Author Archives: alicelouiseee

About alicelouiseee

Alice | 23 | Figuring life out, one clumsy step at a time.

DEAR DIARY: MY NEW ROOMMATE’S A BIT WEIRD.

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Jk, guys. I’ve moved in with Greig.

We only went and bloody did it, didn’t we? I mean it wasn’t exactly a laid out plan, but when a babe of a place with a converted attic, comes on the market, what’s a girl to do?

To be perfectly honest, we went into the viewing with an ‘we probably won’t go for it, but it’s always good to have a look’ kind of attitude… Then I immediately fell in love with the place. Meanwhile, Greig’s face had an expression which can only be described as ‘I could put my sound system in this attic’, painted all over his wee face.

It’s been a ridiculously stressful couple of months, but we’ve finally made it. We’re almost all unpacked, we’ve had all the ‘how many jars of screws do you possibly need’ and the ‘how many pairs of shoes can you own’ domestics there is to have and we moved in a fortnight ago.

Not to mention the most important of all days have just gone by… We had our internet put in. I am officially back living in the twenty-first century.

It’s true what they say, you’ve no idea just how much stuff you actually own until it comes time to pack it. The mammoth task of moving it all and unpacking has been tackled, so you shall soon be bombarded with one too many pretty pictures of said house.

Wish me luck poppets… I live with a boy!

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THE BEST FIVER I EVER DID SPEND

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Tragedy struck my life last month, when my loved ones took it upon themselves to come together as a collective and agree that I should be banned from Primark.

So, there I was, standing in Primark… 

It took me a good five minutes, a promise of only looking and not a single purchase, to wear down my sister. But before I knew it, I had fought my way into my own personal Primark heaven.

Now, as you’ll have already deduced, I did not make it out of Primark empty handed and I very much took my sister down with me. Who can blame us though, when a tiny little table was set up at the end of the cash desk – a holy grail type situation, if you will – to display twenty of Primark’s most wanted.

I GOT A CHIP MUG.

Yes, you heard me. The item stores are now limiting to two-per-person, the item I’ve seen more articles written about, the very same item that sold out all over the bloody country, is now in my possession.

He’s pretty, he’s little and dear god, will I never ever understand the people who’ve actually used said mug to consume beverages from. I’ve turned into that crazy aunt with the dollhouse, you may only look but not touch the Chip mug.

Categorically, the best fiver I’ve ever spent.*

*No, I’m not even exaggerating.

WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM

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The past few months have been an absolute whirlwind of exciting changes, ginger jokes* and falling completely and unexpectedly in love. But the past month or so, I’ve been so concerned with other things that something monumentally important has slipped my priority list when it should have been pride of place at the top.

I’ve been a little unsteady, in myself. My mental health became something I took for granted in recent years. Because speaking as someone who battled with their own brain for years, I thought my days at war were long behind me, however, it turns out that it’s very easy to take your eye off the ball.

I’ve noticed myself falling asleep later at night, waking up later during the day and sleeping more than the average human being should. I truly feel on the brink of a 4-year-old-kid style nap at any given minute throughout the day.

Life in itself has begun to overwhelm me, but nothing in particular to pinpoint a root cause of such anxiety. Because let’s face it, ol’ Brainbox is nothing if not vague and unpredictable. But this particular feeling no longer feels familiar to me and I’m no longer the sassy genius I used to be at dealing with such occurrences.

My biggest mistake so far has been subconsciously avoiding this, shoving the big luminous purple elephant in the room to my peripheral vision and pushing on through, wasting weeks by doing nothing. Never taking the ‘me’ time to do any of the things I love (I don’t know how many times I’ve sat down to write and felt too drained to make words like a big girl), not sleeping on a schedule that means I can spend any great valuable time with my family, letting household chores sit around until the last possible millisecond and then feeling guilty when Greig gets there first. If there’s one thing I need to remind myself, it’s that I can’t run away from my own brain.

As I write this it’s 5 am and I can’t help but gaze at the freakishly tall human peacefully unaware beside me, feeling flooded with all the happy-gooey kinda’ feels he causes. But it’s then I remember my unwashed hair, Toy Story pyjamas (that I’m only wearing half of, because I was too exhausted to find the other 50% of Disney goodness) and I’ll barely be awake long enough to tell him about the happy-gooey feels. And truthfully that’s what’s got me writing this here long-winded post…

We all need to talk about the big purple elephant in the room more often. We need to break down this stigma that still lingers around us all like a big judgey raincloud and become more aware of our own personal warning signs, and not become complacent with being “okay”.

So this is my pact with you angelic lil’ nuggets to start tackling this elephant head on, no more silent wallowing, no more hiding away and certainly no more sleeping away the best years of my life.

It’s time to be OK, puddin’.

*EXTRA INFO: Greig’s very much tarred with a ginger brush.

CHANEL AT A THIRD OF THE PRICE

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As I stand here on my seventh shift in a row, my clothes barely match, my hair is an unkept mess and I’m very much makeup-less. However, all of this has been overshadowed and the compliments just keep rolling in about my perfume.

Now, if I had been blessed with being born into royalty I would personally see to it that I bathed in Chanel every single day. But as we are aware, I wasn’t, so the odd bottle here and there will have to suffice. (Insert quiet sobbing here.)

I am, however, going to go out on a limb here and controversially claim that the perfume I’m wearing today is a pretty damn good “I’m in between Chanel bottles” replacement, and it’s Hollister’s perfume Cali Vibes. Which at £19 is a third of the price of the reigning throne.

Just to emphasise the eery similarities between the two, I walked past my Mum this morning and she just about toe punted me out the window for “stealing her Chanel”. If you can fool a seasoned Chanel veteran like my mother, you can fool anyone.

While I think we all understand that it’s no replacement, just trust me on this. I smell like a florist threw up on me.

DEAR DIARY: THE DIFFERENCE A MONTH MAKES


In case we haven’t noticed, I have been a little bit absent of late. However, I can promise my little nuggets, that I do come bearing good reason for this. 

You hear people using the phrase, “the difference a day makes”, well multiply that by thirty because it’s been a month and what an insane month it’s been.

I’ve gone from working eight hours a week, to thirty plus a week and a completely new job. So time wise, I’ve been severely lacking in any spare. 

Life then forced me to adult and make a difficult life decision. I had to choose whether to accept an offer to study academic subjects or to accept an unconditional for contemporary art practice. I bit the bullet and decided to put myself through four years of, “what exactly are you planning to do with an art degree?”. 

[Insert incoherent sobbing, with the odd wail of “I don’t know” mixed in, right about here.] 

Then there’s the biggest life change of all. I now have a Greig. 

To be fair I always had a Greig, but instead of being my friend Greig, he’s now my boyfriend Greig. It’s been about a month now and to quote the man himself, I don’t understand why we didn’t just go for it all those years ago. But we have now and he’s almost broken be enough to say nice things about him to you guys… Almost. 

I can only hope you all had an Easter which left you all a bunch of happy bunnies and promise you to not disappear for extended periods of time again. 

DEAR DIARY: A MONTH OF BIRTHDAY SHENANIGANS AND BIG LIFE CHANGES

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It’s time to face the cold, heartbreaking, truth. I can no longer sing the lyrical wonder “22” by the musical royalty that is Taylor Swift. I am now officially 23 years old.

A moment of respectful silence wouldn’t go a miss, right now.

But me, oh my, what a month it’s been. So I figured why pop back up with one of my sarcastic list posts about your quarter-life crisis, when I could give you guys a little insight as to where I’ve been and why I’ve been in a perpetual state of “Rachel Greene, I don’t want to be a shoe” crisis for the past thirty days. (Wee Friends reference to keep us going there, folks.)

To kick off, I turned 23. The beginning of the end until Swift writes a catchy little number to go along with it. The occasion was marked with an obligatory week of absolutely milking my birthday to within an inch of its life, of course. Time was spent with my family, with the phrase “you’ve got to, it’s my birthday” being thrown around like a verbal rugby ball. An embarrassingly large order to Dominos was placed only to, of course, blame it on ‘my birthday’. Let’s not forget trying to convince everyone I know and their aunt’s to go to the aquarium with me and most importantly the equally obligatory trip to a nightclub.

I don’t mind telling you if it weren’t for the being with my best friend portion of the evening, I fear I would have lost my temper. The ratio of female to disrespectful male was off the scale. At one point I even had one girl admit mid drunk-bathroom-chat, that she’d grown so desperate to fend off the sexual advances that she’d completely skipped the old classic, “I’m a lesbian”, and straight to “I never made it to the bathroom on time”… Not all heroes wear capes, girls.

Now, as if such birthday excitement wasn’t enough I also woke up on the celebration of my birth with an email saying that lil’ ol’ me had been accepted to study contemporary art.

Eep!

And just when things couldn’t get anymore eep-worthy, my old workplace – and by old, please instead read ‘favourite’ – opened back up and I got offered my little beaut of a job back… Did I mention it’s exactly three minutes from my door?

Double eep!

Not to mention, I’m getting at least eighteen more hours a week than I was at my other job. Too much eeping to be done, here.

So, my little nuggets, expect shopping hauls galore for a while… I seem to think I can make it rain, right now.

8-STEP WINTER FLU SURVIVAL GUIDE

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As you can probably deduce from the title of this post, I have been cruelly struck down in my prime. My life and all it contains came to an abrupt halt this week and I withdrew from any form of functional society to reside in my bed. The only signs of life that can be observed are the trail of junk food, numerous glasses of blackcurrant juice and the intense, not at all dramatic and totally justified wailing about how imminent my impending death is.

And yet, despite all this hardship, I’m surviving guys. So, here’s a little insight into how you can too when I finally break the internet barrier and take you all down with me:

 

1. GIVE IN. GIVE IN, TO THE DARK SIDE.

Trust me when I say this, do as little as humanly possible. Don’t move. Become horizontal and choose an unsuspecting loved one to unknowingly become your flu-related slave. Comparing yesterday, a day of rest, and today, a day in which I naively tried to function in society, I know which I’ll be replicating for the next twenty-four hours. And trust me, you should too.

2. TV, TV AND MORE TV.

Now that you’re sufficiently immobilised, the only thing that can begin to make your spirits feel lifted is what I like to call ‘easy-watching’ TV. Now, to me, this means the kind of familiarity which results in very minimal concentration, since you can already quote each episode in your sleep. Watch until your heart’s content and your mind has been sufficiently numbed. Examples of which include: Friends, How I Met Your Mother, Gilmore Girls and the wonder that is Gossip Girl.

3. JUNK FOOD – TRUST ME, I’M NOT A DOCTOR.

What is it they say again, starve a fever and feed a cold? Well, that’s just what I did. Now, I know there is a queue of health professionals out there ready to slaughter me for this. But don’t you even begin to try to tell me that your throat and all of the suffering that it’s endured so far won’t thank you for the entire tub of Ben and Jerry’s you’ve consumed.

4. ENOUGH WATER TO SINK THE TITANIC ALL OVER AGAIN.

If you’ve stuck around long enough to remember my nuggets of wisdom from last year in, “11 Things I Wish I Knew Before My Twenties“, then you’ll remember my waxing lyrical about the wonder of hydration. This is triply true when you’re incapacitated with the flu. If you think your impending flu-death is unpleasant, try your impending flu-death and dehydration on for size, you’ll never take your eye off the ball again.

5. COMFORT IS KEY.

You’re ill, you’re exhausted, you’re bloated from inhaling an entire tub of ice cream before Friends’ theme song has even begun. The only thing that’s going to improve this situation is blankets. Blankets, blankets and more blankets. And don’t forget that soft toy you pretend you didn’t purchase from the Disney store, to accompany you in your time of need.

6. DRESS TO IMPRESS.

If the person you’re trying to impress is a onesie designer, that is. The bigger, the fluffier and the more OTT, the better. Bonus points for each Disney character onesie you can find.

7. THE LONGER THE BATH, THE BETTER THE BATH.

I truly believe that the answer to everything is a good bath. This is only quadrupled in truth when one has been taken down by the flu. Overload on bubbles, you’ll instantly perk right back up.

8. LOUDLY ALERT YOUR LOVED ONES TO YOUR IMPENDING DEATH.

And if they are anything like my friends and family, you’ll immediately be met with a chorus of “SHUT UP”.

 

On that note guys, I’m off to return to my Night Nurse induced coma.