Saturday, 19 May 2012

I'm back! Bigger, better, and with bells on. Not really, it's still just me, but a short break has brought me to the realisation that (1) I love writing and (2) I miss you lot, when we're not chattin'. 

One thing I've been giving some time to recently has been rereading my old diaries (I have avidly logged life's events - both the mundane and the slightly more ridiculous - since the age of eight). One day, when I'm feeling brave drunk enough, I'll take you through some of the most hilariously cringe-enducing extracts.  In the meantime, I've written a few summaries. I'm going to put up the first one now, and if you like it, let me know, because there's plenty more angst-ridden rambling where that came from, so maybe it could become a once-a-week thing? If, however, you think it's pants, feel free to throw rotten cyber-eggs in my direction. 

*image source*

I figured that if you're still suffering through adolescence, maybe a few war stories will cheer you up. If, like me, you've been there, done that, got the Busted t-shirt*, then enjoy the trip down memory lane, titter at my misfortune as a yoof, and feel free to leave any similar tales of woe in the comments box! Because I can't have been the only one who (according to my diary entries, at least) was so thoroughly miserable, right? 

Ok, here goes. Welcome to Angstville. Population - Me. 


*Sadly, not really, all I got was a commemorative inflatable guitar. Yes, seriously.

1: The Unrequited Crush

I was fourteen, and quite firmly planted in the most ungainly phase of my adolescence. My mouth still bore more than a faint resemblance to a barbed wire fence, and my 32AA Marks and Sparks bra was sadly flapping around my ribcage, totally pointless, and convincing me that never, ever, ever would I have the things which would make me normal - breasts. My Big Bro used to take me along to social occasions, pitying me for being so hopelessly unsocialised due to my attending boarding school in a convent. 

Inevitably, these gatherings would always find me hanging at the edge of the party, a lukewarm WKD clutched in a hand that's unpleasantly sweaty due to nerves. Luckily, I'd usually be rescued by one of Big Bro's more sympathetic pals, who would come and hang out with me for a while, debating the merits of the Super Nintendo Entertainment System versus that of the Sega Megadrive, making sure I had a drink, and basically all treating me like their own honourary little sister. Naturally, given that I was fourteen, fairly naive, and hopelessly insecure, these small kindnesses sometimes resulted in possibly the most devastating of adolescent phenomenon - the unrequited crush. 

There was one boy, in particular, who would keep me company for hours at these parties, always laughing at even my feeblest jokes, giving me my first ever cigarette, and giving me the slightest hope that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't some kind of mutant that the opposite sex found utterly repellent. Our time together was always drawn to a premature close, however, when his eye would inevitably be drawn to an older, cooler girl, who actually inhaled her tobacco smoke and filled out her (not 32AA) bra. Which would always leave me heartbroken. 

Before abandoning me to the social Siberia which was the edge of the party, alone, this boy would always stroke my cheek (making sure to avoid the mouth area, which was pretty sharp), and tell me "Oh Mo, you have so much potential. But you're just not quite there yet, chicken." Or, "You'll be so pretty when you get the braces off, but you still won't have any sex appeal, darling." Which he claims he meant kindly. A pat of the head, and he'd run off to his poonhoundery. I would sigh, take another shudder-inducing swig of WKD, and wish I had Hogwartian powers and could curse the girls in the room who had bigger boobs than me (i.e. all the girls in the room).

Yeah. Crushing stuff.

P.S. I can happily report that life got easier. The braces came off, I got bumped up to a 32B (ka-chiiing!) and I eventually came to the realisation that I was not actually in love with that boy. We're still good friend to this day, and actually, when I was seventeen, had straight pearly-whites, and managed to develop some sex-appeal (apparently), he tried to kiss me at a party where I was NOT sitting on my own in the corner. At which point I jumped up and down, screamed "I WIN!", and rejected him. And victory was very, very sweet. 


Tuesday, 15 May 2012

Howdy Cool Cats,

I've been in a little bit of a funk recently, I'm afraid to say. Nothing serious, nothing to worry about, but I feel it would be good for me to step away from the internets for a little while, and just sort myself out. Don't worry, I won't be running around Manchester, naked, jumping up and down on stationary car bonnets and shrieking or anything. I just figure that a few days without worrying about the blog will restore some of my writing mojo (because honestly, everything I've tried to write for the last week or so has felt distinctly lack-lustre, hence the infrequency of posts). 

I won't be away for long, and will be contactable via email or Twitter if you need me! In the meantime, here are some links to keep you entertained:

The Accidental Londoner - A particular favourite blog of mine at the moment!
Suri's Burn Book - Probably the best Mean Girl on the internet.
Minnie Brioche - Another marvellous blog whose back catalogue has been my bedtime reading recently.
A video of an angry hamster - Because... Well, you know, just because.
Food 52 - A website with more delicious-looking food than you can shake a stick at. 

I'll be writing again soon, like a phoenix from the ashes, greater, and more... No, let's not be carried away now, Mona. I'll be writing again, and hopefully, it will be a bit less rubbish once again.

Thanks for sticking with me! It really does mean a lot.



Friday, 11 May 2012

Just a quickie tonight, chaps, then I'm off to pick my pal up from the bus station (poor boy has spent eight hours on the bus to come and visit for the weekend - I call that dedication). 

I just thought I should let you know that Judy's Affordable Vintage Fair is coming to Manchester tomorrow. I've been to one of these before - I only made it for the last half an hour but nonetheless managed to uncover some lovely treasures. You can find the event details here, but it promises to be a delightful afternoon of shopping, cupcakes, and vintage tunes. I'll be mooching around taking lots of pictures on my borrowed Lomo, and hunting down the perfect pastel skirt.

Manchesteroonies, see you there?

Wishing everybody a wizard weekend!


(And yes, I am rewarding my pal for coming to visit for the weekend by dragging him round a vintage fair. I know, I know... With friends like me, eh?)


Tuesday, 8 May 2012

Bank Holiday Weekend saw me making a last minute decision to get on a train and go to see my bestie in Leeds. I spent Saturday dancing to motown in my Crown and Glory bandeau and my dungarees. If you ever get a chance to go to Moonstomp whilst in Leeds, definitely take it. The music is brilliant and it takes place in a community centre, leaving you feeling like you're partying in a school disco full of middle-aged mods. Fantastic.

I returned from Leeds with a much lighter purse, a new ear piercing and having made the spontaneous decision to re-pierce my nose. It's only a tiny stud, but I'm kind of digging it!

Here's what I wore today:

Hat - knitted; Necklace and Belt - Urban Outfitters; Top - Vila via ASOS; Skirt - Topshop; Boots - Vintage

The skirt was given to me by my bestie in Leeds, it's a size 8(!) so I do a little victory dance every time I manage to force it over my hips.

The hat is a gift for the boy, he's a huge Wes Anderson fan so I thought he might like to have a Team Zissou hat...

He's back from Japan so I'm seeing him tomorrow and will give him the hat then. Fingers crossed that he likes it!

How was your Bank Holiday weekend? Did you all have crazy adventures?



Friday, 4 May 2012

The lovely Charlotte from Charlotte's Web is currently in Paris, being loved up with her fella. (Jealous? Moi?) She asked me to write a little something about my holiday in Malaga with Beets, so feel free to pop on over and have a gander.

This gander is having a gander.
*image source*

You can find the post here, should you feel so inclined.

Thanks guys!



Thursday, 3 May 2012

Today I actually got out of bed, and put on clothes. Progress indeed! N took a few photos for me, and yes, I look like a proper noob who can't pose, but I feel almost like that's important now, so that you know it's really me. 

I bought a pair of dungarees last week, during what may or may not have been a mad moment sartorially,  I still can't decide. My female friends say they're adorable. My male friends do that biting the lip and tilting their heads thing. My brothers say I look like Mario. They now call me Monario. Having brothers is just ace.

You guys can decide for yourselves...

Glasses - Squint; Jumper - Ralph Lauren; Dungarees - Vintage via Blue Rinse; Necklace, T-Shirt, Bag & Chelsea Boots - Urban Outfitters

What do you think? Kind of nice? Or GET BACK TO YOUR FARM!!!



Tuesday, 1 May 2012

Chivalry. I've never been too sure how I feel about it. Whilst I am from a background where having a man open a door for me or offer to carry my bags is appreciated (although no longer expected), I have always felt a little bit... patronised? I'm never sure if the implication is "well, I'm a nice, old-fashioned kinda guy, so I'll take care of it," or if it's more "having ovaries must be exhausting for you, poor thing. Don't worry your little head about it."

I don't like men standing for me (I find it awkward). Paying for things? Don't even go there. Does that then mean that I owe them something? I just don't know. And I've always found that guys' seeming compulsion to "rescue" me really over the top and quite irritating. I may give off vibes of being a bit clumsy and awkward, which, when combined with the fact that I have large eyes and my hair smells like shampoo, seems to make boys go into overdrive "I WANT TO PROTECT YOU" mode, but, actually, I'm not totally inept. I'm perfectly capable of telling the creepy man at the bus stop to bugger off for myself, thanks. 

Basically, I've never been Emma Stone in Easy A (although golly, do I love that film).

*image source*
I have never wanted my life to be like an 80's movie.

That is, until I got the flu.

This is quite embarrassing to admit, but being ill makes me insanely needy. I want to weep. I want to be looked after. I want hugs from a big person (they have to be big so that they make me feel tiny). I know, I'm pathetic.

You may recall that back in December I was ill, and a lovely boy came round to look after me, and ended up burying a dead rabbit for me, instead of taking me on what was supposed to be our first date. Things never did work out romantically with him (they rarely do, when dead rabbits are involved). However, he has been round several times a day (he's a neighbour - in fact, let's call him N, for Neighbour) since I've been ill. He has brought me cupcakes, and muffins, and other things to tempt me to eat. He has introduced me to Studio Ghibli movies, and hung around to watch a few with me. He has made endless cups of tea, cracked jokes to cheer me up, and provided hugs. And at six foot two, he counts as a big person. 

I always knew that he was an old-fashioned boy who likes to look after girls. The problem was, I'm not an old fashioned girl who wants to be rescued. But he is very good at it, and it has been lovely while I've been ill.

Sadly, when I'm not totally useless and weak as a kitten, I'm just not that kind of girl. However, if you are the type who likes being looked after, and "protected", then I think your perfect man may be living upstairs from me. If you'd like an introduction, then leave a message in the comments box.

Where do you stand on chivalry? Dashing and romantic? Patronising? Or, like me, are you an "only when I'm sick" kind of girl?

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