Girl Pain

After waking up super late, with hair that looked like I’d done ten rounds with a bush this morning, I was running behind. Well behind. As way of a change. As such, I was forced to apply my make up on a packed London Victoria bound train. Not OK.
I looked up, whilst using my iPhone camera as a mirror (all of the class, especially when your camera takes a photo of you by accident, see above) to see a bloke staring at me. 
It wasn’t through lust (clearly – 8am Jo aint a sight to behold), it was through pure and utter bewilderment….Bewilderment, that on a moving train, I was painting my face in with some precision using a non reflective surface as a mirror. He looked on in agony as my mascara wand reached my eyeball. The train halted and the wand went into my eye. Like a true pro, out came the face wipes, away went the tear and on I carried. By this stage my man looked like he wanted to weep.
It was in that moment that it dawned on me, that there are many painful things in life that only females will understand.
Boys. Read. Take Note.
The things we go through. 
Here’s some of them. (credits to our Shezza Webb for her help on this one today)
The Mascara Wand In Eye
The reason for this post. No sting quite like the entry of pure black liqud into your pupil…on the end of a sharp bristled stick. Once the pain passes, along comes the 3 hour fear that you’ll contract some sort of eye infection and loose your eye. Because you’re a woman, so as such are completely irrational. 
Nail Varnish Remover In A Cut
Oh hey pure acid in my blood stream….how do?! Que… jumping around your room like a complete fruit cake whilst still managing to not smudge or knock your recently applied Barry M.
 Girl…you got this.
Tweezing
Ohhhhh. The one by one removal of every hair in your face. One at a painful time. Whilst you hang your head under a bright lamp to make sure you don’t miss any strays. All because it’s the week before payday and you can’t afford a thread. Pain.
Threading
The joys of having a small grandma lean over your head with cotton in her mouth whilst she slices your face apart. Like the eyebrows aren’t bad enough…roll on my girl getting one knee on the arm of your chair and starting on your top lip. TOE. CURL.

Deodorant
Deodorant on a freshly shaved armpit. 
Holy. Mary. Mother. Of. God.

Catching Your Leg On A Razor
Oh yes. The removal of one’s own skin on a Lady Bic. Now that’s bad. Putting cream on your leg afterwards. I said GOD DAMN!
Getting Your Hair Caught In A Zip
No lads, clean your minds. Your head hair getting caught in your coat zip. Tears on a train mate. Tears. On. A. Train.
When A Bloke Bites Your Lip And Thinks It’s Sexy
To a degree, we can all get involved and enjoy the odd nibble. When matey starts chomping on that thing like it’s a corn on a cob and you’re just sitting there thinking…I gotta put lip coat on that shit tomorrow and man is that going to sting!
Underwire Appearing From Nowhere
Oh hey old bra.
 Oh hey underwire popping out the side and straight into your breast. 
Oh hey paranoia that you might end up without a boob by the end of the day.

Chaffing
Come on we’ve all had it. Especially the larger thighed amongst us. You wear an older pair of tights, the elastic isn’t what it was and low and behold your dear old legs rub together like a pair of bastards. Ever so red. Ever, ever so sore.
Roll on the ritual humiliation of having to Sudocream them bad boys like you’ve got nappy rash!
Hairbands
When you leave a hairband on over night. And you wake up with a trench in your arm. And a female irrational fear that you might loose your hand. Yeah. That. 
Touching Of A Tender Boob 
That sensitive time of the month…and someone goes for a grab of the boob. And as much as you don’t want to ruin the mood, you want to suckerpunch them in the head. Then fall into a heap on the floor.
Mother Nature
That time of the month in general. When you are a rank, sweaty, bloated mess with a lower belly that feels like it’s having a knife run across it. LUSSSSHHH. 
& last but by no means least.
Our favorite..
Waxing
As if the ripping of one’s hair and skin onto strips of paper isn’t agony enough, nobody quite prepares you for the hot shower afterwards, when you feel like you’re nether regions are going to explode. But above all that is the agony of having to have a conversation with the woman who is in between your legs with a lollystick and a hot pot of wax.
‘All the way back dear?’
‘Please…and why not just strip off the remainder of my pride whilst you’re there babe’
Cheers
LL x

Life Lessons Eastenders Has Taught Us All




In celebration of the 30th year of everyone’s favourite soap, and to celebrate an epic run of live episodes, here are some of the best things Eastenders ever taught us.
Being a murderer is pretty run of the mill stuff. Everyones killed someone at some time. Casual like.

You can run a successful, long standing, second hand car business that will run for years with a customer reach of only 30 people.

No matter how well off you are, how big your house is or how many kids you have you’d never dream of buying a washing machine….Launderette Massive.

You can get through life with only ever shopping in a Mini Mart. All. You. Need.

It’s ok to sometimes sleep with people you’re related to.

You can afford London rent just working 3 mornings a week in a caff. 

Whenever you get in a cab, a theme tune will play. And you’ll be forced to stare out the back window.

You’ll only ever drink in one pub. Ever. In your whole life.

If you set light to your family home, but you’re a nice guy, you’ll get away with it. 

If you do have a massive fire, it’s fine because your house will look exactly the same again in about two weeks. 

Sometimes you’ll go away for a while, and when you come back you’ll look like someone completely different. Because you are someone completely different. But nobody will bat an eyelid.

You’ll end up in prison at least three times in your life. It’s cool tho. Cos Phil’s brief will get you off
It’s a normal occurrence for an arson attack, a kidnap, a murder, a birth and a comical interlude to all happen in half an hour and all within a square mile of each other.

Peggy Mitchell took magic tablets at birth and as such will never die. Ever.

If you’re called Tracey you must spend your life standing in the background and never speaking.

& last but not least 

If you die, it doesn’t always mean you’re dead for always. You can come back to life.
 Also pretending to die is fine. Totally OK and normal. 

Loosing Your Shit

As you probably gathered from last week’s post….I’m bloody knackered. For the last four or five weeks of savage working, I’ve managed to keep on going.
This week I hit my wall. 
I went at about 60mph into a 6ft breeze block monster of a wall. 
I’ve been walking around most of the week feeling like I’ve got jet lag, my reactions are stupidly slow and trying to muster the power of speech has been a challenge at times. Hair washing and make up application are a thing of the past.
In fact it got so bad this week that this is a picture my esteemed colleague took of me on Friday afternoon. 
Yes, yes I am asleep on a desk. Yes, you’ll be pleased to know that I went to the gym this weekend because I hadn’t realised that my back had become ever so wide from my diet of full fat coke and toast.
The tiredness has made me quite irrational. My reactions to stuff aren’t as sane as they were at the beginning of January. I find things are aren’t even funny, so hilarious I’m sure I’ve done a little wee at my desk. I’ve also found myself completely and utterly loosing the plot at mundane things that would normally never bother me. 
Do you ever get that?
Of course you do. And here’s a list of the most common things that make a tired girl loose her shit. All of which happened to me this week. Enjoy. 
Slow Walking People.
Slow walking people on the way to station. People that dither when boarding the train. People that stop and look up at the sites on my way to the office. All of you need to immediately get out of my face, out of my way, out of my life. Before I am forced to sucker punch you in the back of the head to SHIFT YOU ALONG! 
The Breaking Of A Favourite Nail
You all know that nail that you have, that’s a good length, and nice shape…would look great in a jewellery catalogue. Yeah when that breaks….

Shit. Storm

The Spilling Of A Drink.
When all week you’ve been longing to be sitting down, in good company, in a nice pub, with a chilled glass of wine. And on the way back from the bar the wasted tramp girl knocks your elbow and it spills on your boots. That you just cleaned. Yeah – you, me, outside. Right now.
The Missing Of A Train.
Alright Southern Rail, at no point in the last 3 months have ANY of your trains been on time. At the very least you’re always 2 minutes behind schedule. Oh yeah, except today when I chanced another 30 seconds in bed. Today you decide to be punctual and actually provide the service you promise. Whatever. 
The Noise Other People Make When They Eat.
Oh you think that munching on that salad with your mouth open is an acceptable way to go about lunchtime do you? YOU SOUND LIKE A HORSE. Kindly remove yourself from my presence.
Getting Caught In The Rain.
It’s actually quite useful as it washes away the rage tears. But when you arrive at your final destination and your hair resembles SideShow Bob’s…that’s when the red mist really kicks in. So, so pleased I got up an extra ten minutes early to straighten my white girl afro.

 Chuffed. To. Bits. 

Questions.
It’s lovely when your Mum pays such an interest in your working week but by question 765 of a ten minute conversation the red rag/ bull mentality descends. I’m fine. Work’s fine. My general health is fine. Now…silence. PLEASE.
Queues 
I mean, there’s nothing really to say is there. The pure bloody audacity of people wanting to shop at the same time as me, let alone wanting to purchase more than two items, is enough for me to commit third degree murder. Go home. I want to shop, purchase my goods, pack my bags and leave said establishment without stopping walking. When I stop I find it really hard to start up again!
Dressing Yourself

Why is getting changed when you are K-O’d so hard? I’m not being funny but putting on a bra when you’re rolling on minimal sleep is pretty much like completing a Mensa entry exam and is more frustrating than words can really explain.

ARMS. WON’T. REACH. ROUND.

STRAPS TWISTED
RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

& last but by no means least.

The dreaded.

The Non Reply To A What’sApp.
I CAN SEE YOU’VE READ IT – JUST ANSWER MY BLOODY QUESTION. How hard is it just to have basic manners? I mean really, did your parents just drag you up or what?

Jesus.

LLx