Busking for Nuggets

An afternoon at work, when conversations began to flitter from work to social life we started to discuss the expense of London and, of course, how skint we all were and in dyer need of a night out. Doing some maths I was convinced that we could still have a great night on a tenner. With only me and my best friend at work up for the challenge  and convincing  ourselves that we could achieve this, we both headed out with £10.00 each in our pockets and no credit/debit card to help us.

After several bottles of wine, shots, and cocktails having been consumed and paid for, with a little help from the new "friends" we had met that evening, we decided home and bed was calling. 

After hugging our favourite bouncer goodbye (to this day I still call him Winston – this is definitely not his actual name), we started on our merry way feeling like rockstars. Half way down the street, nattering away, we both gave each other the look. The look that then leads to a conversation about food and results in a drunken trip to the golden gates, even though of course we were both on “diets”

Once at Piccadilly Circus we arrived at our feeding hole having decided that just some nuggets would be suffice until we gorged whatever remnants I had in the fridge when we got home. The only problem, payment. DAMN THE BAN on bloody cards!!!!

Could we ask people to buy us food? No. Could we eat people's left overs? No. I'm not a bloody tramp. Could we steel nuggets by jumping behind the counter? Neither of us exactly elegant or a criminal mastermind, so no.

Could we busk for our nuggets?... Could we actually busk (quizzical face)....?

With no talents to my name, I just stared at my friend. A Brit School performer with a beautiful singing voice I pleaded with her to do something. Before I knew it, she was belting out an Amy Winehouse number and performing some modern, hip-hop jig. It was enchanting and magical, and probably very confusing for anyone who wasn’t as trollied as we were. Bringing nothing to this partnership, and my concerns running high of her taking in money and unwilling to split the nuggets, I did the only thing I could to contribute. Sell the product.  On a freezing cold evening I took off one if my shoes (neither of us were wearing hats so I improvised) and started to try and get money from wondering strangers who were clearly enjoying the comedy act we had come to preform. 

"Isn't she amazing"
"The talent"
"Don't you wish you could sing like that"

And finally when I got impatient..,

"Come on, we only want enough for some nuggets"

I really don't think waving my smelly shoe in peoples faces for them to put money in helped our cause at all.

After raising a solid £2.00 in 30 mins and convincing ourselves that we could totally do this for a living we decided to call it a night. Mainly so we could get our nuggets. Feeling like heros we entered mcdonalds, expecting a round of applause or some form of acknowledgment of our effort. We received nothing.

Wolfing the nuggets down like we had never eaten before and wishing we had stayed busking for another 30 minutes we headed home.

A tenner is possible for a good night out in London

Nuggets are always worth busking for.

50 shades of shame

Finishing university was long awaited and I when I moved out of my house I was full of mixed of emotions. The main being, I can’t wait to live somewhere that doesn’t have rats. With everything packed bar a few bits and bobs I went and gave everyone a big hug and then returned to my room. I reministed about the amazing last year of university I had and, shit, now how life got serious.

Walking down the grubby grey stairs with a can of magnolia paint I had purchased to freshen up my room (definitely not used), my head was fully in the clouds. What if I had worked harder? What am I going to do with my life? What is life?  - the usual. Feeling something odd trickle down my leg I looked down. Without even realising, I had covered myself, the staircase and the banister in cream paint where I had swung the can with the lid not on properly. "&*£%%$&^*".

Having already burnt a hole in the carpet in my room, I could see  my deposit slipping away from me. Frantically I started cleaning the carpet, then in typical student style I gave up after 5 minutes. Hungover and having already mentally prepared myself to move, I got in my car and drove home – Bye Bye deposit .

A week later and back home working at a pub on minimum wage I realised I needed money – I had to get the deposit back, I was desperate. Another road trip to Leeds was a necessity. I would get on my hands and knees and scrub until you could lick that bloody carpet. Luckily for me I was seeing someone who decided they wanted to join me for a fun trip - I'm unsure how scrubbing paint off carpet was fun, but who was I to say no. So he drove, helped scrub that carpet (lets face it he pretty much did it) and the results were pretty great. All it took was some man power, and a non hungover head. His reward, a night out in Leeds.

Unlike usual university standards we opted to go out for a meal at a restaurant before drinking. Looking distinctively different to my "home look" of an LBD and heels, I opted for a grey tank top that was long enough to call a dress with flat shoes that my date referred to being something that Hansel and Gretel would wear. 

After enjoying a delightful Moroccan meal I headed to the bathroom to attempt to make myself look a little bit more refined after several digs had been made about my outfit choice over dinner. Sharing a chat with several ladies at the sink, I then plodded back to the table. After a few minutes of downing the rest of the bottle of wine we left the restaurant and returned back to the house to meet some of my old  flatmates. Strolling down the road hand in hand I felt ridiculously pleased with myself, Hot man, Deposit back, Full stomach. Bloody Brilliant.

Walking up the stairs to open the front door my date yanked my hand. As I turned around to ask him what he wanted I noticed an extremely confused/horrified look on his face.

“Nat, are you excited?”

“Urm, yeah I suppose so, it will be a good night”

“No, that’s not what I meant, urm did you get overly excited?”

“I’m sorry? What?”

“……..Nat, have you wet yourself?”

What...honestly what!!! 

I looked down, nothing. Then started turning around trying to see the back of my top/dress, pulling it round to see what he was talking about. Its light grey colour had turned 50 shades darker. 

Had I wet myself? 

No I hadn't. When talking to a woman in the toilet I distinctively remembered he shaking her wet hands off behind me, plus sitting on the edge of the sink couldn't of helped matters. What did I do to ensure that he knew I hadn't wet myself...

"I haven't, honestly! SMELL IT"

Smell it....fucking smell it. 



50 shades of grey isn't good when it looks like you've wet yourself

Dry humping can't get you pregnant...can it?

A ridiculous day of work notoriously led to a well earned evening of drinking. Several drinks down the pub later and everyone had left bar me and a male colleague/friend.

"Dinner?"

"Perfect"

A pizza express and a bottle of wine later and the feeling of being content spread through my body. Even more so when the friend offered to pay (was this a date is managed to stumble into or just an over generous friend?). Several bottles of really nice wine later and from what I remember I just grabbed his face. Smooth as ever, my standard pulling technique - although as he didn't pull back in horror I took that as a positive.

Dragging him to several more dingy bars we eventually headed home, and not our separate ways.

Once back at my flat, which I never took anyone to due to its shitness, I realised I was on and out of tampons. Should I also mention unwaxed? But the more serious issue was that I was "on" and was unsure how to solve the problem.

"Put a towel down" was my first thought. Something a friend had once informed me works every time - I'm unsure how keen I was to put a colleague through that and face him the next day.

Chucking a pair of silky pj bottoms at him and riffling through my door frantically for a stray tampon my eyes stopped on a bag of cotton wool balls. Really, am I that rank? Yes, yes I am.

After nipping to the bathroom to adjust myself, I was ready. Ready for what exactly? Urm....

I crawled into bed alongside him, how do I get a spoon without a fork? Needless to say the silky pjs soon came off and we were enjoying several kisses. Several "pushing of the hand aways" later and he got the idea. I am not that kind of lady, well at least not when I'm wearing a man made nappy. 

Well at least you can't get pregnant from dry humping...

He sees dead people

I'd been dating on and off for a while but not found anything that really took my fancy (sounds like I was choosing some form of cheese). Then I tried POF. I had mocked people, judged friends, and vowed never to use this app, but desperate times lead me to it.

I'd been toing and froing as to weather to go on a date with this guy that started chatting to me, as he was just far to perfect. Why the hell was he on POF in the first place?? My friends convinced me that he was probably the same as me, just super busy all the time, and not a weirdo. Little did they know I classed myself as a relationship inept oddball with a loner tendency. Needless to say their little pep talks didn’t give me much hope.

I decided what the hell, he was tall (yes guys this is important), good looking and a personal trainer (woooweee). How the hell had I landed such a babe! The first date was a success, he was hot, friendly and chatty. He didn’t pay for my food which I found off putting on a first date (I’m sorry boys, but we have to remove all hair on our body, you should at least pay for our meals), but no real complaints.

We scheduled another date – YAY a 2^nd date! Texting everyday, I was excited that someone was as keen as me and hadn’t be turned off by my weird chats about hairless cats or “would you rather” questions (would you rather a vagina on your forehead for the rest of your life or willys down your back like a dinosaur). I asked if we could just go to a bar this time – his response, no. No?? Because he was a personal trainer he didn’t really drink, hmmm, ok seemed logical. So we went for a nice meal again, no he didn’t pay, again. Then I suggested going for a drink.

“Look, lets just go to this bar round the corner, Ill have alcohol and you can have a J2O or something?”

His ego looked dented.

“If your drinking, I’m drinking”

Sweet, my persuasive drinking powers had worked. We went to the bar and he dilly daddled around what he wanted to have. As he didn’t normally drink, his chosen poison was straight up Jack Daniels. What the hell. For someone who didn’t drink I was impressed. He even paid, so things were looking up!

                                            

We discuss general date topics but quickly it took weird turn. He started talking about how we were all computers and the man was making us all conform to boring unity (someone’s whisky had definitely kicked in). I then foolishly asked what his parents did to have such beliefs. His mum was a cleaner and he didn’t know his dad. Oh and by the way…

“My mums a psychic. Yeah really interesting” - he managed to get out slurring.

(Genuine thought that this was one of the most interesting things about this guy)

“Yeah, I kind of have the gift as well”

He stopped just short of saying he saw dead people, at this point I just stared. He then continued to elaborate on the story of how he’d channelled his ex girlfriend’s dead uncle and could tell her the layout of  his home having never seen it in real life.

At the end of his story I continued to stare. Feeling awkward and unsure how to proceed, I suggested another drink, of which he turned down. Thank the lord. I thought, actually this scenario would have been ok if it had been our 5^th date, (well would it of?), or if he’d asked some questions about me, but the shine of his beauty and perfect white teeth had gone, and the fact that all the way through his story he hadn’t made me laugh once was an instant turn off, no looks could save that. Did he think I was a part of the machine as well? Rude.

He walked me back to the tube stop and as we made it to the line I told him I was heading another way home. I walked around the corner, crouched and hid for 5 minutes until he had safety got on a tube – the crouching was unnecessary.

I love 6^th sense as much as the next person, but not when your  date turns out to be the creepy kid.

I sent him a video of a cat playing the keyboard

Now I’ve had my fair share of fancying guys at work. Not so much in the all female NHS departments, but in pub work I fancied everyone, chefs, waiters, barmen, I am not fussy. Drooling whilst on a shift was not an odd occurrence for me; neither was everyone knowing at work apart from that person. Although perhaps they did know and just chose to ignore my tragic attempts at flirting. I once hid in a cardboard box that I jumped out of to “surprise” my victim. Surprise them I did, as they just missed punching my face.

After a series of flirtation fails with guys at work and the very rare successes, success is classed a drunken night out snog that clearly one of us regretted the next day. I officially gave up on the work-dating scenario that I had been promised by some chic flick film at one point in my life.

5 years later and in an office job I was notoriously known for being a workaholic. This means sticking headphones in my ears, getting my job done and making as much money as possible. Working in an environment with minimal men, I could focus better and become efficient, no, more, drooling.

Sat at my desk in workaholic mode – eating tomato soup with copious amounts of omega seeds in I get disturbed.

“Nat this is @%$£^ you’ll be working with him on this project”

I look up. Knowing that most people that I have worked with, within the company have been old, ugly, or far too posh for me and my work attire to go near, until I had washed. Stood in front of me was an attractive man. Shit.

“Hi, nice to meet you” –attractive man

Aware that I currently had tomato soup on my chin and a good sum of seeds in my teeth, I was unable to do anything but blush. Not just blush, I went bright red. An uncontrollable heat travelled out of my face and I felt like the sun.

I mumbled something stupid as I tried to cover my mouth with my hand.

“Maybe we should come back later??”

YOU THINK??

They turned and left, both looking confused. I turn to my colleagues who were all staring at me.

“What the hell happened to your face??”

Sooo it wasn’t just all in my mind that, that actually happened. Clearly my face had turned so red I basically had a sign above my head saying "take the piss out of me"

.

This then continued to happen every time he entered my office, or I called him, or someone mentioned his name. This wasn’t just fancying someone, it was humiliation. I giggled, fumbled over my words, my boss was even informed about it. Everyone would stare at me whenever he walked to discuss something, and I would have to discretely excuse myself before try and calm my face down before attempting to have a serious conversation.

A series of incidents happened after that day that led me to believe that attractive guy would never see me in any form of desirable light.

*I tripped over my own foot and fell to me knees right in front of him.

*I turned up to work dead early with not a scrap of make up on my face (a privilege for only those I have known for years) and a form of art teacher attire. I travelled down in the lift to my office, when the doors opened, he was stood in front of me. His face said “Is that a troll or has someone poured boiling water over Natalie’s face”

*He waved at me on the street, I waved vigorously back… he wasn’t waving at me.

*My colleague asked him out for me, he never replied.

*I stared at him for that bit too long thinking I was wearing sunglasses, they were my normal glasses (this happened a lot).

*I sent him a video of a cat playing the keyboard.

The finale, we were all out on a work night out and he snogged my colleague.

Don’t ever let your colleagues see your weaknesses – they enjoy it far too much.

Living with boys, and their shit

“You’re living with a booooooy” – one of the greatest things that can happen to you, or celebrate when this finally happens to one of your friends.  The pang of jealousy that shoots through you because, well you’re still single and classed as the child amongst your friends disappears, because, they are your friends and you love them. I tell myself.

Living with one boy who you are deeply in love with, differs largely from living with a rugby team of boys at uni  (I really, REALLY, hope).

My third year of university meant living with two other girls, a delight, and 6 boys, 6 lovely but smelly boys. A house of 9 people, 3 toilets (one out of order - permanently) 1 kitchen, 1 lounge, basically 1 giant cesspit.

(They did not look like this...)

I think it took a week for the first bathroom to die, 2 weeks for the Kitchen to get destroyed and the girls to refuse to clear up anymore and after one house party, for the lounge to smell like an old pub combined with vomit and weed. I came home on day from uni to find the boys on the sofa and casually telling me they'd seen a rat appear from inside one of the many dead pizza boxes scattered on the floor. Another time we discovered a bucket of sick that had been hanging around for roughly 2 weeks. How did we date this? We presumed and hoped it was from the last house party... I would on occasion come home from uni to find boys sleeping in my bed because my sheets smelt fresh. Smelt fresh. They were fresh, the worry was what the hell did their sheets smell of and when had they last washed them?

 (They did not look like this either)

Boys poo. They are big poos, that they take their time over and i'm pretty sure, they inspect them as well. Girls don't do this. If anything its actually an embarrassment in front of a boy - with friends there is the exception. I once waited till my male friend left the room for a solid 5 minutes, squeezed one out in the en suit and then when he came in and asked if I pooed, I blamed it on the drainage and clearly stated that ladies didn't poo. He retaliated with "you're no lady Nat" ...Urm thanks???

Id been home with my friend for the weekend and returned to the house at the end of the uni term. The boys all weekend had been deciding how to choose rooms in their next years house, it had actually sounded quite entertaining, who could drink the most, eat the most etc. The etc we found out shortly after we got home. It was such a lovely sunny day and we pulled up on the street and started walking up the stairs that led to our house. Outside we found several bags filled with mince meat. Picking one up for further inspection my friend quickly dropped it, and we decided they must be leaving them in the sunlight for them to gain salmonella and see who vomited the most, or to thaw out. Walking upstairs to my room I caught one of the boys. 

"blah blah blah,how was your weekend? blah blah blah"

"good, blahh blahhh, whats with the bags outside the door?"

"You didnt touch them did you?"

"we picked one up but..."

"..yeah they are bags of our poo that we weighed to determine rooms after the all you can eat dinner"

..........................................

WTF

Boys are gross

We've lost the plot

Being broken up with, by a guy who then tells your friends you were never seeing each other, has to be one of the most painful and humiliating experiences of my life. Especially when you have been infatuated with the guy for years and you have to think - SHIT, did I read it wrong, am I going out of my mind??? Have I literally just made this up and my fantasies didn't become reality? AM I INSANE!!! 

Well I wasn't, and he is an absolute big headed, Gareth Gates hair styled, Knobber (definitely not bitter). I still have the pleasure on occasion of seeing and hanging out with this man - why do we do this to ourselves?? 

Anywhooo...

After several days of crying and starving myself I then turned to booze and food. My two favourite things in the world. Yes, more than people on occasion. Cheese was my substance of choice and ice cream, on occasion both together, don't judge me.

I believe at this point my friends had become seriously concerned because for once, I wasn't vocal. I didn't bash men, I didn't tell them how tiny his penis was, I didn't even discuss how turning lesbian would make life so much easier: actually I didn't really say anything. Which as you can guess, for me, is very odd.

My Self pity had got to an all time low when a few friends had asked me for drinks. I turned up, miserable, looking like crap, and ready to drink. They turned up happy, looking glamorous and ready to drink and get me drunk.

So drink we did. We drank a lot. Soo much. Probably too much because then this happened...

Deciding to move he party outside and smoking like a chimney one of my best friends joined me. We decided that sitting cross legged on top of high smoking tables was the most comfy seat in house, not a health and safety issue at all.

"Come on, what can I do to cheer you up...anything"

"Nothing" - so fucking miserable it's ridiculous - I'm ashamed 

"There must be something"

"The only thing right now that would make me laugh is if you wet yourself"

I honestly said this statement as I wanted to continue to be miserable and I believed this to be the only thing she wouldn't actually do...

"Ok"

Then the trickle happened. I looked over and she was doing it. She hadn't moved an inch, and was casually going for a wee outside a pub, sat on a smoking table.

"Naaaaaaaaaat, it's wetter than I thought, I need to go to the bathroom and remove my pants"

Its wetter than I thought....

Friends are better than boys.

Wetting yourself guarentees a laugh from someone