About Me
- @scousebirdprobs
- Liverpool
- Scouse bird with a vodka dependency and an acute sense of social observation. Always self deprecating, always blunt. Follow me on twitter WARNING: Non-scousers may not understand language of this blog.
Friday, 8 March 2013
Under the hammered
Last Saturday night a few friends and I attended a charity ball in aid of the Dental Mavericks at the Hilton as volunteers helping out with running the auction etc. I’d found out Chris Maloney was gonna be there and already I’d envisaged us in a mad scrap like the scene out of Bridget Jones when Colin Firth and Hugh Grant go through a window. I’m not dramatic honest.
Anyway we got there early for the briefing, CM my arch-nemesis came in and started introducing himself to everyone, I made sure I was otherwise engaged tweeting etc. Soz lad, without telling you who I am there’s no way in good conscience I could shake your hand. Besides I might catch gobshite-itis. No one needs a dose of that on a Saturday night.
After all the glam, rich people went in for their dinner, we were sat about in the bar having a couple of drinks and a bit of food while we waited for our cue later on for the auction. Gotta get these people nice and drunk before you hold an auction. Advice I should have heeded. Having not eaten all day, a couple of glasses of wine had gone straight to me head, so it wasn’t the wisest time to head over to ‘just take a look’ at the silent auction of signed photographs. I spotted a signed Audrey Hepburn picture which would look amazing in my make up room alongside Marilyn Monroe & Ingrid Bergman so I thought “Okay, it’s gonna be expensive BUT it’s for charity, and I do love her, and I’ve just paid off my credit card and most importantly, I’m drunk. I’ll bid say £150, everyone’s happy.” I filled in my details for the super posh man who was running it and then he handed me over the bidding card and said “Just put your maximum bid there.” It was only then that I flew into a blind panic when I saw the reserve price was £700. Oh god, I can’t back out now, the man is dead posh and I’m at a posh ball, he’ll know I’m poor and a fraud and he’ll judge me and look on me with pity! I best put £701 and hope all these rich people outbid me. I deffo won’t win. As we all know, alcohol mixes well with most things, except decisions.
I heard no more about it and relieved at my lucky escape I later egged me mate on as she bid up to a grand to go on Rossie’s breakfast show on Radio City but got outbid at the last minute. She’s starting up her own business at the mo and I’m pretty sure she would have been getting divorced if she’d won.
Anyway back to us sitting in the bar. We were perched on a couch thing eating our steak when who should walk past, back from (I assume) a ciggy break but dun dun dun, my arch-nemesis CM. “Oh haven’t you’s got a table?” The shame! No we’re volunteering for charity actually, we’re not loaded or getting paid to be here. My mate told him who I actually was and he just looked at me an went “But WHHHYYY??”
Me: Cos ur horrible.
I then went onto explain the contents of my other blog about CM explaining my beef with him and obviously went into actual details.
He said “Well alls I can do is apologise for my actions, I must have been going through a bad period in my life. But I’m not gonna stand here justifying myself to you.”
“Sound. Best of luck.” And carried on eating my steak. What an anticlimax, I wanted drinks thrown an all sorts. It was like an awkward scene from Desperate Scousewives. Am I convinced? Hmmm not sure. But as far as I’m concerned he apologised for the offence caused to me personally so that’s that.
Other highlights of the night included:
• meeting Atomic Kitten which was more emotional for me mate cos he’s a die hard fan of Kerry Katona, loves the bones of her.
• Wearing a necklace containing John Lennon’s DNA. Felt pretty damn scouse after that.
So anyway, Monday rolled around and I was in work, typing away, minding my own business when I got a phonecall.
“Hi, you attended an event on Saturday night?”
“Yes….”
“You’ve won a signed photograph of Audrey Hepburn.”
Oh shit. Fuck. Twat. I burst out laughing down the phone to her and said “Oh my god I am in so much trouble, me fella is gonna kill me” I had to think quickly, I got my diary out and started organising delivery for the day I knew he’d be at work and I’d be home. I’ll just hang it up in the make up room, he’s not very observant, he’ll never even notice. It’s my credit card, I don’t get statements, no one has to die here.
I quickly started googling Audrey Hepburn photos to see how much I could flog it for on ebay…turns out I could maybe actually make a profit on it if I ever decided to sell. In the end I’ve decided to keep it cos I love her loads. I had to break it to me fella this morning and I’ve sold the situation to him by sayin it’s like investing in shares, it’ll increase in value, plus it’s all for charity! He’s not speaking to me now though. Oops.
Could be worse babe, it could’ve been shoes. Again.
X O X O
Scouse Bird
Anyway we got there early for the briefing, CM my arch-nemesis came in and started introducing himself to everyone, I made sure I was otherwise engaged tweeting etc. Soz lad, without telling you who I am there’s no way in good conscience I could shake your hand. Besides I might catch gobshite-itis. No one needs a dose of that on a Saturday night.
After all the glam, rich people went in for their dinner, we were sat about in the bar having a couple of drinks and a bit of food while we waited for our cue later on for the auction. Gotta get these people nice and drunk before you hold an auction. Advice I should have heeded. Having not eaten all day, a couple of glasses of wine had gone straight to me head, so it wasn’t the wisest time to head over to ‘just take a look’ at the silent auction of signed photographs. I spotted a signed Audrey Hepburn picture which would look amazing in my make up room alongside Marilyn Monroe & Ingrid Bergman so I thought “Okay, it’s gonna be expensive BUT it’s for charity, and I do love her, and I’ve just paid off my credit card and most importantly, I’m drunk. I’ll bid say £150, everyone’s happy.” I filled in my details for the super posh man who was running it and then he handed me over the bidding card and said “Just put your maximum bid there.” It was only then that I flew into a blind panic when I saw the reserve price was £700. Oh god, I can’t back out now, the man is dead posh and I’m at a posh ball, he’ll know I’m poor and a fraud and he’ll judge me and look on me with pity! I best put £701 and hope all these rich people outbid me. I deffo won’t win. As we all know, alcohol mixes well with most things, except decisions.
I heard no more about it and relieved at my lucky escape I later egged me mate on as she bid up to a grand to go on Rossie’s breakfast show on Radio City but got outbid at the last minute. She’s starting up her own business at the mo and I’m pretty sure she would have been getting divorced if she’d won.
Anyway back to us sitting in the bar. We were perched on a couch thing eating our steak when who should walk past, back from (I assume) a ciggy break but dun dun dun, my arch-nemesis CM. “Oh haven’t you’s got a table?” The shame! No we’re volunteering for charity actually, we’re not loaded or getting paid to be here. My mate told him who I actually was and he just looked at me an went “But WHHHYYY??”
Me: Cos ur horrible.
I then went onto explain the contents of my other blog about CM explaining my beef with him and obviously went into actual details.
He said “Well alls I can do is apologise for my actions, I must have been going through a bad period in my life. But I’m not gonna stand here justifying myself to you.”
“Sound. Best of luck.” And carried on eating my steak. What an anticlimax, I wanted drinks thrown an all sorts. It was like an awkward scene from Desperate Scousewives. Am I convinced? Hmmm not sure. But as far as I’m concerned he apologised for the offence caused to me personally so that’s that.
Other highlights of the night included:
• meeting Atomic Kitten which was more emotional for me mate cos he’s a die hard fan of Kerry Katona, loves the bones of her.
• Wearing a necklace containing John Lennon’s DNA. Felt pretty damn scouse after that.
So anyway, Monday rolled around and I was in work, typing away, minding my own business when I got a phonecall.
“Hi, you attended an event on Saturday night?”
“Yes….”
“You’ve won a signed photograph of Audrey Hepburn.”
Oh shit. Fuck. Twat. I burst out laughing down the phone to her and said “Oh my god I am in so much trouble, me fella is gonna kill me” I had to think quickly, I got my diary out and started organising delivery for the day I knew he’d be at work and I’d be home. I’ll just hang it up in the make up room, he’s not very observant, he’ll never even notice. It’s my credit card, I don’t get statements, no one has to die here.
I quickly started googling Audrey Hepburn photos to see how much I could flog it for on ebay…turns out I could maybe actually make a profit on it if I ever decided to sell. In the end I’ve decided to keep it cos I love her loads. I had to break it to me fella this morning and I’ve sold the situation to him by sayin it’s like investing in shares, it’ll increase in value, plus it’s all for charity! He’s not speaking to me now though. Oops.
Could be worse babe, it could’ve been shoes. Again.
X O X O
Scouse Bird
Saturday, 23 February 2013
The moment I wake up - my love affair with makeup
Some people are shoe people, some people are bag people. I like shoes and I like bags but my great love affair is with make up. It’s getting to the point where I really think I missed my calling in life as a MUA. Imagine just doing make up all day every day – heaven!
I have tons of the stuff, everything from Maybelline to Mac, Collection 2000 (doesn’t get used) to Chanel – it’s a luxury I don’t think twice about splurging on. Don’t get me wrong, I was recently almost reduced to tears at how beautiful my friends real Louboutin collection was but the average girl cannot just simply drop a grand on a pair of shoes at a whim – but £50 on a new foundation? No problem! It’s the designer gear we can all afford, at least every now and again. Every girl should feel the buzz that comes from strutting through town with an array of designer bags on her arm (in the crook of the elbow of course). Grey Goose lifestyle on a handbag vodka budget.
I’ve been to get my make up done professionally a couple of times and I know people I can rely on to do a fantastic job but truth be told I very rarely get my make up done by a ‘trained professional’ because I ENJOY doing it myself (I say trained professional, the amount of girls now who’ve been to a demo day at the MAC counter and now reckon they’re boss, setting up Facebook business pages with wonky eyes all over the gaff is ridiculous. They look like they take their inspiration from Picasso rather than Peaches). It’s like the adult version of ‘art class’. I get my palettes, my brushes and I can express myself on a blank canvas. Do I want natural (answer normally no), dramatic, gothic, 50’s, glamorous? Do I want it to be all about the eyes or the lips? Do I want glitter (always)? I can let my creative side loose.
As with most things, unless you’re some sort of child prodigy, doing make up well is a skill that needs to be learnt. I remember looking back at pictures of a night out after my first dalliance with black eyeshadow and I looked like Uncle Fester from the Addams family, smackhead eyes I called it. I was scared of black eyeshadow for a long time after that – I’d look at pictures of glamour models rocking the dramatic black look and start shaking and crying in the corner. I never wanted to look that much like a wool ever again.
Probably one of the hardest things to learn (other than sticking your eyelashes on straight and perfecting an even eyeliner flick – which is NOT like riding a bike, you can definitely get rusty unless you constantly practice your technique) is the smokey eye. A few years ago when Benefit released their smokey eye kit, including a handy step by step guide to creating the look, I felt like a mysterious new world had finally been unlocked for me. Their safe, neutral pinks and browns and plenty of practice gave me the confidence and skills required to pull off the smoke well. Now the make up world is my oyster and I’ve developed the 60 second smoke technique (patent pending ha) for having fab Scouse eyes every day - even when you’re late for work. NB Those who are still drawing their eyebrows on wonky need not apply, requires good hand to eye co-ordination.
When MAC first opened in town I was overjoyed, like a Scouse Bird at a footballers party, I was in my element. Everyone soon cottoned onto it though and now I dread going in because I know I’ll have to wait at least 15 minutes while the staff are either serving some wool who doesn’t know her pink from her coral and is gonna look a show no matter how much she buys (you can buy all the make up that MAC can make, but if you look inside you, see you’re a wool through and through, you can accept that you’ll never be a damn scouse fitty), or they’re talking about who’s copped off with who the weekend before “Oh Louise I was a proper sheeeooow yano, I slobbered on his shoulder!” – Listen Louise, never mind that, I want a lippy and I want it NOW! Thank god for Illamasqua opening opposite.
If you ever go to New York one of the things you absolutely MUST experience is make up shopping at Saks Fifth Avenue and Barney’s. I was served by two of the most overly dramatic camp guys I’ve ever met in my life (and I live in Liverpool, the city home to Pink & Garlands) and they had me wanting to buy the whole make up counter, which I very nearly did. “Oh hunny that colour looks FABULOUS on you!! I am sooo jealous! This colour was made for you!” Eyar here’s me credit card, just take it, it’s yours!
Scouse Bird 4 make up 4 eva IDST xx
Sunday, 10 February 2013
Marilyn Monroe was NOT a size 16
~I’m all for people having a healthy body image, but there’s one phrase that gets wheeled out at every available opportunity and certified as fact (by people who quite possibly want to make themselves feel better and/or are ill informed) that Marilyn Monroe was a size 16. Let’s face it, she wasn’t. She has curves, I’ll give you that but can somebody please watch ‘Gentlemen Prefer Blondes’ or ‘Diamonds Are a Girls Best Friend’ and tell me she’s anything but absolutely tiny? I mean she makes Jane Russell look big and you’re not telling me she was a size 20. Come off it.
I’ve seen several experts from the fashion industry say that at some point she may have been a size 16 but that’s much more like a modern day 10-12 and actually for the most ~part she was no more than a size 8. Don’t be holding the woman up as a shining beacon for a healthy bigger body image while you’re stuffing your face with crisps and chocolate and spilling out your Primark leggings. That’s NOT a healthy body at all. You’d have to be about 6’5” or something for a size 16 to be medically healthy – I used to be there and trust me it was not healthy. I’m not suggesting it’s wrong to be a size 16, if you’re there and you’re GENUINELY happy about it, then g’wed girl but that Marilyn would’ve shopped in Evans or Simply Be if she was about today is quite simply…bullshit.
Now don’t think I’m preaching to you from a pair of size 6 skinny jeans, I’m not! I’m pretty tall and normally range between a size 12 to 14 depending on how well I’m doing on the salad graft (and it IS a graft) – I don’t consider myself to be fat. Even when I was 2.5 stone lighter than I am now I was still a size 12, that’s just my frame. It’s taken me many years to accept that, but accept it I have. Don’t get me wrong there are some days when I feel bloated and think I look aesthetically inferior to a sack of spuds but every girl gets that bloated feeling. Norassed, it passes. What I strive to be is in the healthy weight range. I eat right with the occasional fall off the wagon, I used to exercise a lot but I’ve moved house away from the gym (badly need to get back there or join a new one) and it IS a struggle to maintain that balance when there’s scones and kettle crisps and lazy days on the couch calling my name – but I don’t want to get to my mid 40’s and be faced with a plethora of health issues just cos Domino’s keep texting me with their special offers (the bastards). So I graft to be healthy - Every. Single. Day
It seems to be more acceptable now to pick on images of the really skinny and say it’s unattractive but shock horror if someone says it about an overweight person. That's also not attractive because it’s just not how we were designed to look.
~
Size is all relative to height. If I was shorter and kept the same proportions I probably would be a size 8-10…..if someone is a size 16 and really short they ain’t gonna be looking anything like Marilyn Monroe so don’t use that as an excuse to fall down the cakey rabbit hole girlies. If you're not happy with your body then why not make it your goal to get healthy not to starve yourselves to get skeletal or give up and eat yourself into type 2 diabetes. Marilyn Monroe was gorgeous and a stunner, a 50’s version of Beyonce or Kelly Brook – she IS what we should aspire to be - womanly. I saw a twitter user say regarding skinny girls: “Only a dog wants a bone.” And I love that. I’m not saying that everyone MUST get fit and healthy, nor that it’s easy (it’s definitely not) just don’t be using ‘MM was a size 16’ as an excuse to trick yourself into feeling sexy when you’re actually miserable/unhealthy. 
~I think there is a definite, if sometimes imperceptible switch towards a better body image in recent years. We don’t want the unhealthy skinny, nor the unhealthy fat, we want the nice curvy, ‘something to grab’ in between body, and since the Olympics especially, the fit, athletic body. Well pretty much all of us that is, apart from Katie Price – My first thought was ‘You cheeeekkkkkyy bitch!” when she had the nerve to call Kelly Brook a heifer this week. Yes love you may have the hips of an 8 year old child but you’ve got a face like a smacked arse and Kelly is still considered to be one of the most beautiful women in the world. Get back in the kennel Jordan. Soz aba you.
Happy salad grafting girls xx
Friday, 11 January 2013
The Fresh Prin of Liv-Er
Now this is a story all about how
My life got flipped turned upside down
An I'd like to take a minute just sit right there
Ill tell you how I became the Prin of a pool called Liv-er
Innnnn West Walton central I lived an lazed
At the sunbeds is where I spent most of me days
Just chillin out, tannin, an scrannin all food an
Shoutin at wools from outside of the pool
Then a couple of times me brows were up to no good
Wonky eyed nobhead of the neighbourhood
I did one little tweet an tagged 3 lil words
It's the start of scouse bird probs an the start of scouse bird
I pulled up all the probs since age 7 or 8
An i lashed them all on twitter "soz ba use, see ya later"
Now I fall out of Kingdom
But have fabulous hair
An I sit on the throne
As the Prin of Liv-er
My life got flipped turned upside down
An I'd like to take a minute just sit right there
Ill tell you how I became the Prin of a pool called Liv-er
Innnnn West Walton central I lived an lazed
At the sunbeds is where I spent most of me days
Just chillin out, tannin, an scrannin all food an
Shoutin at wools from outside of the pool
Then a couple of times me brows were up to no good
Wonky eyed nobhead of the neighbourhood
I did one little tweet an tagged 3 lil words
It's the start of scouse bird probs an the start of scouse bird
I pulled up all the probs since age 7 or 8
An i lashed them all on twitter "soz ba use, see ya later"
Now I fall out of Kingdom
But have fabulous hair
An I sit on the throne
As the Prin of Liv-er
Tuesday, 8 January 2013
The 0151 by Scouzalea Banks
Hey, I can be the scouse bird
I'm ready to dance get ur tan on
And when I pout that lip get your camera
An if you see that bitch in the same dress
Get ready to swill with mojito
That bitch she wants to compete tho
I can freak out pump that fist with the peeps and
You know what your bitch become when her weave in
I just wanna sip that goose with your peeps an
Sit in that booth if you're treatin'
Kick off with a bitch an go get a pizza
You know ill get a kebab and four season
Now he wanna piece of my scran in the evenin'
An get his tongue on me deep pan
I guess that cunt gettin' beaten
I guess that cunt gettin' beaten
I guess that cunt gettin' eaten
I guess that cunt gettin' eaten
I guess that cunt gettin'...
I was in 0-151
Livin town up yeh
On the pull
Yano it's on now dont you?
Shit make-up on you
I'm a rude bitch divvy
You lookin made up for?
Need to eat your food up girl
Think ur boss in ur 8
I'm a cool 1 - 2
Fuck you gone do?
Al av 2 large Big Mac
I'm a look a right pig
But do i give a fuck?
Fuck em like you don't do this hun
Its sly to get discovered shaggin all them lads
Cock-a-suckin' in a delta by the big Costco
Catch the clap soon
In the mornin who u son?
Minger you've overstay you
Plus your bitch might kick off
Wonder who let you come to Walton?
Ring that delta crew son
The fuck, you doin, hun?
Girl put in your big bun bun
Hungover an hot
If you do want to go to nandos
Tell your girls don't blag
There's no goss bigger
You know youre a big show
Bitch I'm 'bout to throw up too
New me from today
Got the new stens too
From Rapunzels
Where are you bitch for lunch?
I'm a proper bad cunt
I'm a proper bad cunt
I'm a proper bad cunt
I'm a proper bad cunt
A-yo, A-yo,
I heard you struttin' with the same tall, tall heels tall heels
Til you see cobbles cobbles
Tryna' be runnin' but you ain't goin' no where no where
Why you always late girl? Late girl
You lookin hot but you just waste all your time
You'll forget their name soon
And ain't nobody be to blame but yourself, yeah
Why you do this when Vodka appear?
W-when shots premier?
Bitch the end of your life feels near
It's shit this time, time
When you gone get ur life in gear?
Why not this new year?
Bitch the start of your life is near
It's fuckin time time
I'm ready to dance get ur tan on
And when I pout that lip get your camera
An if you see that bitch in the same dress
Get ready to swill with mojito
That bitch she wants to compete tho
I can freak out pump that fist with the peeps and
You know what your bitch become when her weave in
I just wanna sip that goose with your peeps an
Sit in that booth if you're treatin'
Kick off with a bitch an go get a pizza
You know ill get a kebab and four season
Now he wanna piece of my scran in the evenin'
An get his tongue on me deep pan
I guess that cunt gettin' beaten
I guess that cunt gettin' beaten
I guess that cunt gettin' eaten
I guess that cunt gettin' eaten
I guess that cunt gettin'...
I was in 0-151
Livin town up yeh
On the pull
Yano it's on now dont you?
Shit make-up on you
I'm a rude bitch divvy
You lookin made up for?
Need to eat your food up girl
Think ur boss in ur 8
I'm a cool 1 - 2
Fuck you gone do?
Al av 2 large Big Mac
I'm a look a right pig
But do i give a fuck?
Fuck em like you don't do this hun
Its sly to get discovered shaggin all them lads
Cock-a-suckin' in a delta by the big Costco
Catch the clap soon
In the mornin who u son?
Minger you've overstay you
Plus your bitch might kick off
Wonder who let you come to Walton?
Ring that delta crew son
The fuck, you doin, hun?
Girl put in your big bun bun
Hungover an hot
If you do want to go to nandos
Tell your girls don't blag
There's no goss bigger
You know youre a big show
Bitch I'm 'bout to throw up too
New me from today
Got the new stens too
From Rapunzels
Where are you bitch for lunch?
I'm a proper bad cunt
I'm a proper bad cunt
I'm a proper bad cunt
I'm a proper bad cunt
A-yo, A-yo,
I heard you struttin' with the same tall, tall heels tall heels
Til you see cobbles cobbles
Tryna' be runnin' but you ain't goin' no where no where
Why you always late girl? Late girl
You lookin hot but you just waste all your time
You'll forget their name soon
And ain't nobody be to blame but yourself, yeah
Why you do this when Vodka appear?
W-when shots premier?
Bitch the end of your life feels near
It's shit this time, time
When you gone get ur life in gear?
Why not this new year?
Bitch the start of your life is near
It's fuckin time time
Friday, 4 January 2013
The artist formally known as Princess
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
See photo for my boyfriends reaction...
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
Signin off
Scouse Bird
The Prince & the Pea
Meow.
xx
Tuesday, 1 January 2013
The 2012 round up
“Yeh”
“Dya follow JesusChristFTM?”
“Yeh he follows me.”
“Eee an wa? I met him. Shove it.” Cringe the Merciless there.
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. @boobleyboo
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.
“You follow me on twitter”
“No I don’t”
“You do. I just don’t have my name or picture up.” See even before Scouse Bird Problems I was a secretive bitch.
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.
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.
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.
“Ay lets go for a walk” I grabbed me manager.
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)
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.
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.
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.
The next week I met up with Old Scouse Bird Scouse Ma & 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.
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.
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.
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