Saturday, 9 February 2019

I'm Sick... (boo, you whore)

Disclaimer: This blog post was written at 4am whilst in the midst of a fever dream and after I woke up at 3am, unable to breathe and needing to purge my thoughts and snotty nostrils. 


the sickest of all the sick beds.
We are knee deep in Winter, therefore I will inevitably spend a large portion of the remainder of this godforsaken season not being able to breathe out of the various holes that occupy my face. My bedroom will resemble that of a horny 13 year old boy (just picture used tissues as far as the eye can see) and I will waste approximately 60% of my monthly income on overpriced medicines that are brightly coloured akin to a manically depressed children’s television presenter and all with names like ‘be gone, snot monster’ or ‘bitch, remember when you could breathe?!’. Why are these medicines so brightly coloured? I mean, I understand that the packaging has to be eye-catching to consumers but does the pill itself need to be neon blue with hot pink accents? Seems pretty self-indulgent and shallow to me. Much…like…writing a blog post about feeling sick….for...attention and/or sympathy...I digress.  
A lie I often tell people with incredible gusto is that I rarely get ill. In reality, I get ill a lot and have the immune system of a dirty pirate (stop picturing Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow immediately please, he is a human bin bag). I lie about the strength of my immune system for many reasons, the most important being that I don’t like being told what to do and divulging to someone that you feel unwell frequently leads to unsolicited advice like “you should eat more vegetables” or “you need to take vitamins” or my least favourite of the bunch “you should stop binge drinking so often”. I can’t deal with those kinds of remarks while I’m vulnerable and sick (which, as stated above, is quite often.) I just don’t need it, I'm busy having a pity-party for one. 
My least favourite part of being ill is forced bedrest. I know you’re probably like “shut up girl, you love your bed” and I do! But on my terms! Again, I don’t like being told what to do and have an unhealthy relationship with rebelling from things I know are good for me, ask any boss/teacher/parent I’ve ever had. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a lazy Sunday in my overpriced Urban Outfitters duvet set and the occasional nap whilst episodes of ‘Friends’ soothes me into a slumber like a hilarious sound machine (okay, not hilarious but an ‘exhale air out of your nostrils’ level of funny). I just don’t like lying in bed all day when I'm sick. It’s boring and feels so tedious. No matter how many boxsets I have to watch or how many books I have to read, a day of bedrest is shite and I always end up putting on music and dancing in my bedroom, like Britney at the beginning of that cinematic classic ‘Crossroads’, but honey, I am no popstar (and no virgin. Was she still a virgin at that point or was she still lying to the press and saying she was waiting for marriage? A genuine question I’d like the answer to). Another awful part of being 'under the weather' is having to call in sick to work. Although I know I feel rubbish and look like I’ve been slapped by the ugly glove, you still feel the need to put on this big production to prove it. Throw some extra coughs in there, which just lead to an actual coughing fit which is frankly humiliating when you have your boss on the other end of the line, silently waiting for you to finish your one-woman play where you have take on the role of 'dying woman'. And what if they don't believe you!? And they tell everyone you're a bad seed!?! When infact you consider yourself to be quite a good seed?! It's too stressful!  
There are the stereotypical jokes about men being sick and having ‘man-flu’ and women being sick and being overly dramatic and needy. I, however, have a very specific way of dealing with being sick. Of course I’m extra moody, moany and arrogantly assuming the entire time that people are thinking “Oh, she’s such a trooper” but I also get incredibly angry. Like, irrationally angry. At everyone and everything. Last time I was sick I punched my wardrobe. No lie. I punched my wardrobe because I was getting a cosy jumper out and another item I didn’t want fell out with it. Not sure the internet needed to know that but the image of it in hindsight really made me laugh. No wardrobes were harmed in the making of my meltdown (because I have chubby baby-like hands and it was probably more like hitting something with a small firm throw pillow). I also get very defensive when I’m sick – picture Monica from Friends in that classic episode where she’s sick and pretending to be fine so Chandler will have sex with her (Friends is getting a lot of shout outs today), I might as well tattoo ‘I'M NOT EVEN CONTAGIOUS ANYMORE’ on my forehead for my frequent sick days as I find myself saying it to any human I come in to contact with. While were on the subject of my ‘Defensive Debbie’ nature, I’d also like to add that I hate being blamed for getting others sick even though, deep down, we both know it was me. It was always me. And it will always be me. Even if we haven’t met and you have a cold right now, I probably started that conga line of germs and lead it right to your front door and for that I’m sorry.
Due to the sheer volume of days I spend feeling like my own body is trying to destroy me, I have found some ways to utilize these sick days and force myself to relax and enjoy a bit of self-love. Please note that none of these include eating vegetables or taking vitamins because as previously mentioned, those suggestions are dumb. Here are some suggestions for your next sick day:
1. Take a long bath. Not just any old basic bath, I’m saying take, what I have lovingly named, an ‘Instagram Bath’. Get yourself a delicious and soothing beverage (some sort of delicious fruit based tea, some incredibly expensive fruit juice sold in Waitrose exclusively that has mad ingredients like Charcoal and deer spunk in it, or even a classic Mimosa to take the edge off. Nothing with caffeine, were trying to relax for fuck sake). Get some bubbles involved, light some candles and put on some ‘Dessert Island Discs’. I strongly suggest Stephen Fry’s episode from a few years ago as he picks mostly classical music and that really adds to the ambience of a sexy-tub-sesh-for-one. Also, turn off the main bathroom light, really ruins the mood you’re trying to set. You do NOT need to see yourself in harsh bathroom lighting during this difficult time.

2. Actually read those books you bought because you thought they'd look nice on your bookshelf and then lied about reading them because you didn't want to seem like a shallow non-intellectual. Nothing like starting a brand new book when you want to distract your brain from all the miscellaneous fluids pouring from your face like a broken tap.

3. Binge a new TV show. There is of course a risk that comes with this – if you ask people for suggestions but inevitably end up re-watching your favourtie series of ‘Peep Show’ or ‘Ru Paul’s Drag Race’, you need to be prepared for the next few months of people sporadically asking “Did you watch *insert show they suggested here*?” and when you say no, they are inexplicably offended and keep on about how much you’ll love it because they loved it and they believe themselves to have flawless taste clearly. Look people, I tried to watch ‘Breaking Bad’, ‘Peaky Blinders’, ‘Sex Education’ and ‘The Wire’ -  I couldn’t get in to any of them and yes, I re-watched series 10 of ‘Ru Pauls Drag Race’ again. Thanks for the suggestions though. I mostly ask just so I have a reason to tell people I’m sick and hope that they’ll pay me compliments to make me feel better. So far, a very low success rate with this. 


4. Eat a lot. Being sick is the perfect excuse to binge on all of your favourite foods and science has proven that calories don’t count on sick days (or during hangovers, bad mental health days or Sundays). Make sure it’s something easy to swallow, effortless to make and quick to cook. I love nothing more than a ‘posh’ Macaroni and Cheese microwave meal when I’m feeling poorly. Are they the exact same as the cheap ones? Probably. Am I still going to pay over double the price for one that looks a bit posher and doesn’t make me feel like a garbage person for eating a meal from a microwave? You bet your sweet taint I am.

5. Enjoy some guilt free naps. You know the type of naps where you don’t even consider setting an alarm and falling asleep in the daytime but waking up to complete darkness doesn’t fill you with dread? Yeah. Those are the ones. Throw on some comedy podcasts in the background (my personal favourite to put on in this occasion is Mark Maron’s ‘What the Fuck’ podcasts) and just sleep all your worries away.


6. Do some online shopping. Much like calories, money doesn’t count when you’re sick so go ahead and treat your sweet self. Fingers crossed you’ll do this whilst incredibly delirious and won’t remember what you bought, how fun! Like Christmas! Did I need a baby pink faux leather belt AND matching hairband? Evidentially I did, thanks flu-Faye, I can't wait to never wear these!

7. Go on an IMDB deep dive. Type in your favourite childhood film or your favourite actor and see where it takes you. Look up quotes from your favourite shows, read reviews for terrible movies like 'Showgirls' and read all about the 'Goofs' on cinematic classics so that you can live comfortably in the knowledge that even that absolute hun Steven Speildberg fucks up occasionally.
 

8. Give yourself a little at home spa experience with a face mask, eye mask, hair mask, foot mask and hand mask and wear all of these simultaneously while watching ‘The Mask’.

"Hope you feel better soon Faye, you're actually quite striking when you're ill and somehow your breasts have gotten bigger." oh my god guys, stop it, I look terrible, but I know you'd never lie to me so thank you.


Love Faye xoxo

Sunday, 2 December 2018

NO-Vember (a sober month)

Pre Month of Sobriety
I'm bad at sticking to things. Actually, terrible. The only thing I have managed to stick to has (so far) been daily journaling which I have been doing since January 1st 2014 *pats own back patronizingly then rubs own tits as a reward*. So, when I saw what felt like everyone I follow on Instagram declaring that they were going to partake in 'Sober October' I felt inspired to throw my hat in the proverbial ring. Problem was October was already filled to the brim with various social occasions that I felt I would be less fun at if I were booze-free. I had a couple of friends birthday parties, a boozy baby shower, leaving drinks for my previous work colleague and a couple of first dates (fuck going on a first date sober, I like to turn up already close to a blackout.). Being T-total would have been a boner-buzzkill for all of these occasions so I opted for a sober November - I named this attempt 'NO-Vember' which hardly anyone found to be clever or amusing. Isn't jealousy so transparent sometimes?! Haters. Anyway, as I witnessed several of my friends fail miraculously (mostly within the first week) at 'Sober October', I was determined to beat those quitters and rub it in their gorgeous faces with taunts such as "you hookers couldn't even manage a week?! I can't imagine how disappointed your families must be of you. You're gross to me now."

I was very interested to see if I could go an entire month being sober. I'm not an everyday boozehound by any means but as my beautiful and tolerant roommate can attest to, it's my go-to remedy after a bad day and I am very partial to a weekly prosecco binge. I also thought it would be an ideal way to check-in with myself and find out if I had a debilitating addiction or was just prone to the occasional blackout. My final night of boozing fell on Halloween - I used this opportunity to dress up as Mel Gibson circa 2006 for my alcohol fueled night. Too soon? I opted for an entire bottle of Prosecco, a large glass of rose and 2 Gins with cranberry juice (trust me, it's delicious) and ate almost no food all day because, say it with me now, "eating is cheating!" I awoke the next morning feeling like roadkill. Mission accomplished, NO-Vember had officially begun.

I of course assumed that by the end of this month I'd feel like a new woman, my skin would be Rihanna levels of flawless, I'd say things like "I genuinely like the taste of plain water, mmm, plain, that's the good stuff!" and I'd save a considerable amount of money. Spoiler alert: none of these things happened. I did however find it a lot easier than I'd initially anticipated. I managed to still socialize and go on dates without the aide of my favorite social lubricant (prosecco in a merlot glass - aptly named 'Pross-erlot' by my friend Jess and I). I swapped my mimosa's for orange juice, my gin & tonics for cans of Coke Zero and my morning shot of whiskey for a Berrocca (Okay, last ones a lie. Just wanted to impress you. I do fucking love a Berrocca though). 

The end result was pretty anti-climactic to be honest, I feel no different and no richer but I'm bloody chuffed to ribbons that I did it, so many brags in my future. No, I won't be doing 'Dry January' because not only is my birthday in January but I now think the whole thing is slightly pointless. Unless you drink daily, I can't imagine you'd feel the benefits of sobriety and you'll probably be really boring on nights out. Truth hurts, hon. I also believe that I am somewhat of a fun drunk as I only ever vomit once I'm back in my own home, I get generous with buying rounds and have been known to get my breasts out in public to make my friends feel uncomfortable and who doesn't wanna hang with that wild-card of a woman?!? (My sister, that's who. She doesn't enjoy when I get 'flashy'. She finds it to be deeply upsetting. Jealous wench). Although, a month without hangovers and the morning dread after a blackout has been nice. Imagine that, a life where you don't dread looking at your call-log on your phone or listening back to slurry voice notes sent to men you would like to one day have sex with (usually sent after 2am and usually involving the word 'fingerbang' several times).

Get me a Pross-erlot, stat!

Love Faye x

Post Month of Sobriety


Sunday, 21 October 2018

Alone in New York


Last month I took myself off for a glorious week alone in New York. I first went in 2016, I booked it on a whim during a tedious break up and attempted to have my very own low-grade version of ‘Eat, Pray, Love’. I not only fell in love with the city but I also fell ass over tit for travelling alone. So when Virgin Atlantic offered me some free flights to a destination of my choice last year (because they lost my reservation for a previous trip I was on the year before and I ended up having to pay for my flights twice and it took around 8 weeks to get a refund) 3 months of complaining/light harassment later and bam…I was off to New York again. I complained enough that I even got an upgrade to premium economy, take note babes. Towards the end of my first solo trip to New York, I found myself feeling a bit lonely and daydreaming of experiencing all these sites with one of my loved ones so this time around I prepared myself for a one-woman pity party and I went armed with various contact names, phone numbers and email addresses of friends/acquaintances/friends of friends I could send out little S.O.S signals to when I started to feel lonely or bored. That day never came - I relished being alone in a city full of strangers and, most surprisingly of all, really enjoyed my own company (trust me hon, I’m shocked too). 7 full days alone with my lil neurotic self ended up being one of the most peaceful weeks I’ve had in recent memory. Yes, there were times where I felt a little like a female Kevin Mcallister (just instead of spending my money on ice cream and toys, I opted for Mimosa’s and overpriced lipsticks at Sephora) and there were times where I wished I were there with one of my vivacious gal pals so I could embarrassingly ask them to take fake candids of me outside of artsy buildings but I made the best of the limited company. Taking a solo trip once a year has become somewhat of a self imposed tradition - a few days alone in a location thats reasonably foreign to me, restricted phone time and plenty of hours spent healing, contemplating life and thinking of the future. I call these trips ‘Fayecations’ and I won’t hear anything negative about that name. It’s genius and you’re just jealous that your name doesn’t adapt to rhymes as flawlessly as mine does.


A vacation completely alone in another country might seem a little daunting to some (and like therapy to others) but I cannot recommend it enough. Shout out to all my fellow bad mental-health sufferers, this one goes out to you… being physically away from the people/places/things that stress you out the most is fantastic. I went away seeking clarity on a few life alterations I was considering and hoped for my, as Oprah calls it, ‘aha!’/lightbulb moment. That moment didn’t fully present itself until I was back home but I did see one thing that inspired me to be more sassy. During one of the hottest days in the city, a douchey street vendor was selling tiny bottles of lukewarm water for the bargain price of $4. I saw this, rolled my eyes and continued on my journey for Taco’s…until I heard a bit of commotion happening behind me…I turned to find a young guy on his bike had stolen one of the waters from the table and in the most brazen move of all, he slowly rode away whilst stopping every few feet to do wheelies! Wheelies!! Throughout this strange moment, the street vendor watched this ballsy fella flee with his overpriced beverage and yelled repeatedly about what a ‘fuck’ he was. I felt inspired by this precocious kid - just so bold to mock the vendor with wheelies! WHEELIES!!! I mean, apart from the stealing part, I wanted to bottle this mans attitude and drink it with my breakfast every morning - that sweet nectar would actually be worth $4 a bottle. I can only dream of sticking it to the man that much one day. 


I stayed at the Hudson Hotel which is not only in a fantastic location but it is incredibly beautiful and severely overpriced. The rooms may be the size of my bathtub but…those aesthetics, am I riiiiight?! And apart from drunk calling my family from various happy hours in Uptown most days, I spent a lot of time away from my phone and enjoying some proper me time. Being alone on holiday means doing exactly what you enjoy doing and nothing else. I’d spend my mornings looking for nice places to drink coffee (ones that didn't rhyme with Farfucks), shopping and wandering aimlessly while listening to ‘Guys We Fucked’ podcast episodes and my afternoons were spent keeping my eyes open for any bars that do cocktails for under $10 whilst gorging on delicious food. I’d sometimes do touristy things too but that seemed to get in the way of my eating and drinking. Obviously I couldn't go as hog-wild as I’d have liked because New York is really painfully expensive. Now, as someone who lives in London, I have adapted to living in a pricey city but its easy when you know all the tricks, good cheap places to go and when you know the locations of all the free galleries/exhibitions. I learned this the hard way in New York when I didn't think to ask how much a cantaloupe bellini was in a very average looking brunch spot and it ended up being $18. That, my friends, was a real clit slap. From that moment on, I had my wits about me and I am almost completely over that moment. I’m so very close to being over it. Fuck them though, right? 


Now that I’ve been fortunate enough to visit New York a couple of times, here are some of my general thoughts and a few tips thrown in for good measure:

- Nowhere makes me feel more creative. The people, the fashion, the buildings. Also, there are a surprising number of adorable dogs there which is inspiring in itself - like, I now aspire to be a woman in New York walking around with a cute dog but no one approaches us because everyone is too cool there to be like ‘oh my god, can I say hi to your fur baby?!’ but I know they really wanna make friends with my adorable Pomeranian. His name will be Herb and I will be his everything.

- New York on a hot day makes the dirtiest parts of London smell like a Yankee Candle store. I can’t explain how bad the smell is and how much I craved the sweet scent of English-piss on a pavement after encountering it.

- Dunkin’ Donuts are everywhere in New York and this is madness because they are awful. The coffee is decent and affordable (do yourselves a favour and try the iced Hazelnut drip), but don't waste your precious life snacking on those bready-bore-holes and just find Dough - a bit more pricey but actually delicious. Where’s the Krispy Kremes at?

- The subway is a game changer and I wish I’d been ‘braver’ on my first trip and used it more. During my most recent trip, I used it daily and got so much done. Please note, if you are going in the summer, The ‘D’ train has a bit of air con, the ‘A’ train is filled with dreamy air con and the ‘1’ train had none and therefore after 4 stops, I looked and smelled like I’d been swimming in a b.o filled pond. Just so…much…tit sweat.

- Get the Staten Island Ferry because it’s free, you get a great view of the Statue of Liberty, it’s free, air conditioned and costs no money. Oh, and it’s an absolute bargain because it’s free.

- Times Square is vile. It’s full of crazy nut jobs, for example; I met a man named Chris who was selling ‘hop on hop off’ bus tours, he gave me his number even after I’d politely said no and then tried to hug me. When I panicked and said ‘ooh, I’m a bit sweaty, please don't hug me’, he pulled me in close to him and aggressively whispered as closely to my ear hole as possible ‘I can make you sweat if you want’ - and if you’re wondering what an aggressive whisper is, imagine Josef Fritzl whispering in your ear. Sorry for the nightmares but I had to live it which is way worse.

- If any sketchy looking places are selling $1 pizza, go in and try it. Chances are it’ll be the best pizza of your existence. A cute boy told me to do this and he was right - I spent approx $10 on cheap pizza in the space of a week and will never order a tasteless Domino’s again.

- Central Park is worth the hype and definitely worth a long walk. I listened to almost an entire audiobook whilst wandering aimlessly around and it was glorious. I listened to ‘Heartburn’ by Norah Ephron which was narrated by Meryl Streep - yeah, it was the best walk of my goddamn life and nothing will ever beat it. I could walk in to the pearly gates of Heaven and be greeted by God herself and still be like “omg, God, I once went on the sickest walk around Central Park. Do you often let atheists in to heaven? Is Prince as tiny in person as he looked in ‘Purple Rain’? Who decided to put him on that giant scooter?” etc etc…

- Much like Dunkin’ Donuts, there appears to be a Sephora on every street in New York now which seemed like madness to me initially…and then I started using them for make-up, skincare, fragrance and hairspray top-ups through the day when I wanted to look cute and less like a disgusting melted candle. It worked a treat, please see the above story where I was hit on by a vile man named Chris. He liked what he saw/smelt/whispered at.

- The 9/11 memorial is of course beautiful and so incredibly moving. Go see it and be prepared to cry in public. Like, ugly loud sobs.

- Sitting at bars and making friends with all the bar staff became a daily routine of mine. You’d *usually* get a free drink top-up if you were fun and I discovered that when people with American accents speak to me when I’m tipsy, I unintentionally make myself sound posher. One woman (Christine) who served me 4 Aperol Mimosa’s on a Wednesday afternoon told me I sounded like someone from Downton Abbey and I basically felt like I was on cloud 78 for the rest of the day. Yeah, I tipped her well. No, we never spoke again.

- Much like London, public toilets that don't look like the flat from Transporting are hard to find - Macy’s has various bathrooms on every floor and they are impeccably clean so…you’re welcome. 

- Soho is great and I want to live there. Everyone there hates Trump and if you want to see hot bearded men, it is the place to be. Oh and chelsea market. Ohhh and basically any place that sells cheap burritos, so many beautiful men. I’m single. 

- I feel like I've barely mentioned drinking so...that too. Preferably in the day time, sitting outside while people watching and all the while attempting to not use the bathroom so you don't have to stand up and have others realise how drunk you are at 2pm by your inability to walk like a human.

Love Faye xoxo

Saturday, 8 September 2018

Thoughts From a Flight


Current Altitude: 38,992ft
Time to Destination: 1 hour 45 minutes to go
Food Eaten: Something called ‘3 cups chicken’ with rice, too many pistachios and not enough vegetables or fruit
Drinks Consumed: 1 Prosecco (when boarding), 2 more Prosecco’s when the weather got really bad and I looked panicked before we took off, 1 Gin & Cranberry and 3 tiny cans of Diet Coke
Friends Made on Flight: All the Cabin Crew who plied me with booze when I looked nervous

We survived taking off during intense rain and thunder. I was pretty convinced we were going to crash, I even drafted a few ‘I love you, you’re the greatest and please don’t look through the top drawer of my bedside table’ texts to my immediate family members. Thanks to the storm, we were delayed by around 2 hours which included sitting on the runway for over an hour. In happier news though, I have a row of 3 seats in Premium Economy all to myself which makes me feel like a damn queen! This really cushions the blow of paying $19 for an Aperol Spritz in the airport bar - I should have asked how much it was first, I know but I didn't and when the bill came I couldn't just run away! I was trapped in the airport Like Tom Hanks was in that film I’ve never watched (I think he was trapped but to be honest I don’t know and I have no internet so I can’t even check.)

I’ve just spent a glorious week in New York hunting down happy hours that include several variations of Mimosa’s and stopping at every Sephora along the way but now it’s time to get back to London and get back to reality. This is the first holiday I’ve had in a long time where I’m actually excited to go home - the wonders of being in a flat you love with a roommate you enjoy living with - I should have aimed for this arrangement years ago. Did I mention I have a row of 3 seats to myself? Just wanted to make sure it really sank in because THIS NEVER HAPPENS TO ME! I moved to these dreamy seats from my window seat because the guy behind me was a realllll chatty charlie. He is literally chatting to anyone who looks in his general direction and it’s just too much to deal with in a confined space. I should have known he was a terrible human - while we were at the gate waiting to board our flight, he attempted to engage in a conversation with me and the woman in front of me 3 times. Each time was about the weather, each time me and this likeminded lady just kind of nodded and looked busy on our phones. I thought I’d shaken off this mooch but there he was…in the seat right behind me. The woman next to him made the fatal error of seeming interested in what he was saying to her which resulted in him talking about his ‘amazing job’ for almost the entire hour we were stuck on the runway. His jobs really cool apparently because he gets to travel a lot, he often gets upgrades on flights and, in his exact words, “lets just say, thanks to me nearly all of the apps on your phone are free”. I know this word for word because he said it with such gravitas, I thought he was telling a great joke. 

While were analysing the humans on this flight, I need to mention the adorable little girl sitting behind me in my new seat…you know, the one where I have no one EITHER SIDE OF ME! She looks like Boo from Monsters Inc and keeps pretty much yelling every single thought thats in her brain to her mum - she’s adorable which makes it less annoying but I couldn't help but think, what if adults did this. What if we just said exactly what we were thinking all the time?! Like, if we told a friend when they were being a dick or told someone you’re interested in having an actual relationship with them instead of playing mind-games and hoping they’ll see through it all? Remember that episode of Sabrina the Teenage Witch where they all accidentally ate ‘truth sprinkles’ in their home economics class? They all told each other their true feelings and hilarity ensued - yeah, it would be like that but much less hilarity. The anarchy! The little girl just announced she doesn't like raisins and I agree, they’re not great.

I’m now watching the documentary ‘McQueen’ which is fantastic and very sad. Its a real mood lifter though after I sat through the entirety of ‘I Feel Pretty’ which was actual trash (I kept hoping it would get better because I adore Amy Schumer but it was a pile of hot garbage with a terrible storyline). On the flight from London to NY, I watched ‘Call Me By Your Name’ which was not only a lot more erotic than I’d bargained for (I was so paranoid people were judging me for watching sexy gay men on the flight) but the end of the film broke me - the poor man next to me looked so uncomfortable but I failed at stifling my audible sobs. The monologue the dad makes at the end, woo! That was where all my dignity on that flight disappeared. I cant recommend that film enough - it was fantastic and Timothy Chamalet (pretty sure I’ve got his name wrong but again, no internet) was flawless. And beautiful. I maybe love him a bit? He’s in his twenties in real life so please don't give me any sass about my attraction. I can tell ‘McQueen’ will soon make it a 2nd flight in a row I have cried on, not ideal - but at least I don't have an uncomfortable looking man next to me this time because…I HAVE NO ONE NEXT TO ME!

Well, I have rambled on more than enough now and will finish with this thought…
Where did the tradition of buying people gifts from your holiday come from? I currently feel incredibly guilty because I bought a couple of my loved ones only a few gifts from my travels but…why should I feel obliged to buy people things from my trip at all? I’ve just paid for a very expensive holiday and now I’m riddled with guilt because I didn't buy enough for others? Why is this a thing? And it’s so expected that people actually ASK for specific things and if you say no, you’re the asshole! Madness! And whats the cut off point? I go to the New Forest for a weekend, no one asks for anything, I go to a different country though and everyone comes out the woodwork for gifts they think they deserve? Maybe 3 Prosecco’s was too many. This rant is getting a bit too ranty.

Byyyyyyyyyyyyyyyye…

Faye xoxo


Sunday, 26 August 2018

Ghosting


ghosting;
the practice of ending a personal relationship with someone by suddenly and without explanation withdrawing from all communication.

It shouldn't be a shock to anyone that you end up wishing death upon the people that ghost you. Like, the ideal scenario for me would be you being an actual ghost. Not a cute ghost like Casper, these people are more comparable to that dickhead ghost from Paranormal Activity where they just enjoy fucking with your head until you go legitimately insane and can't sleep. 

I have been in the dating-scene for 10 years now and have been ghosted by 3 men during this time. 3 times too many in my opinion. That statement doesn't come from an arrogant 'are these men crazy? HOW CAN THEY NOT LOVE ME?!' place, it comes from the fact that ghosting people is a shitty thing to do and I'd just prefer a good old-fashioned rejection text. At least with a classic 'i'm just not that in to you' text, you can screenshot it, send it to your mates and say terrible things about them as a coping mechanism. Ghosting just leaves you feeling confused and concerned about a person who is, for lack of a better word, a garbageprick - theres no closure when it comes to ghosting so these junk-holes end up occupying a lot more of your mind than they deserve to. 

Lets delve a little deeper, shall we. Here are my past ghost stories (I probably should have changed these guys names but I'm simply not creative enough. Soz lads):

Tony - I met Tony on Tinder when I first moved to London, he was my first ever online date, we hit it off and boom...a year of tedious mind games ensued. We went on dates that varied in their success rates (from a great PDA filled night in a gin bar in Soho to the other end of the scale where we went on a 'romantic walk', he refused to touch me and spent the majority of our time together talking about his heavy drug use) but one day he disappeared. No texts, no DM's and no phonecalls. As we'd been dating for the better part of a year, I could only assume he'd died. I was out of luck - he was merely with his pals and had decided that he was done with our relationship. And...that was that...thanks...for...the...memories.

Rich - Another Tinder meeting (maybe there's a pattern here?). We went on 4 dates, he messaged me at least 20 times a day, he was always very complimentary and we had the same sense of humour. Did I just meet my dream man? No. No I didn't. We had date number 5 in the diary, I'd even picked the perfect 'very cute and flattering with a minimal slutty element while remaining appropriate to go for dinner in central london outfit' but suddenly, he didn't exist. Fun fact: I made up a scenario in my head where he'd actually died but 3 months later I saw him on the tube and I can confirm he was alive. Nightmare. 

Jake - The most recent and the most annoying because I should have seen it coming (and by that I mean my incredibly observant and supportive roommate spotted it a mile off but I was basically thinking with my vagina. In my defence, he had a nose-ring, what was I supposed to do!) We met on Tinder (the only successful hat-trick I'll ever achieve), we chatted for around a month sporadically thanks to his 'busy job' in events, we arranged a date, spent Friday, Saturday and Sunday together and then...say it with me....where did Jake go?! I genuinely felt as though I'd paid an escort for a 'boyfriend experience'. 

The above experiences varied in there brutality but in reality, I've just struggled in the past with spotting fuckboys and now look at these cowardly rejections as learning curves. In the spirit of learning from past mistakes and now over-analysing mens behaviour, I have compiled a small list of warning signs to spot a fuckboy:

1. If he refers to all his exes as 'crazy' or 'a bitch', they might be BUT he also might be a big reason for their mental state. 

2. If he brags about how many women he has slept with and finds any excuse to talk about his magic number, run. Run so fucking fast, hon. And if the number conveniently grows quite often ("you know I said it was 60 girls, it's more like 80"), just play dead and wait for him to leave.

3. If he takes a day to respond to your texts but when you see him in person he's constantly on his phone.

4. If he ONLY talks negatively about his family. Okay, I understand that not everyone is close with their family but if they look at you in disbelief when you say you're close with yours and audibly laugh at the idea of liking any of your blood relatives, get out. 

5. If he quickly covers his phone when it goes off, it's another victim. Ask him for her number and take that girl to brunch. She deserves a mimosa.

6. If you've spent almost an entire weekend with someones genitals in your mouth and they don't get a 'next date' firmly in the diary within 24 hours, it's not going to happen. Fuckboys will make a list as long as your arm of "we should's" - example: "we should go see that movie" or "we should go to my favourite restaurant" without ever actually asking when you're free to do it. Baby, you're never going to see that movie together and you're never being taken to that restaurant. It's probably shit anyway.

7. If a guy is constantly 'warning you' about how busy he is, you might notice a giant red flag waving in the background. We all get busy at times but it takes approx 20 seconds to send a text so complete silence for days is just poor form. They're actually just busy being a twat, that is very time consuming.

8. And finally, if they tell you they've been called a fuckboy in the past, believe them.

Keep your wits about you, girls. Always strive to be the Bill Murray in this real-life version of Ghostbusters. DO NOT be the Rick Moranis, for fuck sake.

Love Faye xoxo


Sunday, 24 June 2018

Dear Sober Faye...


Dear Sober Faye,

Hey bitch, guess who? How’s your head? (Joke answer - ‘I’ve had no complaints’. And you thought spending all those days in bed bingeing Ru Pauls Drag Race episodes was a waste of your precious life!)

I drank that Cava you had in the fridge. I know you said you were saving it for a night in with your roommate this weekend but I drank it and that happened. It just all happened so fast. Oh and I re-downloaded Bumble for you because I’m concerned you’ll die alone. I used a David Brent quote as your bio so you’ll be swarmed with male genitalia in no time! Maybe consider taking some nudes in preparation for all the sexy chat you’re about to have? Chill out, just a suggestion. 

I’ve had such a fun night!! I did you a favour and called all of your most recent exes relentlessly and was sure to leave various voicemails so they’d know you meant business! I just assumed they all wanted to know how you were doing and how much you’re thriving since they all stopped finding you attractive. I made sure to tell them several times that you don’t miss them. I played it so cool. I was like a bloody iceberg. I could’ve destroyed the Titanic with how COOL I played it.

I just finished McNugget number 18 and I keep getting sick burps but I’ll force the next 2 down because I know you haaaaaattttte waste. I’m just so hungry and so sad. ReMeMbEr wHeN yOu UsEd tO wRiTe eVeRyThInG LiKe tHiS?! wHy dId yOu sToP dOiNg tHiS? iTs sO fUcKiNg fUn. bAhHhHhH aRgHhH bOoOoOoOoBiEs. Anyway.

I drank that wine you had in the kitchen. I know you said you were saving it for your friend visiting next week and you wanted to seem like the kind of person who just has wine in their flat all the time and you didn’t want to rush to Tesco whenever you have guests coming over but I drank it and were just gonna have to accept it. Again, it happened really fast. Time got away from me. 

Thanks for leaving all our skincare out next to our bed - I guess you assumed it would mean I would properly clean my face before I head to dreamland but jokes on you, I will be young and supple forever so I don’t need skincare. I am beautiful in every single way, words won’t bring me down, noooo! Just like Christina told us!!! Wanna know what Christina Aguilera didn't tell us? Tit sweat happens. It's a mare and I'm smothered. When you're in bed all day tomorrow, google how much breast reductions are or how much it is to singe off all your sweat glands. I'll ask for it for christmas from mum and dad. 

You’d be soooo proud of me - I made tons of new toilet pals tonight and I complimented all of them numerous times and asked where all of their dresses were from because I'm the nicest guy in town. Were now all following each other on Twitter and we even danced to R.Kelly together. Don’t worry you boring beast, we OBVS talked about how bad a guy he is but you KNOW how I get when ‘Ignition (remix)’ comes on! That’s my lady jam! Side note - have you ever heard the non ‘remix’ version of Ignition or do you reckon he just put that in the title? I’ve finished the nuggets now. I have ketchup in my hair. 

I think I left the fridge open but I’m too cosy to go and look so I’m sorry in advance if i made a whoopsie. Why does everything have to be refrigerated anyway? Cavemen were fine and had no fridge. If anything, they thrived without electricity distracting them. I sick burped again. I haven’t checked my bag to make sure I have everything with me so could you be a sweet little lamb and check it tomorrow between your vomits? Be right back…

I was sick. 

Kindest Regards and Best Wishes,

dRuNk fAyE

xoxo

PS. I wet the bed a little/loads/some. sOrRyYyYyY.

Sunday, 17 June 2018

If I Was a Rich Girl....

Pic: Me last week spending the day in Kensington, living my best fake rich life

Believe it or not (but believe it because it’s the truth), for the past 18 months, I was the sole person in charge of every bill, rent payment and issue that arose in my flatshare. And by ‘issue’ I mean things like the heating not working, the stove making odd noises and the washing machine flooding our kitchen floor. And by ‘in charge’, I mean I would have to call our landlord and beg him to help us and chase him until he stopped ignoring my texts like a boy from Tinder who ghosts you after you flatly refuse to sext with him or send him pictures of your bare boobies. I was the Wizard of Oz of my flat and my two roommates adopted the roles of the moronic Scarecrow and obnoxious Lion who came to me for every little annoying request whilst I busied myself doing grown up things like getting the meter reading and making spreadsheets to keep an eye on our monthly outgoings (I even took the bins out alone weekly whilst they cooked stench-filled fish based dinners and ignored me struggling loudly but that’s another story for another time). By May, I had finally had enough of being the den mother for two aggressively Conservative millennials that were not only younger than me but on salaries of around £10k more than me a year - I finally jumped ship for a nicer flat with a frankly much better roommate. Leaving the flat I’d lived in for 3+ years felt like a reasonably simple prospect because hey, people move around in to different flat shares all the time in London! What a piece of cake this will be…(carrot cake, I assume, the most triumphant of all the cakes) 

As I sat down to go through all of our final bills before I moved on to a ‘greener grass’ scenario, the list of all the bits and bobs I needed to cancel, move and replace for the flat and the lack of money in our ‘joint account’ (an account I had to open in my name because everyone else refused - do I sound bitter? because I am) It began to stress me out so badly, I had to physically hide from all of it and go watch a Goldie Hawn film in bed to deal with the anxiety. I couldn’t help but think that an endless supply of money would solve all of these specific woes, my worries would be non-existent, I could move out and leave my stress in my rented mould-filled bedroom. Unfortunately, for reasons I am in no way control of (they were twats), I wasn’t close enough with the two women I occupied a home with to sit down and talk the bill stress through, so instead I distracted my mind. As a mood-lifter after facing the money dragon head-on, updating my spreadsheets and even finding a tiny pot of cash left over to cover the inevitable final bills we’d need to fork out for, I proceeded to dream of a better life where money wasn’t a worry. Oh, what a life that would be.

Oprah Winfrey used to speak about manifesting things you want by being focused on them, writing them down and putting these dreams out in to the universe, so in honour of this sound logic, I compiled a list of the things I would purchase if money was no object. Please peruse at your own leisure and make no judgements as, when writing this list, I was reaching a stress level of Love Island contestants when mean tweets about them are read as part of a ‘challenge’ (“one viewer wrote that one of the girls in the villa is a shitface bitchhole who has cellulite on her neck. Now, throw a cup of custard over the girl you think this tweet was about…” genius. Reality TV producers really are unsung heroes in my opinion):

  • A personal trainer who motivates me by yelling Beyonce lyrics directly in to my face in a stern but caring way throughout our workouts. These will be daily except for any day I feel sad and don’t want human interaction/not in the mood to sweat/have just washed my hair.
  • A laboratory filled with sexy glass-wearing scientists who are able to remove 99% of calories from all food. I can binge and binge and binge and never be called a lardy ass again.
  • Every door knob and plate from Anthropologie. I will put whimsical knobs on everything and no one can say a damn thing about it!
  • A giant suite in my favourite Disney World hotel that is always vacant apart from when I visit approx 3-18 times a year. Marie from Aristocats will greet me at the airport and will join me for breakfast on my balcony every morning. She’ll have her usual bowl of milk please, SO FUCKING CUTE, RIGHT?!?! 
  • A book deal and so much promotion for my book that people are almost forced to buy it. I want it really shoved down peoples throats that I’ve written a bunch of words. I will be nude on the cover because I thrive on controversy and my parents will have something they can brag to their friends about - “did you hear, our Faybees has a book deal! and yes, her breasts are real, don’t they hang triumphantly?”
  • A private Spice Girls concert every year for my birthday. They will all perform, yes, even you Victoria, get off your high horse will you.
  • A giant New York apartment that overlooks Central Park and a giant London apartment that overlooks the Thames. When I say giant, I mean like 3 bedrooms because I get scared of monsters/rapists/ghosts at night. I will also require nightlights in every room. Good thing money isn’t a problem, that electricity bill will be cray, am I right?!
  • I’d pay for Diana Ross, Cher, Lady Gaga and Adele to collaborate on an album for me and only me. They will also tour this album and do an album signing - both of these events will happen in my mansion and I’ll only invite people who’ve never called me fat.
  • Four Persian cats (misc colours) - each of which will have a personal assistant to feed and groom them so I can be there purely for snuggles and instagram photo shoots. The assistants will not be allowed to hug them incase the cats end up loving me less. I want to be these cats Messiah and I simply won’t accept anything less.
  • A walk-in Wardrobe with a computer clothing system like in the film ‘Clueless’ - all outfits to be curated by Pandora Sykes and Gok Wan and will all be made with adjustable seams for when I eat big lunches and feel like a bloated pig person.
  • The Parks & Recreation full DVD boxset. I know this seems weird but it’s like £70 and I can’t justify it until I’m rich. 
  • A private Starbucks in my home ala the film ‘Richy Rich’ - I know he had a McDonalds but that’s not chic and my personal trainer would simply murder me *rich woman laugh*
  • Furniture that isn’t from Ikea.
  • Weekly trips to the hair salon to sort my 1995 Courtney Love hair out. I’ll never be confused for a homeless lad again. Oh and hair transplants to cover my bald spots - I’d like this hair to be taken directly from the scalp of someone much more beautiful than me so it evens things out a bit. 
  • A 24/7 chauffeur who doesn’t engage in small talk and who drives a Prius because I’m rich, not a fucking animal. Tinted windows though so I can pretend I'm in music videos to all the songs on the radio and not be judged by fellow drivers or pedestrians. 
  • Presents for my parents daily - all the things they’ve ever dreamed of owning so I can cement my place as the favourite child. Shoutout to my sister Kara, I win.
  • The rights to ALL of Whitney Houston’s music. I will only allow her songs to be used in the most respectful way and Kanye can’t have any of them.
  • VIP & backstage passes to every festival (music, food and gin based only. Don’t waste my time with any other subject matter. A craft beer festival can suck my dick.)
  • Bo Burnham on the payroll as my live-in lover.

Pic: A billboard near my flat that spoke to me on a deep level. I love East London.

Every item listed above was off the cuff and I had to stop before it got out of hand. I even resorted to prostitution at the end which can only confirm that a bottomless pit of money would make me a monster. The conclusion here, I think we can all agree, is that it’s probably for the best that I am not a wealthy woman. I don’t think I could stay humble. I dislike too many people for that to be a possibility and would marvel in buying things they dream of and flaunting it in front of them. This got nasty quite quickly and I really need to deep dive on my mental state.

Love Faye xoxo

Aka ‘moneybagz’