/blogger-image--714445436.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhXynWAO0HmQORlPLmayEZ0MHXnzHvQkoZF57BQQfM8w2NvxSBnvPiZiAdox_9h9JxoqrRGGYxvxXPgvDpXqw80HkZl59a7BAFM5S_JVeJd096pbF5cYIiNBJFbdpjbGHXabI0JpPdjk45/s640/blogger-image--714445436.jpg"></a></span></font></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ9ZKRJFqXqc-IrPLdwRz-g8vSo4AJjHoa_oqqFVhnW6_7tnc4o-z665_L0qGjpiVmP9CVccWy81hWRMNYSbB4FlZR_ApKFIPqmrcfiQmZGFo9BgKtoLXutaWnZQgq1SspZFQKLvLKttbH/s640/blogger-image-1222492902.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ9ZKRJFqXqc-IrPLdwRz-g8vSo4AJjHoa_oqqFVhnW6_7tnc4o-z665_L0qGjpiVmP9CVccWy81hWRMNYSbB4FlZR_ApKFIPqmrcfiQmZGFo9BgKtoLXutaWnZQgq1SspZFQKLvLKttbH/s640/blogger-image-1222492902.jpg"></font></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">If you're into pain an suffering and that Craig is on twitter @craigm_pt and he trains at @olympusclub_spa</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">XOXO</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Scouse Bird</span></div><div><br></div></div></div>@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-57431894878634259312013-07-03T11:31:00.001-07:002013-07-03T11:31:06.318-07:00Guest post - The Cocky Horror Show<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 17pt; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span lang="EN-US">Guest post by Elissa Corrigan @misselissac</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 17pt; "><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; ">There is a pattern emerging. Men keep showing me their penises. Now, some would say that I shouldn’t complain, but what I’m talking about is a display without good reason. Penis without provocation and I have had ENOUGH. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 17pt; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span lang="EN-US">Let me start by opening the debate and this question is strictly for the girls. Have you ever seen schlong with out ever asking for it? Recently, I’ve had the displeasure of viewing three unsolicited ding-dongs. And surely that’s not normal? In fact so troubled by this quota of unwanted appendages, I began questioning myself, is this something I’m putting out there? Have I got something inadvertently tattooed on my forehead that says: I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours?</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 17pt; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span lang="EN-US">The first time was on a recent jaunt to Spain. Imagine the scene- I’m in a rustic restaurant quaffing a crisp glass of Chardonnay, sitting on a gorgeous mosaic terrace, surrounded by trails of Petunias and Geraniums, basking in the balmy evening sunlight.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 17pt; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span lang="EN-US">I’m in deep in conversation when I’m rudely interrupted by a guttural drunk in a Diadora tracksuit and his dollymop wife arguing like they were on the set of Jeremy Kyle.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 17pt; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span lang="EN-US">It was hard to hear but I managed to deduce; the chav-tastic wife ‘Irene’ was irate with her hammered hubby’s behaviour after getting them ejected from a restaurant down the road. I watched open mouthed as she roared at him, her dentures clicking like castanets and pointing her sovereign-clad finger in her pissed up partner’s face.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 17pt; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span lang="EN-US">Except he was bladdered and oblivious to her bawling. So the rowdy hag was left with no choice but to stomp off back to the direction of her hotel leaving her hiccupping other half to fend for himself.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 17pt; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span lang="EN-US">I accidentally caught his glazed eye. He began meandering his way toward our table, coughed a rainbow of germs in my direction, pulled down his shell suit bottoms and give the plants next to us a watering of his own like it was the most natural thing in the world. He was the foulest creature I’ve seen all year.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 17pt; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span lang="EN-US">About a week a later, I was returning home late at night when, 10 metres from my apartment, I came upon another bloke performing this unattractive ritual: peeing in a doorway. I was stepping into the road, tutting and muttering to myself, giving him and his ever-increasing sulphurous puddle a wide berth, when he turned around, swinging his pathetic piece in the air like Saddam on Youtube, and yelled out at me to “Suck it.” Bloody diabolical if you ask me, but I wasn’t in the mood for a fracas. Not that night. </span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 17pt; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span lang="EN-US">The final straw came when I was having my nails tendered a few months ago and I was sent a picture of a penis. That really was the wrong side of enough. I decided to teach this gobsh*te a lesson.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 17pt; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span lang="EN-US">But first some background info that later becomes very important. I’d been on two dates with this guy- let’s call him J. No sex, no fondling, no kissing even. Actually, you couldn’t even call them dates; we just used to hang out. God knows he tried his luck in the usual gentlemanly way; dinners, champagne, chocolates and flowers but I wasn’t interested and no amount of gifts was going to change that.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 17pt; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span lang="EN-US">You’d think he would have got the message when I never returned his phone calls but I guessed he must have a lower IQ than the number of his limbs. Instead he decides to send me a snap of himself stark bollock naked in his bedroom mirror and qualified his actions by saying: “This is just in case you never get to see me naked.”</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 17pt; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span lang="EN-US">Now I am as far removed from a prude as they come, but really what is this phenomenon whereby men have to branish their bratwurst around. Am I being stupid by not marvelling at the self-exposure of these pathetic strangers? Ten years ago you would never have heard of this, let alone believe it. If it’s not being wielded in front of my face, then it’s being pinged to my mobile. I am astonished when I think about it. It’s a disgrace, disrespectful and a pollution as well. Is this acceptable behaviour? Keep it in your pants FFS!</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 17pt; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><i><span lang="EN-US">Revenge ensues.</span></i><span lang="EN-US"> Firstly, I text him back saying: “That thing will never be put anywhere except the palm of your hand and possibly the occasional Watermelon or Russian sex doll.”</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 17pt; "><span lang="EN-US" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Secondly, I called my best friend, V. I showed her the photo and after a serious bout of laughter, we decided right then and there, it was just not on and we would make an example of J.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 17pt; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span lang="EN-US">We reasoned, he was obviously so pleased with his nether rod, and so willing to show it off then why keep it hidden? What harm could it do if we shared it with a few hundred relative strangers. We would let it his phallus flourish.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 17pt; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span lang="EN-US">Not only did we post the picture on Facebook and tag this awful cretin - making it instantly appear on his profile - but we also tagged 50 of our mutual friends, so they could join us in our mocking, no scratch that, our sharing.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 17pt; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span lang="EN-US">As you can imagine, as soon as J got wind of our scheme he was utterly distraught. Such was his mortification that he deleted his account all together. But really what do you expect when you send a pic of pecker to a manipulative witch like me?</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 17pt; "><span lang="EN-US" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I can tell you it caused quite a stir and some of the jibes left on the picture were hilarious. Try these on for size. “It looks like Jeremy Beadles withered hand”, “I’ve seen more meat on a butcher’s pencil” “Has that guy got an inny?” – Everyone was in unison, it was a grow-er not a show-er. Actually it was just a SHEOWER.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 17pt; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span lang="EN-US">The desired effect, you may conclude. You may be right.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 17pt; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span lang="EN-US">This was a </span><span lang="EN-US">life lesson he would never forget. Harsh, but necessary. But on a wider scale our actions should serve as a warning to <i>any</i>fella who’s toying with the idea of forwarding a picture of his precious piece. THINK AGAIN.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 17pt; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Elissa </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFaHXe7Zhd-TbUx8ZdpW4aHmF5rrhu1U3GniQaUQ7OpxHnG6z_AL08Kavvuh4zB1NSxvv-z3Qbk3LEJFPhFkRErzxi82wY4sCFK6tjcIKtoJyUOEKNSJ1gx5Ua06ATPeonxrK8-1mUW7vn/s640/blogger-image-289903037.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFaHXe7Zhd-TbUx8ZdpW4aHmF5rrhu1U3GniQaUQ7OpxHnG6z_AL08Kavvuh4zB1NSxvv-z3Qbk3LEJFPhFkRErzxi82wY4sCFK6tjcIKtoJyUOEKNSJ1gx5Ua06ATPeonxrK8-1mUW7vn/s640/blogger-image-289903037.jpg"></a></div><p></p>@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-19453496319243890122013-07-01T05:32:00.001-07:002013-07-01T05:32:39.422-07:00Identity theftI'm a shit blogger. No posts on here since April! Although still loads of beauty/lifestyle ones under reviews on www.ScouseBirdProblems.com like. I do solemnly vow to blog a bit more on here, even if they're short and sweet.<div><br></div><div>One of the strings to my bow is that I'm a landlord. Well landlady. I was sat in the hairdressers yesterday gettin drenched by the work experience girl washin me hair (arr if you're readin this girl, bless your cotton socks, soakin people is a rite of passage and you did a fab blow dry) when I got a call off a number I didn't know. I pay all my bills on time and I don't have any mad exes that I'm tryin to swerve therefore unknown numbers don't really fill me with fear an dread, so I answered. It was the next door neighbour for the property I rent out.</div><div><br></div><div>"Hi Scouse Bird (he used my real name like, I don't call round to collect the rent in a Coleen mask or anything), I've got a bit of a problem with your tenant."</div><div><br></div><div>Shit. "Riiiight?" I had visions of slanging matches on the street, domestic abuse, music blasting til all hours & them turning my old gaff into a brass house.</div><div><br></div><div>"Yeh they've committed identity fraud on me, opened all sorts of credit agreements an now they've done a bunk"</div><div><br></div><div>FUUUUCCKK "What??! No that doesn't make sense, she's spent loads doin the house up, she's completely redecorated, why bother doin that if they're just planning on gettin off?"</div><div><br></div><div>"They've bought loads of phones and computers an I don't know where they got the money. I mean, they could've just gone out for the day though."</div><div><br></div><div>"Hmm ok. Well there's not a lot I can do about it, alls I can suggest is calling the police an let them investigate."</div><div><br></div><div>"Right ok see ya"</div><div><br></div><div>I'm not sure what he wanted me to do, make a citizens arrest? Either way, I carried on gettin my hair done (I was goin out for a cheat meal that night to Byrons) and sat there dreading the thought of havin to find another tenant. Be assed. About an hour later he called again.</div><div><br></div><div>"Hi Scouse Bird, I've just seen them come home. They haven't done a bunk."</div><div><br></div><div>Thank fuck for that "Right, that's good. So what actually makes you think it was them anyway? Is it just that they bought a computer?"</div><div><br></div><div>"Well yes. What it was, someone phoned pretending to be from BT an i gave them access to my computer, I fell for it hook line and sinker. Now they have all my details. Only next door would know I have a computer."</div><div><br></div><div>"Yeh John* that's a pretty common scam that, I think they just assume every house has a computer and try their luck."</div><div><br></div><div>"Really?"</div><div><br></div><div>"Yeh. I've had someone blaggin they're from Microsoft ringin me. An I've heard of one hoax where someone rings pretending to be from BT sayin they'll cut your phone line if you don't pay there and then and ill prove it. Then when you hang up they stay on the line and mute it so when you pick up the phone again the line sounds dead. Then they ring you back 10 mins later and say 'see, we cut your phone off'. So they're dead clever John* - I don't think it's them next door like"</div><div><br></div><div>"But...what do I do?" </div><div><br></div><div>I actually felt dead sorry for him. I don't think there's any quick fix to sort out having your identity stolen. I just told him to contact the credit reference agencies and the police and be vigilant in future.</div><div><br></div><div>So yeah, be careful everyone - identity theft is proper arly.</div><div><br></div><div>*name has been changed to protect identity. the irony.</div><div><br></div><div>Scouse Bird </div><div><br></div><div>XOXO </div>@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-66252923844375694572013-04-14T06:59:00.003-07:002013-04-14T07:05:41.455-07:00Being Scouse Bird<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="s1">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. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">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?</span></div>
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<span class="s1">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”.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">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.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">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 ;-)</span></div>
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@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-21389666537641039172013-03-08T12:41:00.001-08:002013-03-08T15:35:04.125-08:00Under the hammeredLast 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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??”<br />
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Me: Cos ur horrible.<br />
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I then went onto explain the contents of my other blog about CM explaining my beef with him and obviously went into actual details.<br />
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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.”<br />
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“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.<br />
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Other highlights of the night included:<br />
• 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.<br />
• Wearing a necklace containing John Lennon’s DNA. Felt pretty damn scouse after that.<br />
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So anyway, Monday rolled around and I was in work, typing away, minding my own business when I got a phonecall.<br />
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“Hi, you attended an event on Saturday night?”<br />
“Yes….”<br />
“You’ve won a signed photograph of Audrey Hepburn.”<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Could be worse babe, it could’ve been shoes. Again.<br />
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X O X O<br />
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Scouse Bird<br />
@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-11740447235394225862013-02-23T05:23:00.001-08:002013-02-23T05:23:01.001-08:00The moment I wake up - my love affair with makeup<br />
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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!<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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!<br />
Scouse Bird 4 make up 4 eva IDST xx<br />
@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-59585365675344933562013-02-10T12:10:00.005-08:002013-02-10T12:10:55.835-08:00Marilyn Monroe was NOT a size 16<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNpG96I8j3MXDC2Yer_AbyxjauHSFatuiw-j0AZ7rYBjBX4ch7Pz0oNYIZ0Ah3iCQ-6IgU_hp7P0QdF4z0EiMaasfmTOzqI_VTU7Tp6WqU50oJtfxL_1tcrBek38OnQGJ46sercqMSXSX1/s1600/IMG_4802.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNpG96I8j3MXDC2Yer_AbyxjauHSFatuiw-j0AZ7rYBjBX4ch7Pz0oNYIZ0Ah3iCQ-6IgU_hp7P0QdF4z0EiMaasfmTOzqI_VTU7Tp6WqU50oJtfxL_1tcrBek38OnQGJ46sercqMSXSX1/s200/IMG_4802.JPG" width="171" /></a>~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.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqwQ3SKPyoHnASpxHmABsLRRYnPuJ4crqXsMuahqtN1XLx2c0phqRSKhuBBoV8tkRRFuSVwNQi1d7JZyUWtseA9BUMCR3JSQYWG_xrrJ0y_EdaRNmlr6MJoUZBaqCcn1K1ks2bf0ckJDL4/s1600/IMG_4805-1.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqwQ3SKPyoHnASpxHmABsLRRYnPuJ4crqXsMuahqtN1XLx2c0phqRSKhuBBoV8tkRRFuSVwNQi1d7JZyUWtseA9BUMCR3JSQYWG_xrrJ0y_EdaRNmlr6MJoUZBaqCcn1K1ks2bf0ckJDL4/s200/IMG_4805-1.PNG" width="187" /></a>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.</div>
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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</div>
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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.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeKF_yNeqsO5Gdevf14fHw-8fblf0PCgg9ZHMBJWHmcqxGT5R45XIfBBDQlnyJYDsgZ6vttcj_2ihK2cdkuAs8ygyn5pDunPIAt0CO-q2ZENto2l_JR4iSc3TpX5MqkuxP6O6XS8irCABm/s1600/IMG_4890.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeKF_yNeqsO5Gdevf14fHw-8fblf0PCgg9ZHMBJWHmcqxGT5R45XIfBBDQlnyJYDsgZ6vttcj_2ihK2cdkuAs8ygyn5pDunPIAt0CO-q2ZENto2l_JR4iSc3TpX5MqkuxP6O6XS8irCABm/s320/IMG_4890.JPG" width="245" /></a>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. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGYQkO7Um0w4321bTs1yqqy8MRv5KJ5i-NcHroDV9_xevZsRJ98IIXHI_eR30aLRvQzd_ERVEfA7-Nc2HpJZ8YX_TKuijfLxdh_JngJ_Ze7zUeSN_wOHFfmsSRyj5w2OKASwi6ZHqC26KD/s1600/IMG_4804.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGYQkO7Um0w4321bTs1yqqy8MRv5KJ5i-NcHroDV9_xevZsRJ98IIXHI_eR30aLRvQzd_ERVEfA7-Nc2HpJZ8YX_TKuijfLxdh_JngJ_Ze7zUeSN_wOHFfmsSRyj5w2OKASwi6ZHqC26KD/s200/IMG_4804.JPG" width="146" /></a>~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.</div>
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Happy salad grafting girls xx</div>
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@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-12446389584075175032013-01-11T01:15:00.001-08:002013-01-11T02:37:05.460-08:00The Fresh Prin of Liv-ErNow this is a story all about how<br />
My life got flipped turned upside down<br />
An I'd like to take a minute just sit right there<br />
Ill tell you how I became the Prin of a pool called Liv-er<br />
Innnnn West Walton central I lived an lazed<br />
At the sunbeds is where I spent most of me days<br />
Just chillin out, tannin, an scrannin all food an<br />
Shoutin at wools from outside of the pool<br />
Then a couple of times me brows were up to no good<br />
Wonky eyed nobhead of the neighbourhood<br />
I did one little tweet an tagged 3 lil words<br />
It's the start of scouse bird probs an the start of scouse bird<br />
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<br />
I pulled up all the probs since age 7 or 8<br />
An i lashed them all on twitter "soz ba use, see ya later"<br />
Now I fall out of Kingdom<br />
But have fabulous hair<br />
An I sit on the throne<br />
As the Prin of Liv-er <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi5bPSL82u-K8o_wDjjtVFEjBSYck8IzVOZJLIPeZDTS7WuiVIpLyQ6tWw1Q3DY9jzjsDziymWadNB4UCFbSsa6Pu9JAhOQs7opTEhyphenhyphenvp-6zqT-vcP3UIcef4CQ3rNCvBuQ3cpGPJbaq9w/s640/blogger-image-1760874385.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi5bPSL82u-K8o_wDjjtVFEjBSYck8IzVOZJLIPeZDTS7WuiVIpLyQ6tWw1Q3DY9jzjsDziymWadNB4UCFbSsa6Pu9JAhOQs7opTEhyphenhyphenvp-6zqT-vcP3UIcef4CQ3rNCvBuQ3cpGPJbaq9w/s640/blogger-image-1760874385.jpg" /></a></div>@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-10936978703462360752013-01-08T14:57:00.001-08:002013-01-08T15:01:07.206-08:00The 0151 by Scouzalea BanksHey, I can be the scouse bird<br />
I'm ready to dance get ur tan on<br />
And when I pout that lip get your camera<br />
An if you see that bitch in the same dress<br />
Get ready to swill with mojito<br />
That bitch she wants to compete tho<br />
I can freak out pump that fist with the peeps and<br />
You know what your bitch become when her weave in<br />
I just wanna sip that goose with your peeps an<br />
Sit in that booth if you're treatin'<br />
Kick off with a bitch an go get a pizza<br />
You know ill get a kebab and four season<br />
Now he wanna piece of my scran in the evenin'<br />
An get his tongue on me deep pan <br />
I guess that cunt gettin' beaten<br />
I guess that cunt gettin' beaten<br />
I guess that cunt gettin' eaten<br />
I guess that cunt gettin' eaten<br />
I guess that cunt gettin'...<br />
<br />
I was in 0-151<br />
Livin town up yeh<br />
On the pull <br />
Yano it's on now dont you?<br />
Shit make-up on you<br />
I'm a rude bitch divvy<br />
You lookin made up for?<br />
Need to eat your food up girl<br />
Think ur boss in ur 8<br />
I'm a cool 1 - 2<br />
Fuck you gone do?<br />
Al av 2 large Big Mac<br />
I'm a look a right pig<br />
But do i give a fuck?<br />
Fuck em like you don't do this hun<br />
Its sly to get discovered shaggin all them lads<br />
Cock-a-suckin' in a delta by the big Costco<br />
Catch the clap soon<br />
In the mornin who u son?<br />
Minger you've overstay you<br />
Plus your bitch might kick off<br />
Wonder who let you come to Walton?<br />
Ring that delta crew son<br />
The fuck, you doin, hun?<br />
Girl put in your big bun bun<br />
Hungover an hot <br />
If you do want to go to nandos<br />
Tell your girls don't blag<br />
There's no goss bigger<br />
You know youre a big show <br />
Bitch I'm 'bout to throw up too<br />
New me from today<br />
Got the new stens too<br />
From Rapunzels<br />
Where are you bitch for lunch?<br />
I'm a proper bad cunt<br />
I'm a proper bad cunt<br />
I'm a proper bad cunt<br />
I'm a proper bad cunt<br />
<br />
A-yo, A-yo,<br />
I heard you struttin' with the same tall, tall heels tall heels<br />
Til you see cobbles cobbles<br />
Tryna' be runnin' but you ain't goin' no where no where<br />
Why you always late girl? Late girl<br />
You lookin hot but you just waste all your time <br />
You'll forget their name soon<br />
And ain't nobody be to blame but yourself, yeah<br />
<br />
Why you do this when Vodka appear?<br />
W-when shots premier?<br />
Bitch the end of your life feels near<br />
It's shit this time, time<br />
When you gone get ur life in gear?<br />
Why not this new year?<br />
Bitch the start of your life is near<br />
It's fuckin time time<br />
@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-19350559391027547212013-01-04T02:22:00.001-08:002013-01-04T02:29:05.547-08:00The artist formally known as Princess<br />
<br />
I’m gonna throw something out there. I love kittens. No no no NOT the shoes! The super cute baby cats. Sometimes if I’m bored I’ll just google pictures of kittens like. The paws are my favourite bit, if anyone’s interested.<br />
<br />
I used to have 2 cats, one was a girl, Morgan, who was the best cat you’ll ever have in your whole entire life and the other was a boy, Dylan, who was a bad little shit. I ended up having to give them away as at the time I was hardly ever home and I just wasn’t able to give them enough attention. I was devastated but I wanted to do what was best for them. To this day I’d have Morgan back but Dylan…you’re barred.<br />
<br />
Seeing as I’ve now ‘settled down’ so to speak with me fella I thought it was about time I took on a new furball to fill the cat shaped hole in my heart. It was time to set about workin on me fella. To say he was against the idea was an understatement. Ladies, never underestimate the power of nagging. In order to be a successful nag you have to be a) persistent, b) consistent c) whiney. I was rockin all these big time.<br />
<br />
Safe to say after a few weeks Scouse Ma dropped off a tiny black girl called Princess (a girl cat, I haven’t gone all Madonna or anything) and then I week later I got another little girl, Pea, from LpoolCityGirl. Yeh I’m such a good nag I broke his spirit twice. So there I was like a pig in shit cuddlin 2 balls of cuteness.<br />
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They fought none stop for the first few days, there was hissin an spittin galore and then one day I come home and they were spoonin like bezzies with a hangover. Awww.<br />
<br />
It wasn’t completely plain sailing like. The night I got Pea there was murder. Intimidated by the slightly older Princess she got stuck behind the couch. When I got her out of there she managed to ensconce herself behind our brand new 5 door wardrobe which I then had to break in 2 places to get her out (if you’re reading this babe…ooops sorry my bad). After getting her out of the wardrobe I looked for a safe place to put her while I tried to put it back without killin myself. The bathroom, that’s it, she deffo can’t hide anywhere in there, she’ll be sound for 5 mins. I went back in the bathroom minutes later – no sign of her. Er what? This cats like friggin Houdini where is she?? I found a tiny hole behind the toilet which she’d crawled down into and was now havin a ball under the floorboards. Boss. I rang the RSPCA who said if food didn’t tempt her out then we’d have to start rippin the (sealed wet room) floor up. Oh god I’d only had her like 2 hours.<br />
See photo for my boyfriends reaction...<br />
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After goin under the floor at 9pm the night before I finally heard her squeaks sayin let me out at 5.15am the next mornin. No sleep for me. She’s on a bathroom ban until further notice.<br />
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Anyway…back to Princess. She’s grown a lot faster than Pea. Pea is still a tiny kitten whereas Princess is lookin more like a youthful cat. They still look super cute though with their personalised pink bowls with their names on in crystals. Pink bowls…crystals.<br />
I was sittin off watchin the Sopranos the other night, stroking Princess’ belly and I felt a lump. Hmm what the hell is that? I squeezed it and something popped out. Princess has a lippy. A widge. A penis.<br />
My baby girl has a friggin widge! But…but…she’s a girl, there’s no balls. Ok ok relax, this could be normal…maybe I just missed this part on my old girl cat that I had for 7 years. I set about googling pictures of male and female cat genetalia. Please to god I never have to take my comp to the Apple shop and explain that one. Be arsed gettin disgusted looks off the Apple staff an havin them report me to the authorities and Scouse Ma for bein into cat porn.<br />
After googling said pictures, no, girls definitely don’t have widges, but males do have balls. I inspected Princess further and felt them under the skin (again not into cats in THAT way). Poor little he/she has got undescended testicles by the looks of it. She/he is about 14 weeks so they deffo should have popped out to say hello by now.<br />
<br />
I was devastated; my little girl is a man. She has a jazzy diamonte animal print collar and a PINK bowl with PRINCESS on in crystals FFS. What do I do? Accept the sex change and call him Prince? Or keep the name Princess and raise him as a flaming homosexual. I mean…Princesses eventually grow into Queens right? Right?<br />
<br />
Either way, them balls are goin.. I’m not havin him getting frisky with Pea an wakin up one day to a whole tin of peas. I’m literally gonna break your balls lad.<br />
<br />
Signin off<br />
<br />
Scouse Bird<br />
The Prince & the Pea<br />
<br />
Meow.<br />
<br />
xx <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3NYWcjgUkR9LetdMADUk0DP7RLwDvMugQjFu0G4hELU-n8xMXOKjRwyxrDGQaoaz76ba-SxWI28pL7oam6cJa2Fk0rc59o_v9SLkIEJEbh2g_Uu1MID9UcTBtnMH7HEihVbijaWe2pxzi/s640/blogger-image--1653109642.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3NYWcjgUkR9LetdMADUk0DP7RLwDvMugQjFu0G4hELU-n8xMXOKjRwyxrDGQaoaz76ba-SxWI28pL7oam6cJa2Fk0rc59o_v9SLkIEJEbh2g_Uu1MID9UcTBtnMH7HEihVbijaWe2pxzi/s640/blogger-image--1653109642.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuUsZgtIuCNl1i3uRPnpE03ZOpVW_onPWdp7kp9WmKBV6Ih-x707LTkD5e5XUUQeDsfYLn_eh96ZRY_c8um6Fwm8ZyEtCbnbet0F9tjK9UnqzKMOcb4SRa2Jz8h8BB2kocLRLNgM3WmPBO/s640/blogger-image--729045513.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuUsZgtIuCNl1i3uRPnpE03ZOpVW_onPWdp7kp9WmKBV6Ih-x707LTkD5e5XUUQeDsfYLn_eh96ZRY_c8um6Fwm8ZyEtCbnbet0F9tjK9UnqzKMOcb4SRa2Jz8h8BB2kocLRLNgM3WmPBO/s640/blogger-image--729045513.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhezOwvx1y0aPpixHYRDacOMLXeoSGe3LNC2tNh-7Io2460KBXDd0hDWpPVf2ZRKG5mb3K_zW362UmjMiJS8lR3G_KR3kE9VefvLPUJ17uNSaxgYnATIk6caZZmJtndKedRBoDwcuzrUzlg/s640/blogger-image-1069213018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhezOwvx1y0aPpixHYRDacOMLXeoSGe3LNC2tNh-7Io2460KBXDd0hDWpPVf2ZRKG5mb3K_zW362UmjMiJS8lR3G_KR3kE9VefvLPUJ17uNSaxgYnATIk6caZZmJtndKedRBoDwcuzrUzlg/s640/blogger-image-1069213018.jpg" /></a></div>@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-86865724455722152682013-01-01T12:27:00.000-08:002013-01-01T12:27:01.365-08:00The 2012 round up<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh my god what a year this has been, seriously though. I feel like I’ve had a life transplant. Me on New Years day 2012 couldn’t be more different than now. Me and my mate Susie were sat on the couch stuffin our faces with the contents of the corner shop and catching up on Jersey Shore after a proper borin NYE night where town was dead and the only choices to neck at midnight were some questionable Polish fellas or each other. We entered the New Year neck-less. Sly. Then everything started to change...</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">January - I started a new job and set about with vigour to adopt a mysterious new girl persona in the hope of actually gettin a decent fella. By this time ‘knobhead’ (see <a href="http://handbagvodka.blogspot.co.uk/2012/05/my-quarter-life-crisis.html"><span style="color: #021eaa; letter-spacing: 0px;">quarter life crisis</span></a> blog) was a distant memory and I felt like the coolest kid in class cos I’d met JesusChristFTM on boxin night and was using this to leverage mysterious cool girl points with me new colleagues. “Are you on twitter?” </span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Yeh”</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Dya follow JesusChristFTM?”</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Yeh he follows me.”</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Eee an wa? I met him. Shove it.” Cringe the Merciless there.</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had my first Scouse Bird Problem when I was late for work one mornin an drew me scouse brows on wonky. I started tweeting them every so often from my personal account. <a href="http://www,twitter.com/boobleyboo"><span style="color: #021eaa; letter-spacing: 0px;">@boobleyboo</span></a></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then there was Jesus’ birthday party at Bar Red where Ant Chandler buzzed me off when I ask for Levels. Sly. I generally fumed at the world, got a cob on, unfollowed Jesus, text the next day to apologise and re-follow and generally was forced to asses my life. I am not cool. I am a crank. I’d also gotten in an fell akip on the couch after shovin a pizza in the oven and had the house smelling of Eau de Charred Ham & Mushroom for aba a week. Me and 2012 got off on the wrong foot. Totally. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">February - The mysterious new girl persona was not working and I spent Valentines Day gettin a filling at the dentist and bloggin about all the shit dates I’d been on (<a href="http://handbagvodka.blogspot.co.uk/2012/02/50-first-dates.html"><span style="color: #021eaa; letter-spacing: 0px;">see 50 first dates blog</span></a>). However things picked up, towards the end of Feb I met me fella. One of the lads I was speaking to in work asked me to follow him on twitter and so I thought I’d see if any of his followers also worked there so I could make friends and stop sittin on the loser table by meself in work. Yeh I’m that girl. So I spotted <a href="http://www.twitter.com/maverick85p"><span style="color: #021eaa; letter-spacing: 0px;">@maverick85p</span></a> and he followed me back. A few days later after noticin him givin me the glad eye a few times I was in a conversation with the fella sittin next to him. He’d been givin me lip so I asked his name, “Er..er... me name’s Paddy.” at which point Paddy had turned round and I replied “No it’s not, THATS Paddy.” He then went completely white and then red....no not red, like a dark purple and went “How do you know??”</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You follow me on twitter”</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“No I don’t”</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You do. I just don’t have my name or picture up.” See even before Scouse Bird Problems I was a secretive bitch.</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I DM’d him a little while later to put him out of his misery. Apparently a few days earlier he’d seen me walk past and said “Who the fuck is that?” and he’d been told “you’ve got no chance with her lad.” Hahaha awww.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">March - Went out for a day of cherry beer drinking and met the delightful, one off <a href="http://www.twitter.com/lazzymash"><span style="color: #021eaa; letter-spacing: 0px;">@LazzyMash</span></a> who’s become a great friend. Tried (emphasis on tried) to do cartwheels in Chavasse park, bevvied, and I’ve never failed so hard at something in my entire life. Swear down I was like a disabled panda.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">April - The birth of Scouse Bird Problems. I’d just gotten out the bath after a Zumba class and Susie shoved her phone in me face “Av you seen this? Is this you?” Some absolute whoreface had only gone and ripped off my #ScouseBirdProblems hashtag from my personal account and set up a whole account. I was fumin to say the least. I stormed round the house for about 15 mins just slamming things and goin “IS SHE MESSIN??? IS SHE MESSIN THO? AM FERRRYUMIN! IS SHE MESSIN?”</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After a midday vodka and a nail appointment I set up my own account and it was Scouse Bird Wars. Obv I triumphed. Birds need to get their own shouts. Coughs “barbie” coughs. Ah well you can’t be a Scouse Bird proper unless you’ve got beef with half the other girls in the city. Reached 10,000 followers in the first week and had my mind blown.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">June - Went to Mexico with my best bitch Susie and had a ball throwin limes at Americans. Soz like but I proper hate Americans, cheesy obnoxious bastards. (See <a href="http://handbagvodka.blogspot.co.uk/2012/06/return-to-cancun.html"><span style="color: #021eaa; letter-spacing: 0px;">return to cancun</span></a>, <a href="http://handbagvodka.blogspot.co.uk/2012/06/cancun-diaries-day-one.html"><span style="color: #021eaa; letter-spacing: 0px;">the cancun diaries day one,</span></a> and <a href="http://handbagvodka.blogspot.co.uk/2012/07/what-happens-in-cancungoes-in-blog.html"><span style="color: #021eaa; letter-spacing: 0px;">what happens in cancun goes in a blog)</span></a>. Hit 30,000 followers.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">July - Got asked to do a Q&A feature for Open magazine. (See press section of <a href="http://www.scousebirdproblems.com/"><span style="color: #021eaa; letter-spacing: 0px;">www.scousebirdproblems.com</span></a> ) and met the editor of Heat magazine at the launch party who said she was really impressed with my writing and convinced them to keep me as a regular feature writer. Nice one Lucy girl.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">August - Took me fella for his birthday to the Signature Living Apts in town. If you haven’t stayed in them, GO they are AMAZING. Sittin off livin the WAG LYF for one night only.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">September - Moved in with me fella and he helped me learn how to pick dirty undies off the floor which is something I hadn’t done before. Ta babe. Love all tha.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">October - Went on holiday to Egypt and ended up with food poisoning from the salad. The fuckin salad. Should’ve stuck to the cake. Got me mate to be a stand in Scouse Bird for 2 weeks....did you even notice I was gone??</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">November - Only landed my ass in the Echo didn’t i? Me Ma an Da were proper chezzed by this. then the editor asked if he could feature one of my tweets a day in the paper. Oh alllllright then I suppose! Got invited to the Liverpool Music Awards which was amazing. I also managed to nag me fella into submission to let me get not one, but 2 kittens which he says he hates but he well loves them really. Probably. Hit 50,000 followers. (OMG)</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">December - Now I’m fully aware I’ve had you all on a blog diet, my bad. Truth be told my laptop is a pile of shite which takes aba 20 mins just to power on, so every time I’ve even had the slightest inclination to blog I’ve just looked at it and died inside. I took the plunge and bought a new one the other day so the the weeerld is me oyster now. Let me sum up the Xmas party season.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I actually had 2 work do’s (greedy I know but I gegged in on another departments one). the first was at Aintree and mid way through the night I happened to check me twitter and found out Chris Maloney had FUCKIN FINALLY been booted off the x factor. I was genuinely made up and went round spreadin the good cheer like doin the peace handshake at church. Whisperin ‘Peace be with you, Chris Maloney’s gone’ to every fucker within a 10 foot radius of me. The news was met with universal “Thank fuck for that YEESSSSS” from all.</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next week was just a do round down and I went from doin karaoke in the Croc one minute to sittin off in a booth in Mosquito with grey goose (bein a grey goose wanker) the next. I can’t stay classy for too long though, I was starvin an started casin the barmen to bring me down a pizza from the Living Rooms upstairs. I was basically told to fuck off. NORAVVIN THAT. </span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Ay lets go for a walk” I grabbed me manager.</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was wearing a festive poncho (once you hit 25, town without a coat of some description in the winter is just not an option)</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We ran down the road to the burger shop on the corner of Victoria St and I promptly purchased 2 burgers, stuck one under each arm, wrapped me poncho round me and then scurried back to mosquito. The poncho was key in this smuggling mission as i was able to hide the burgers under my arms but have it wrapped round me and still have both hands free and visible to the bouncers. Nonetheless I was still sweatin like I was goin through airport security with beak up me bum. “Just keep smilin, act natural girl. You an your dirty scran will be reunited on the other side” I told meself.</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We hid in our corner booth away from pryin eyes scrannin as fast as our mouths could handle. The manager came over and told us we weren’t allowed to eat in here and I was noddin goin “Yes yes i understand,” while one hand was behind me back tryin to push the burger boxes to the lads in the next booth along. Let them take the fall. Victims.</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After I started to try and do the crab (which basically involved me just lyin in the middle of the dancefloor) and burned my finger on a melted straw which had fell in a candle, I knew it was time to get off. I ended up leavin cryin to Sam Woolley (of scousewives fame) that I’d melted me fingerprint off. Soz aba me.</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next week I met up with <a href="http://www.twitter.com/old_scouse_bird"><span style="color: #021eaa; letter-spacing: 0px;">Old Scouse Bird</span></a> <a href="http://www.twitter.com/scouse_ma"><span style="color: #021eaa; letter-spacing: 0px;">Scouse Ma</span></a> & a few friends for a night out. We had a great night, again at Mojito & Mosquito, probably the best night out all year. We got home and Paddy accidentally locked one of the kittens in the bathroom all night and I only let her out the next mornin when I heard her cryin. The next day we were sat on the couch and she normally comes and sits on me only this time she came and sat on Paddy’s chest and proceeded to piss all over him. Kitten 1 - Paddy nil.</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Had a great night on boxin night at Moniques. Saw JesusChristFTM & Ponder and had a chin wag about what a completely mad mad year its been.</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We chose to spend NYE in Pan Am, just me and me fella, Lizzy & Lazzy. It was a great night only marred by goin the double toilets in Pan Am with Lizzy an realisin it actually is fuckin weird goin the toilet with ur mate and actually pissin together. I’m all for crammin 80 girls in the one toilet cubicle while you all take turns to piss but there was somethin about goin for a piss side by side which was horrendous. We were both screamin “DON’T LOOK AT ME” while furiously pissin as fast as we could. Never again, from now on the double toilets is a one for me, one for me bag situation. Cos even our bags are prinnys an need their own throne to sit on innit.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well that’s it, my 2012, i’ve loved it and thanks for all your lovely comments throughout the year. I do enjoy readin that I’ve made someone laugh, it’s an amazing feeling and I’ll carry on for as long as i can. 2013 is gonna be a boss year cos life is what you make it, an I’m gonna make it boss. Got a secret project I’m working on with Old Scouse Bird and if it comes off....well it could be life changing. Dead dead excited. Watch this space. See you in all in a club toilets in town soon handin out handbag vodka. Stay scouse everyone.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Love </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Scouse Bird</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">xx</span></span><br />
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@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-66054892421491089932012-12-30T15:25:00.003-08:002013-01-04T07:17:08.960-08:00Impossible (to tan)I remember years ago<br />
Someone told me I should take<br />
Caution when it comes to tan<br />
I did<br />
<br />
And you are streaky, I am not<br />
Your delusion, your mistake<br />
You were careless, you forgot<br />
To pat<br />
<br />
And now get your exfoliation on<br />
Make the shit stain tan go away<br />
You’ll be fit<br />
You can go ahead tell them<br />
<br />
Tell them all you know now<br />
Shout it from the bed shops<br />
Write it on your timeline<br />
All your skin will go brown<br />
<br />
Tell them that you’ll pat it<br />
And that you’ll use gloves now<br />
Your fella’ll do your back now<br />
Tell them that you hope tannings not<br />
Impossible, impossible<br />
Impossible, impossible<br />
<br />
Tanning perfectly is hard<br />
Having skin that’s pale is worst<br />
Orange feet and orange palms<br />
I know, I know ..<br />
Thinking all you need is bleach<br />
Gaggin hard on smell what’s worse?<br />
Lemon juice to de-stink works<br />
I know, I know ..<br />
<br />
And now when 9hrs developings done<br />
You can shower it all away<br />
On your own you can go ahead tell them<br />
<br />
Tell them that you’re tanned now<br />
And you swerve the bed shops<br />
Write it on your timeline<br />
All your skin has gone brown<br />
<br />
Tell them that you’re happy<br />
And your skin is golden<br />
For you no more mopin<br />
Tell them that you know tannings not<br />
Impossible, impossible<br />
Impossible, impossible<br />
Impossible, impossible!<br />
Ooh impossible<br />
<br />
I remember years ago<br />
Someone told me I should take<br />
Caution when it comes to tan<br />
I did@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-12474946284269367762012-11-29T02:28:00.001-08:002012-11-29T10:23:23.794-08:00Open Mag - Autumn EditionMy agony aunt column for open magazine - www.openthecity.co.uk<br />
<br />
Winter edition coming soon.<br />
<br />
<br />
We know it’s hard work being a scouse bird what with your fella getting grips of tramps behind your back and having to stink of biscuits all the time just to achieve the perfect tan – so we have enlisted our very own agony aunt, @ScouseBirdProbs, to offer you some words of wisdom. Caution: She will tell you straight!<br />
<br />
<br />
Want That Old Thing Back?<br />
<br />
<br />
Dear Scousebird Problems,<br />
<br />
I got out of a long-term relationship earlier this year — I was completely in love with my fella, but he cheated on me repeatedly, and our breakup was long and ugly.<br />
<br />
I had a couple of rebounds and got over it, but it took a while. Recently, I’ve been seeing this other lad, and he’s everything my ex isn’t. The problem is, I don’t feel as strongly for him as I did for my ex.<br />
<br />
My ex recently contacted me, and he wants to get back together. It’s been almost a year since we broke up, and in that time, I feel like he’s grown a lot — shall I stick with the safer option or get back with my ex?<br />
<br />
- An Ex and a hard place, aged 23<br />
<br />
<br />
Girl are you high? If you’re enough of a divvy to go back to him then really you deserve all the heartache that’s comin to ya. Do us all a mazzy favour first though and delete any and all social network accounts. No one, least of all me is gonna wanna see the on/off borderline schizophrenic nature of your upcoming relationship. “OMG I love him so much, he’s my one.” Next day “OMG I FUCKIN HATE YOU YOU BAD PIG I CAN’T BELIEVE I EVER WENT BACK TO YOU” Next day, “Cuddled up on the couch with my one watching X factor. <3 <3” Gerra grip girl, seriously. My advice is, ditch them both, go buy the highest pair of platforms St Johns market has to offer and go swing round the poles in Pink with all the queens. You’re not allowed near a straight fella til you’ve developed some self esteem. Scouse Bird orders.<br />
<br />
<br />
What Tattoo Should I Get Next?<br />
<br />
<br />
Dear Scousebird Problems,<br />
<br />
I currently have 4 tattoos & I’m looking at getting a couple more but I’m stuck for ideas. I’m not one of these people who gets them as it’s the current thing to do, each of mine has a personal, symbolic meaning to me and as such that is the reason it has taken me 6 years to get only 4. I was just wondering if you have any suggestions as to what I should get and where I should get them?<br />
<br />
- Tattooed and horny, aged 24<br />
<br />
<br />
This all depends on what you want out of life. For example, have you got a fella you’re desperately trying to swerve? If so may I suggest getting a tattoo of his name? It’s a statistical certainty that youse’ll split up within the week. The only problem is you’re left with a permanent reminder of that fuckin weapon for the rest of your life. As punishment you’ll have to cover it up with something wool like a dolphin jumping through a tribal symbol. As a side note, you pointed out to me that you are horny…this concerns me. I want to be clear, scouse bird doesn’t swing that way soz girl. Maybe a better tattoo would be a full tribal sleeve? You can then couple this with a semi buzz cut and start hangin out in the Lesbon, sorry Lisbon. I think you’ll like it there.<br />
<br />
<br />
What’s His Game?<br />
<br />
<br />
Dear Scousebird Problems,<br />
<br />
I’m starting to suspect that my boyfriend might be cheating on me, he’s gone all weird on me lately and started acting like a proper arse hole. He literally jumps out of his skin if I touch his phone, he is going out every weekend for a ‘quiet one’ and lying about what time he gets in. He lives with his mum still so I don’t see what time he actually gets in.<br />
<br />
What can I do to find out if he’s cheating?<br />
<br />
- Suspicious mind, aged 21<br />
<br />
<br />
Oh no girl, he’s probably just planning a surprise birthday party or proposal yano. HAHAHAHA! Sorry I couldn’t keep a straight face there. Have you seen “He’s just not that into you”? Right, ok well it’s basically putting it out there that all men are the friggin same but occasionally there’s an exception to the rule and you’re kidding yourself if you think you’re lucky enough to get that exception. He may be planning a surprise party or proposal but it’s unlikely. I’d go all FBI on his sorry ass. Buy the same phone as him and accidentally swap them then run away and lock yourself in the bog. Buy a wig and follow him out at the weekend. This behaviour isn’t at all cranky, it’s legit. Nah but seriously, girls have a spidey sense aba these things an if it’s bleepin, he’s cheatin. Go and get a fella who’s at least 3 out of 10 below you an he’ll be grateful to have you. Just use one of those Primark bags for his head when you’ve gotta do the dirty. It’ll be sound.@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-16022783659426862932012-11-07T12:06:00.001-08:002012-11-07T12:06:37.817-08:00Facebook MingsI’m probably already preaching to the converted here, if you’re reading this there’s a big chance you already use Twitter. But seriously what is up with Facebook lately and the fuckin creatures that inhabit it? I gave up on Facebook aba a year ago. I go on it occasionally like but I try to avoid it as a rule cos I know every time I go on it I’ll be lookin at people’s statuses and going “SHUT THE FUCK UP” over and over again – then despairin at the cretins I call me mates. Every time I go on I end up deleting at least one person, pretty soon I’m gonna have no one left. Don’t know the type of thing I’m on about? Let me break this down for ya.<br />
<br />
Facebook ming type 1 – The person with kids.<br />
<br />
These I think are my absolute WEEERRSST pet hate. These pushed me over the edge to join twitter. Listen right, I’m norassed aba your kid. No one else is arsed aba your kid. No one thinks it’s cute when you upload 324 pics of your womb spawn watchin telly with nutella all over their grid. Their Halloween outfit of a bin bag an a witches hat isn’t a) funny, b) cute, c) scary d) original, it is in fact e) offensive to my eyes. Even other people with kids don’t give a shiny shite aba your kids. Everyone has an element of self obsession and vanity and they just wanna go “OOOhh look what I did with me genes, isn’t it the most beautiful thing in the world?” Well actually no, it isn’t, and for the most part if I’m honest your kid is ugly and everyone’s onto it. Stop uploading pictures where your child looks borderline disabled cos it’s sly ok? Plus I have no interest in seeing it . The only people who MAY be interested in seeing it are you (so keep it to yourself) and paedos. So baby think twice before you lash your baby on my newsfeed.<br />
<br />
Facebook ming type 2 – The person who loves food<br />
<br />
These fall into kind of the same bargain bin as the person with kids. Ok I love food, everyone loves food, apart from maybe Victoria Beckham. However I KNOW what a chippy looks like, I know what a pizza looks like, I really don’t need a picture of it. Oh and dieters, you know that mmmm delicious plate of veg and cous cous you just made? It looks like something my cat just vomited up. You’re fooling no one. Just eat your gruel and go and compensate binge on 3 bars of chocolate and a family size bag of Walkers Sensations quietly will ya?<br />
<br />
Facebook ming type 3 – The person who’s just had their nails done<br />
<br />
Right ok, I love getting me nails done. I love staring at them for hours. They are fit after all. What I don’t need to see is pictures of your chunky disgusting nails with nail beds as wide as Sandra’s waistband in slimming class who’s been goin for ten years and is still the size of a house. They look like they belong to a giant witch. And they’re tacky. Pack it in.<br />
<br />
Facebook ming type 4 – The do gooder<br />
<br />
I say do gooder. They don’t do any good at all. They’re guillible and stupid and are easily emotional blackmailed by strangers wanting ‘likes’ for their own vanity. You know who I’m talking about…the sick kid/dead dog/brave soldier picture liker. There’s a picture usually of something horrific like a terminally ill child accompanied by a caption “1 like = 1 prayer” or “like if you care, ignore if you’re a heartless bastard who doesn’t give a crap”. 1. I’m not even getting into the whole prayer thing, let’s just say I’m an atheist and the more intelligent you are the more likely you are to be an atheist. 2. A like doesn’t mean anything! A like means all your friends news feeds are gonna be polluted with this horrific picture, thanks! 3. Check out the group that it’s been posted by, do you really think someone who started a group called “She’s too young for you bro” or “The awkward moment when you see Adele rolling in the deep” really has any care or affiliation with helping anyone? It’s shameful, morally wrong self promotion. Pack it in with the likes, you are thick and unfriended.<br />
<br />
Facebook ming type 5 – The attention seeker<br />
<br />
Oh these are just a barrel of laughs. They go on and on and on about how crap their life is. Statuses may be along the lines of “Can’t wait for 2013, it’s got to be better than this year. This is the worst year of my life.” Right I’m not bein funny but I could swear down you said the same thing last year and the year before. What makes you think 2013 is gonna be any different? What are you getting a personality transplant for Christmas yeh? Your life is shit this year and it will be shit next year unless you get off your fat, boring arse and do something about it. Secondly the realisation that your statuses are doing everyones head in and no one actually gives a crap that your life is a load of bollocks probably isn’t gonna do your self esteem any favours now is it? In fact does someone you very rarely speak to ‘like’ it everytime you post a ‘woe is me’ status? Yeh? That’s cos they hate you and they’re made up. Soz aba you.<br />
<br />
Facebook ming type 6 – The schizophrenic relationship<br />
<br />
OH MY GOOOODDD I can’t cope with your life! You hate him one day, he’s utter scum and the next you two are having a cosy DVD night and he’s ‘the one’. Then you’re ‘splitting up for good this time’ – meet someone on Friday night, get into a FB relationship with them on Saturday and then break up again with them on Sunday once he’s nailed and bailed and had his full English off you. Do you then take a step back and assess what’s wrong? Maybe work on your self esteem and what you want out of life? Do you shite, you go running back to scumbag number one and make sure the whole of Facebook knows about it. Girl you are an utter utter crank. Just cut your losses and go join a nunnery, you’re not cut out for relationships…or life in general.<br />
<br />
Facebook ming type 7 – The bore<br />
<br />
I’m having me tea. Just going for a shower. Been the gym, feel tired. OMG I’m soooo entertained, thank for the update, you’ve made me day. Yano what, just stay where you are, don’t bother with twitter.<br />
<br />
Facebook ming type 8 – The pyaaaa slag<br />
<br />
She’s got 1083 friends and at least 73 mutual friends with everyone in Liverpool. She’s banged half of them. She uploads semi naked pictures of herself in a full face of make up and a curly blow sayin “Soz aba me I look a total SHEEEOOOWW!” in a blatant attempt to get likes. Love a lad likes anything with tits even the three titted alien prostitute from total recall, your personality is about as exciting as a tesco light choices chicken cup a soup. Yano in aba 5 years when your face is the consistency of arl leather and you’ve shagged your way round half of Liverpool where are your confidence boosts gonna come from then? Assess your life or you’ll end up doin special MILF lapdances in X an the City til your nose falls out from all the beak cos there’s nothing else in your empty life. Either that or you’ll have aba twenny kids and be a regular on Jeremy Kyle. In your head you reckon you’ll be a WAG – dream on.<br />
<br />
Facebook ming type 9 – The googler<br />
<br />
Does anyone know when the lights are getting switched on? How long have you got to take stuff back to topshop? What films has Val Kilmer been in? Facebook isn’t google! As another Facebook friend of mine put it so succinctly the other night, “Google’s right there, it’s fuckin right there!!” Use it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I don’t even know why I’m on facebook at all anymore other than it’s a handy place to store your photos. I’m private up to the max, I’m not searchable (as far as I know) and I dread new friend requests. How do I say “yeh I’ll be your friend in real life but I don’t use Facebook in the spirit in which it was intended so I don’t wanna accept” without being impolite. Arr ay. I hate Facebook yano. I’m on the network but I’m anything but social. The only people on there who don’t do me swede in are people I also have on twitter. There’s maybe one or two people who post amusing statuses who DON’T have twitter but I just despair that they’re wasted on ‘Facey’. Generally it’s just full of idiots.<br />
<br />
<br />
Inabit<br />
<br />
@scousebirdprobs <br />
<br />
Xx@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-84498054972670118432012-11-06T13:02:00.001-08:002012-11-06T13:02:48.907-08:00GUEST BLOG - BeefaGUESTBLOG BY @redcarpertLPL <br />
<br />
So ... My summer was to say the least an actual ball ! Leaving for ibiza in may everything seemed like it would go amazingly well out there ... Bit of hair .. Bit of make up charge a few euros, but I was home after 12days I'd had enough of sweating like a porn star mid shoot and decided to come home to where the eyebrows are thick ...only to go back after 13days because I apparently couldn't live without ibiza I HAD to go back and I loved losing a stone in less than 2 weeks (honest if you wanna bang a stone off its the only way to do it) Who the fuck does that ? Indecicive prick me ! Anyway ... The next 2 months where filled with allkinds of madness in various well know ibizian establishments that I won't go into for fear of being arrested.... soz abar me! Moving swiftly on I have the same loathing for cleavage tops as my homegirl @scousebirdprobs but what's even more irritating than seeing a lads only messing pecs through a cut up tshirt posing as a vest is the amount of onlymessing joey essex's that where out there .. Urrrghhh the boys hot pants (coz that's actually what they thought they had on wen infact they where rolled up addidas shorts ... Soz abar them) where more reveling than the girls who where all bad BAD shows and even the girls shouldn't of been wearing them with the amout of cellulite hanging from there thunder thighs ! Teamed up with said cleavage revealing garment that tourments me so with a dodgy pair of their younger brothers off white converse... Fuck off mate your a a tit ... Have a seat!! And if your a scouser act like one ! <br />
in the middle of all this disgusting cunt-ness was me ... Flying the flagg high for scousers everywhere ! Eyebrows on and perfectly waxxed st moriz slapped on (everyday was blorange wednesday as I'm a pale prick who won't tan .. Fuck my actual life) and kept the cleavage tops to the boys from essex in linekars! Soz abar yous ! Job done in my eyes there pat on the back for me .... The girls where allways a mess and looked like they had never learned how to use a hair brush its rediculous what I saw out there ... It hurt my eyes to see it ... Horrible when your used to seeing beautiful women with nice hair on a regular basis and all you see around you is chu-fuckin-bacca ! Jogg on !<br />
<br />
While in ibiza I met one of the most amazing person I've ever had the pleasure of meeting lyds AKA nan and have came home to start up REDCARPET LIVERPOOL ! A team of highley skilled hair stylist makeup artist and body painters avaliable to you mobile for pamaerparties and nights out ..nights out meaning secret missions to make wools feel inadequate in there pale skin and kittens oh and the odd denim skirt (why don't they just stay home they should have learned by now) follow us on twitter and that ghastly facebook for all enquiries ! <br />
<br />
anywaythe morals of the story is go to ibiza to lose weight ...make sure you have stmoriz ... Don't be joey essex if your actually not joey essex ... And book in with redcarpet for a curly blow <br />
<br />
Traaaaaa x<br />
@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-10772777892148750452012-10-30T11:58:00.000-07:002012-10-30T11:58:04.503-07:00Scouse scared probs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="s2" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">Well my my my</span><span class="s3"> hasn’t it been a while? I could</span><span class="s3"> come up with a million an one excuses why I haven’t blogged like going on holiday blah blah blah but seriously I just couldn’t be arsed. Soz aba me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">Any</span><span class="s3">way</span><span class="s3"> here’s the weekend round up a la scouse bird style. We got invited on Friday to <a href="https://www.twitter.com/missfcouture">Miss F Couture's</a> pop up boutique. The idea was not to drink much cos I knew we’d be out Saturday and I’m getting old, I just can’t hack the 2 day hangovers no mo. This lasted until halfway through getting ready when a tricky eyelash application required a vodka and grapefruit juice to calm me down.</span><span class="s3"> Pyaa stress.</span><span class="s3"> Cue me standin outside the Newz bar at 1am cryin at me fella that he doesn’t love me no more and we should just split up.</span><span class="s3"> Vodka</span><span class="s3"> Cranks R Us.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">The pop up event was fab, me and Lizzy left ou</span><span class="s3">r fellas chattin footy to Lee of </span><span class="s3">@<a href="http://www.twitter.com/btoxclinics">btoxclinics</a> while we browsed Francescas collection like kids in a candy shop. “Eeee I want this one, and this one, and this one!!” They were</span><span class="s3"> all gorge</span><span class="s3">. We went to go try a couple</span><span class="s3"> on behind the screen in the make shift changies. Just as Lizzy was getting her dress back on she knocked the screen, we watched in horror as it fell over in slow motion exposing us both (but me fully dressed might I add) to the whole packed room. I was in stitches while poor Lizzy was crouched in the corner </span><span class="s3">clutchin </span><span class="s3">her boobs and dignity. Luckily</span><span class="s3">,</span><span class="s3"> enough vodka had been consumed to blunt the machete of embarrassment this would normally cause and we just brazenly strutted out “An wa?”</span></span></div>
<div class="s2" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s3" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Why do I leave a trail of drama and destruction wherever I go ay?</span></div>
<div class="s2" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">Lazzy Mash aka Lambo won the raffle prize of 5 kaftans which was hard graft </span><span class="s3">tryin to split between 2 of us – we ended up doin a little fas</span><span class="s3">hion show in the bogs to decide only for Lizzy to leave hers in a bar. Freebie error girl, freebie error. </span><span class="s3">We also met the girls at Conve</span><span class="s3">rse By Gem and <a href="https://www.twitter.com/MillionhaireCo">Millionhaire</a>. It’s</span><span class="s3"> dead nice putting faces to the twitter names. After months without stennies I can’t wait to get my Millionhair extensions like, they’re deffo some of the best I’ve seen….fingers crossed the</span><span class="s3">y’ve got the dip dyed ones like cos then I’ll be tossin me mane around like a Loreal pony. Cos I’m worth it, neeeiiggh.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">We’d gone to Ottersghoul on</span><span class="s3"> the</span><span class="s3"> Wednesday for the press</span><span class="s3"> </span><span class="s3">night</span><span class="s3"> (I’m not press like, I’m er just spesh)</span><span class="s3"> to get into the Halloween spirit. None of us could </span><span class="s3">actually </span><span class="s3">go on th</span><span class="s3">e death drop (a 50ft jump off the side of building) cos I had me mazzy bun ring in an therefore couldn’t get the helmet on (scouse bird problems) and Lizzy and Lambo were </span><span class="s3">just </span><span class="s3">shithouses in general. We decided to create our own fun and snuck off to the maze before it was strictly open. We got busted when Lambo ran on ahead to scare us, we screamed and then the Ottersghoul police/management came and told us to get out. We had to skulk back like naughty schoolchildren</span><span class="s3"> in front of everyone</span><span class="s3">.</span><span class="s3"> The sheeeaaamme.</span><span class="s3"> We were finally allowed back in </span><span class="s3">with everyone else </span><span class="s3">and got chased round the maze by the usual cast of Halloween characters (not</span><span class="s3"> a sexy cat in sight) and we </span><span class="s3">had a ball screamin all over the show.</span><span class="s3"> It’s only on </span><span class="s3">30</span><span class="s4" style="vertical-align: super;">th</span><span class="s3"> & 31</span><span class="s4" style="vertical-align: super;">st</span><span class="s3"> Oct</span><span class="s3"> so if use fancy it deffo get tickets! <a href="https://mobile.twitter.com/acadliverpool">Click here for Ottersghoul on twitter & links to tickets</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">Saturday night was the big dress</span><span class="s3">ing</span><span class="s3"> up night. You can either use</span><span class="s3"> Halloween </span><span class="s3">as a chance to have a bit of fun or go out dressed 10 x slaggier than you usually would as a sexy cat, witch, devil, vampire e</span><span class="s3">tc etc. Ah Halloween, the sluttiest time of the year</span><span class="s3">. I prefer to be a bit more original and went as the mother of the antichrist and Lizzy went as “scouse bird”. We along with Joe-Ann Randles (cereal killer [sic]) won Halloween, we deffo had the best outfits.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">The l</span><span class="s3">ook on peoples faces was priceless</span><span class="s3"> when they saw my face in horror make up, then their gaze dropped to my humungous pregnancy bump, then the sheer horror when they saw the creepy doll attached to realistic umbilical cord dangling from underneath my dress. THAT’S a horror outfit.</span><span class="s3"></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">We went to Mosquito first and nearly went flyin down the steps – er WHY is the middle step slightly bigger than the other steps please? Pya death trap! Lambo & Paddy were unimpressed by the lack of dressed up people in there.</span><span class="s3"> Me fella was already on a para cos he wanted to get the nurses outfit the joker wears in The Dark Knight, but left it til the last minute and ended up with a </span><span class="s3">micro mini </span><span class="s3">sexy nurses outfit. Seein no one else in fancy dress had him flappin it.</span><span class="s3"> To be fair the only other people in there at this point was a hen party from wigan. What is with wools? They’ll dress up any other weekend of the year when it’s blatantly not ok to</span><span class="s3">,</span><span class="s3"> in fuckin tutus an leg warmers, but Halloween when they have cart blanche? Nah we’ll just</span><span class="s3"> (attempt to)</span><span class="s3"> be classy yano. Wool fail. I’d won a free bottle of Chase vodka in Mosquito….arrr yano what I’ll stick to Glenns. It tasted like the blag tequila vodka that they give you in Mexico. We swerved it and went to Mojito and Moniques instead.</span><span class="s3"> A far cry from this time last year when I ended up in the Raz with it’s stench of sweat and chlamydia.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">We had a great night in Moniques like as per. The queue for the girls bogs was mazzy though so we had to try and get in the mens. It’s like tryin to play a computer game where</span><span class="s3"> you’ve gotta get past the</span><span class="s3"> toilet attendant to piss before he can chuck you out. It took us a few lives before we were finally able to ‘level up</span><span class="s3">’ and get past the baddy and lock ourselves into the toilet cubicle. Ha ha scouse birds 1 – toilet attendant 0.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">One the way out we met a fella who had a passing resemblance to JesusChristFTM so we took him upstairs to meet him. Unbeknownst to me this lad had told me fella somethin along the lines of he was takin me home tonight. Er nah lad, genuinely nah tho. This scouse bird is dead happy ta….even if I am a crank after a vodka or 10. Aren’t we all tho?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">The taxi queue outside moniques was mazzier than me xmas list so we had to walk all the way to Dale Street and do battle with the taxi drivers. The first one told us he wouldn’t take us round the drive thru cos he was tryin to earn a living. Er mate the meters still runnin round the drive thru so what’s ur beef eh? I even offered him a big mac….can’t get beefier than that. But he was havin none of it the little arlarse. So we had to do a quick swap to the one behind where we proceeded to spend twenny quid on </span><span class="s3">quarter pounders and a chicken nugget sharebox</span><span class="s3"> and lived happily ever after. Til we woke up the next day like the living dead. Sly.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">In other news I'm raising money for North West Cancer Research by staying in a haunted house on 10th November. If each of my followers donated just £1 (the price of a tacky hairband in Primark) then that's over £45,000 to charity. Maj!! Please please help if you can, I'm getting the first £750 matched by a bank too so even better. You can donate here <a href="http://www.justgiving.com/scousebird">www.justgiving.com/scousebird</a> or txt SBPS52 £(amount) eg SBPS52 £5 to 70070 - Thanks :-)</span></div>
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<span class="s3" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Inabit everyone.</span></div>
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<span class="s3" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Til next time….</span></div>
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<span class="s3" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">@scousebirdprobs</span></div>
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@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-43412253972029942062012-09-23T14:40:00.001-07:002012-09-23T14:40:33.355-07:00GUEST BLOG Confessions of a Psych NurseGuest blog by @jenren87<br />
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So its half 7 on a thursday morning and i've already seen more genitals than a back alley brass but its all part of the job right? WRONG!<br />
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When i decided to become a nurse I imagined cute little uniforms, prancing round curing people with a smile. But then i turned to the dark side. Psychiatric nursing. <br />
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Now a lot of people think mental health is all straight jackets and people spreading their own shit on the walls. Its not. Its far worse. Is full people who if they say something, they say it a thousand times. People who if you ask them to have a wash, its like you've asked can you throw acid in their face! And dont get me started on when they go out... These people can dress in the most "normal" of outfits, tell em you're taking em to the asda and its full on bright pink hotpants, socks, and peeptoe kitten heels all topped off with a tshirt 2 sizes too small with a picture of a wolf on or something cringey like "am i bovvered?!" obviously not love, dressed like that. The shame! <br />
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Dont get me wrong i love my job, and most patients are sound but you get these types who just want a reaction and my reaction is "the bus to st helens is thatta way!" <br />
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So yeh, if you're think nursing is glam: its not! Your days off are used to catch up on sleep and wash your hair! <br />
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Well thats my blog. Hope you enjoy. Lotsa love @jenren87@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-4259306492518739012012-09-13T09:12:00.001-07:002012-09-13T09:14:57.811-07:00GUEST BLOG - Female driver problemsSo if you're a girl i have almost no doubt you've gone around the block to allow pavement spectators to fuck off before you attempt to reverse parallel park.. Or park or reverse in general. I get a bad case of shame when I'm holding up the high street trying bleto 'squeeze' my tiny car into a space large enough for rooneys range rover. I just cannot judge distance, is it just me?! I also have two settings for driving down a road with the dreaded parked cars on my side.. Wing mirror swiping distance, or so far on the other side of the road people are waving their vile hands at me and im forced to scream OH CHILLL AAAAAUT. Id honestly rather go the long way and avoid such roads, the stress causes me to sweat up a storm on my top lip n ruin my perfectly painted on MAC concoction of foundation (at least 3 diff types) , i question how i passed my driving test every week.. If not every day. <br />
Which brings me to my next point. FUCKING cyclists!!!! My accute rage for them stems from the fact they are complete arrogant mugs AND i am certain the reason im gonna get banged up and made some lesbo haired jail bird is cuz one day their gonna ignorantly wobble infront of me and im going to squash um dead cuz im far to busy flicking thru my ipod looking for a cool enough song to blast out my windows as the high street fast approaches. So yeah, their blatant disregard for the people in giant solid boxes of machinery pisses me off... Who do they think they are to run red lights and not stop at zebby crossings? Please don't even get me started on when they wobble past your stationaty shiney new car on their 'vintage' rusty pile of crap. Do. Not. Touch. If you steady yourself using my bonnet.. I'll give you a lift home ....... On my bonnet you cheeky cow. <br />
I suppose i myself am a menace to the roads along with cyclists buses and mopeds with less power than my blowdryer (just get the bus cuz thats embarrassing mate) but im pretty sure getting arrested cuz i couldn't wait till i was home to tweet about the latest story iv read on the mail online is worth it right?? RIGHT???! <br />
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By @caitlinwynters <br />
<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjajZdLdZcmloMgb_W0qozPWPu0jW7hgKTgPS3lI8U49aUXVIFz6eE5y3hJESzxt6I9mtEkQI0DNmnuPKwY8AaWloscE9KvKrcJ7vT0TA3LCtK7OoexJ1EMIQNVurqqzcOHv6vYWPXF0LG9/s640/blogger-image-355788626.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjajZdLdZcmloMgb_W0qozPWPu0jW7hgKTgPS3lI8U49aUXVIFz6eE5y3hJESzxt6I9mtEkQI0DNmnuPKwY8AaWloscE9KvKrcJ7vT0TA3LCtK7OoexJ1EMIQNVurqqzcOHv6vYWPXF0LG9/s640/blogger-image-355788626.jpg" /></a></div>@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-89556073103870001132012-09-10T12:37:00.001-07:002012-09-10T12:37:59.434-07:00Why Christopher Maloney won't get my vote<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Saturday night I lay zombified on the couch after a heavy Friday night on the Sambuca in Moniques until X Factor came on. Suddenly I was all alert and my blood was boiling. “Oh my god it’s that cunt Christopher Maloney!”<br />
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Now I'm sure you're all fully aware that there are two sides to every story but MY experience of Christphopher Maloney is the black to Saturday night's X Factor's white. They might as well be two different people. Maybe he has a Jekyll & Hyde split personality I don't know.<br />
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I sat there seething as he shook like a shittin dog and fed the nation a (in my opinion) cock an bull story about him bein a little victim. Alright he probably does love his nan, I’ll give him that, who doesn’t love their nan? But the rest of it? Fuck off mate! I’ve watched him make a grown woman cry, now this is a woman who can hold her own and you wouldn’t necessarily go up against in an argument and he MADE HER CRY. He didn’t know this person, she was a complete stranger and somehow the bile that came out of his mouth was enough to make her break down sobbing in her place of work. No one should ever make anyone feel like that, let alone in their place of work. He was like a playground bully. This was back when I worked in face to face customer services and unfortunately he'd crossed my path on many occasions, each time he was just as consistently poisionous and vicious as the last without any real cause.<br />
The day he made my colleague cry I'd actually seen him come in and thought "Fuck that!" and gone the toilet. The old nightmare customer dodge tricks. Unfortunately I still had to take over and serve him when she was unable to serve him any longer. I politely told him to fuck off cos no one wanted to serve him and the manager refused to allow him in again. That's fact, I was eyewitness to that.<br />
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He’s the type of person in my opinion who walks round like the world owes him something. He's always been horrible from the word go every time I've met him and for no reason at all. If you try and help him don’t expect a word of thanks. If you’ve ever worked in retail or customer service and you have that one customer who comes in and everyone is suddenly busy doing something else….in my old work that was Christopher Maloney.<br />
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In my experience he's not a shy man. From what I've heard since Saturday he’s worked in and hogged the mike in many a karaoke bar. It seems I’m not the only one who’s had this experience with him either I’ve had my opinion backed up by quite a few people on twitter who’ve worked with him or had the unfortunate luck of havin to serve him. The irony is his twitter bio says he works in customer service. His twitter that seems to only recently have been set up as he’s never tweeted off it. I'm only speculating but could this have been set up by the X Factor machine in readiness for his X Factor journey? Call me a cynic. It's been alledged by one twitter user (I wasn't there so I can't say whether this is true or not) that he never got a standing ovation at his Echo Arena audition and instead was brought back on at the end by producers and then had the standing ovation. Why would that need to happen if the audiences reaction had been genuinely so elated?<br />
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This isn't anything to do with jealousy or putting Liverpool down. I've rooted for every scouser going, from Eaton Road to the gorge Rebecca Ferguson and the fab Marcus Collins. I'm genuinely thrilled to see scousers doing so well. Christopher Maloney is just one man I can and will not get behind.<br />
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Make your own minds up, you've seen the X Factor and you've read my blog. Think whatever you like, I'm not going to tell you what to think. Just take it all with a pinch of salt.<br />
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Inabit<br />
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@scousebirdprobs<br />
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@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406364892280044570.post-91520517140007974462012-09-06T13:20:00.001-07:002012-09-06T13:23:25.284-07:00GUEST BLOG - Kitten PrinsA guest blog by @georginaribenax<br />
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Right, so im not sure how you do this bloggin thing, so as this is my first blog, im gonna just take the piss out of a topic close to my heart… A scousers hatred for kitten heels.<br />
Its blatantly a scouse thing cos wools proper love them. Strappy kitten heels, wedge kitten heels, shiny kitten heels, the fuckin lot. An they always manage to match their shoes to their equally as bad fish net vest tops an pink demin skirts. Soz abar you.<br />
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So anyway, I think I began to absolutely despise these disgraceful AWFUL disasters when my bezzie pal, Shay, kindly posted a picture on my facebook of brown SUEDE coco pops an I went sick abit in me mouth. Dunno whos lyin to these girls when they ask how they look before they leave the house but they defo need to have a word.<br />
I AM NORRASSED HOW BAD YOUR ANKLES ARE!!! Im norrassed if your shoes are Dior. I am certainly norrassed if blind nuns bbm’ed Lady Gaga an made her piss in them shoes, your still a fuckin weirdo for wearin them. I see wools who got the northen line from whiston to liverpool of a weekend an continue to humiliate themselves an cause visual noise around town every weekend with no concern about anyone elses feelings. Bein funny or nothin, but your shoes offend me now fuck off out me eye.<br />
An another thing, you can prance round liverpool for years, you can bathe in fake tan, backcomb your hair to the high heavens an draw your eyebrows on, but as long as youve got them kittens on your pips, youve blown your cover an now everyone knows your from st helens an sleep with your cousin. IYA JEZZA!<br />
Right, im off to give meself an arabian glow AKA st moriz,<br />
Follow me on twitter if your proper fit @georginaribenax<br />
@scousebirdprobshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414184343013319903noreply@blogger.com0