About Me

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LDN, United Kingdom
I am Shaz. It's hard work. But someone's gotta do it. I am a part time freak and full time retard. I also do some casual work as a skank and I volunteer as your mother. NICE TO MEET YOU! Welcome to the biggest rant factory in the history of the internet. I've got more apathy than the entire emo population of the world combined. Only kidding. I'm real nice

Friday, 28 December 2012

...

Still thinking about chocolates.

Thursday, 27 December 2012

What is it about that time?

Of the month I mean. When I complain about it to other women I get one of two reactions.

"Oh that sucks yeah mine's a pain too."

Or "OH MY GOD MINE ARE THE WORST. THEY'RE THE WORST IN THE WORLD. IT'S LIKE I'M DYING. IN FACT. I DID ACTUALLY DIE ONCE BECAUSE OF IT. AAAAAARGH."

The latter are the ones that make you want to run head first into a wall. Why must pain be a competition. Besides. My physical pain isn't that bad - apart from today, I told someone the other day that I don't really get cramps as such and I sweat to you Mother Nature was listening and is currently exactly her "O RLY" style revenge on my tummy. That whore.

The real pain is how hormonal I am. I have polycystic ovarian syndrome. Which causes a hormonal imbalance. Which causes me to be a emotional train wreck when Mother Bitchface calls.

Any other time of the month if someone were to call me a bitch I'd be like.

"YEAH. WHATEVER." (I'm thinking the kind of whatever you'd find in the song 'My United States of Whatever')

But today. I cried. Not for like 30 seconds of anything I mean for like the best part of a half hour. I mean who fucking cares? Okay the person who called me a bitch is someone I didn't expect to call me a bitch. So maybe that made it worse. Something that would usually anger me just made me cry. It's all I seem to do.

What is wrong with me?

I get ridiculously angry too. I mean. For any spastic reason. I've smashed plates. Punched walls. Screamed at people. I mean literally screeching.

And then when I get angry I cry. So you're mixing those two shitty things up.

But the worst is the self hate. I mean I'm not my biggest fan most of the time. But when I'm on, I literally hate myself. I hate how fat I am. I feel like I look good in nothing. I feel like I can't do anything. I feel like a complete idiot. Like so stupid I can't do my work. I sit there thinking to myself "How are you in your third year of uni when you can't even write a coherent essay? How did I even make it into university?"

Why can't this go away? Why must I endure this humiliating shame once a month? The emotionally unstable bitch. Yeah. Bitch. I said it. I guess that's what I am.

Apparently not just at this time of month. Apparently I'm also mean. Which I am. But I'm also sweet. But sweet never gets anyone anywhere. Because no one appreciates sweet. I do. But so what. I don't get it now. I never have. I never will.


I was promised a box of chocolates tomorrow. I bet you a box of chocolates that I don't get them. Well I will. If I lose. And if I win I won't buy you any. Because they're right. I'm not a nice person. And I don't care. I won't be nice to people and that will be the end of it. I just don't give a fucking shit about being nice. Why should I be? I never get the same treatment back. karma doesn't exist. You're either shat on by the universe or not.

Wednesday, 26 December 2012

Missing you.

I think in reality what upsets me the most is that I'm really upset and no one care.  My grandmother passed away in August and it would have been her birthday on Christmas Eve. We went to the temple which I know she would have liked. 

On Christmas Day, my great aunt called the house and hearing someone speak in Malayalam saying "Hello dear," in Malayalam like my nan would have broke my heart. 

This is when you feel alone. I have no one to talk to apart from a page of words. 

EMO.


I've had a thoroughly shit Christmas. I don't care for any of this shit anymore. I actually want to be alone. I don't want anything or anyone. I don't care. I think the only reason I attach myself to people is to convince myself that I am a social person when I'm really not.

I haven't felt this low for a long time. Just a little effort is anyone can ask for and I don't even get that and if you can't get it on it's own, there's no point in trying to force it out of people.

I hate that my family are insisting on spending time together as a family when I can't wait to get out of here. And that's not just to go running into someone else's nest. I don't want to risk it. I want to just be alone. I've been told I must be and will be a nightmare to live with and I'm beginning to see exactly why. I have no tolerance for people. I have no tolerance for people's comfort in repetition. I have no tolerance for people's feelings. I have no tolerance.

I just hate all this shit. I can't believe some of the things I've heard from people this Christmas. Presents are not meant to be a sign of how much money you've spent on a person. That value is attached to whatever has been bought, there's a different kind of value attached with something made or handed down - I think they call that sentimental value or something. But the true value of a present is how much you know a person. The thought, planning and (hopefully) execution of buying something seemingly perfect for that person.

But what do I hear?

"Oh, but they got a mug with socks..."  - don't judge me, I'm a bloody student, we're far from loaded.

"I don't know if I'll use it" - I haven't even got a comment for this one. It's more complicated - a case of where I've tried with my teeny tiny mind to comprehend what this person may find useful and low and behold I can't figure it out because clearly there is nothing in my skull apart from a horrible mush of crap that is of no use to anyone - SOMEONE PLEASE PUT ME DOWN.

"Oh you know this'll be less than half price tomorrow?" - FUCK ALL OF THIS SHIT. I'M NEVER CELEBRATING THIS STUPID THING EVER AGAIN. I DON'T WANT TO CELEBRATE A THING. CHRISTMAS, BIRTHDAYS, DIWALI, HANUKKAH. NONE OF IT. I GIVE IT ALL UP.

 I don't care. I just don't give a shit anymore.

By the way I have deadlines on the 7th, 9th and 14th of Jan. 11,000 words in total. I hope I die before that. So I won't have to deal with ANY of this shit anymore.


BY THE WAY. If you're reading this and thinking "What a stupid bitch!" then I should warn you I am indeed on my period. And it's just my luck that I have polycystic ovarian syndrome which makes everything SO MUCH FUCKING WORSE.

Monday, 24 December 2012

Bah. Fuck it.

The reason I hate Christmas so much is that I'm forced to spend an inordinate amount of time with my family. None of us particularly like each other or get on. There aren't even cliques. Just constant opposition. But what I hate the most is the little niggly comments that make me want to hang myself. Seriously. I am sick to death of this shit.

"You've lost weight. You just need lose some more."
"You'd lost weight but now you've put it back on."
"You're fat."

Also copious amounts of advice is given to you. On what you should do next. How you should go about it. Why don't you do this or this or this?

Why don't YOU...

I never get any support from these people. I mean yeah they want me to do well which is nice and I get that but yesterday I got home and was telling them about this woman who literally yelled in my face at work. No one gives a shit. Well this is an improvement on the usual response which is to have my mum and my aunts turn it round so it's my fault.

"This guy tried to run me over."
"Well were you crossing the road properly?"
"I was at a Zebra crossing."

That is the most recent example of a string of these happening. But it is this that pisses me off to whole new levels of rage.

Well that and this idea that everyone in the world is smarter, better looking and more successful than me. And they have nicer teeth than I do.

And I think this is one of the reasons that I'm mean. Well I've been told I'm mean. I have no tolerance of people. Yet I am just as intolerable. To be completely inert is the only was to my personal nirvana. I don't want to effect anyone and I really don't want to be effected by people.

I don't think that even comes in the form of death. It's not that I want to die, sometimes I wish I was wiped of the face of the planet. No trace of existence.

I used to think that with all relationships distance makes the heart grow fonder.

But I don't think that is the case. We simply have a rose tinted photograph of whoever we miss. All the wonderful things that make us miss them. But this really isn't a true representation of them.

We are born alone and die alone. I should just get used to my own company and learn to handle these doses of reality better. Cause people don't change.

Monday, 17 December 2012

Honey & Co. And my first food post. Yum.


Now I warn you all this is my first ever restaurant review. So bear with me and ask me any questions if I've missed out any vital points. Also all the photography is done by me. So if you like it say so. If not, LEAVE IT.... yeah?

Anyway in the immortal words of Kel, (who is alive and well I hear after that awful rumour) "Awwwwh, here it goes"



Honey & Co is tucked away behind Warren St tube. This middle eastern delight is a cosy, warm and friendly place to hang out share some mezze - or not, some bitches don't like to share. But I do. And that's what we did. We got the mixed mezze, around a fiver. And how lovely it was, there were bits served up neither of us had tried before including what tasted like an exotic cheese straw and our favourite was this nommable cheese dip with garlic and coriander which you could probably eat a kilo of and then want to be disappointed in yourself for doing so, but really not care because it was THAT GOOD.

Almost everything on the menu has a twist, familiar favourites become unfamiliar but not in the scary way some of these new and interesting places take their food, but in a opening of your mind and tastebuds to the wonders of moving outside of the comfortable expectations you have with middle eastern cuisine. The lamb shawarma is a shining example of this. 

The meat was obvious slow cooked and as a result was succulent, juicy and falling apart. It's 

juices formed a sort of gravy, soaked up by the (HOME MADE MAY WE ADD - well the waitress did) flatbread.


Finally the deconstructed cheesecake. Deconstructed is such a difficult and tedious word and usually followed by the expectation of having some would be arty farty Masterchef wannabe - we'd like to point out at this point, something resembling an egg and a few sprinkles of freeze dried bacon does NOT constitute a fry up! However this was just as delicious had lost none of it's sex appeal in it's journey into abstraction. 



After the place had emptied out somewhat after the busy busy lunchtime rush - it's clear word has spread about this place - we got chatting away with the waitresses who are not only lovely to talk to about anything including their own foodie ways - on in particular who had family links to the wine trade and was on her way to setting up her own street food outlet. Overall a lovely atmosphere - truly that because for me that's the thing I love about eating out, the experience of it all, in all honesty I think my partner in crime is the real food and I'm just a picky little sod.  

Monday, 10 December 2012

Barry M. Ultra Moisturising Lip Paint in Black Cherry

Black Cherry - also known as the blunt '160' - sounds ominous, but believe me when I say it's bark is worse than it's bite.

You look at the bullet and think "Oh gosh, it'll be the emo schoolgirl version of me, but this time oh so much more awkward."

But it's not. This really lovely moisturising lip tint - tint more than paint in my option anyway - does what it says on the tube. Lots of lovely colour and moisture. Perfect for winter.

Just a slick for a lovely tinge of red. More leads to making-a-statement maroon.

Just one qualm I had with this. I get really dry lips. Because of this I need to make sure I don't have any dry bits on my lips, usually with the aid of an old toothbrush. I mention this because experience has taught me these bolder colours DEMAND a blank canvas. Otherwise they bitch up in a way that can only be described as a shattered kisser. NOT COOL.

ANYWAY. Pictures.

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