An Angry Complaint to Mother Nature

Why hello there, Mother Nature. It's time we had a talk.

Do you remember the time that I was on holiday in Mexico and I wanted to go on a jet ski? Yes. I remember that time well, too. It was an exhileratingly awesome experience, but oh-so painful. Why, you ask? Well, when you're going 60mph over the water and your bum is hitting the seat, it makes your tampon reallllllly hurt your lady parts. It felt like someone was wacking Little Grammar Gal with a Barbie doll. It wasn't fun.

Ooooo or do you remember that party where I wanted to wear my new white lace dress? I was going to look 10/10 would bang and marry and make a boy I liked feel jealous. Know what happened there? You and your bloody (literally) gift. I had to wear all black and therefore looked like an emo and, surprise surprise, he didn't look over at me. Sigh. 

So you can imagine my surprise when, after finally having sex - with Mr Melon  (and thus needing regular periods to be safe in the knowledge that I am not with child) - I am yet to have a period. WHERE IS MY BLOODY GIFT??? You owe me so big. Literally - you owe me £10 for the two pregnancy tests I've bought!!

No, I am not with child. But I may as well be!!! Why won't you just give me my period? I've had enough of this cramps and hormones crap... Grrrrrr you really are a little twazzock.

Think this concludes my rant.

Please please please hurry up.

Your biggest fan (well, I will be if I get my period in the next week)

Grammar Gal xxx

Legs Bum Tum...Torture

Yesterday I made the catastrophic mistake of going to an exercise class. I was in a wee bit of a shmood so I decided to do some exercise and get those endorphins going. If any of you are ever in the same situation then I urge you to go on a jog or do a Pilates video on youtube. DO. NOT. GO. TO. A. CLASS.

It was one of the most embarrassing things I've ever done (even worse that that time my Classics teacher exposed me to the class for doing extra work...I know I'm a loser!). I basically paid to be bullied. The class started with this thing called "Circuits", where we had to run around the room in a circle for what felt like a gazillion years. After two laps I was exhausted and ignored the leader who was yelling at us to "RUN GIRLS RUN" and decided instead to go into a brisk walk. I actually held up the people behind people and there was a mahoosive gap between me and the girls in front...

Then we had to get some chairs and mats out and I thought 'Oh yay, this will be the bit where we have a 20 minute break and chat about Britain's Got Talent, preferably whilst eating some Digestives'. But alas, no. We had to do push ups on the chairs and these things called planks...
It got so bad that I laid down on my mat and stayed still like a star fish. Oh God but the worst moment was when I was in my Dead Starfish position and then turned to the girl net to me, who was all red and puffy so I thought she was a fellow Exercise Victim, and I said "Oh my God, this is so hard! I can't go on!" and she smiled and said "Oh, no this one is actually really easy - just lift your hips like this". It wasn't easy. That position was as hard as licking your toenails (don't try that at home though, kids).

So I left this LBT class amidst loads of girls saying "Oh my God, that was great. I really felt that burn" whilst inwardly screaming "I BURN ALL OVER. IT WASN'T A GOOD THING".

The only good thing to come out of it was that I think I actually glowed afterwards. OK, but that was definitely sweat-induced...

The Boyfriend Came For Dinner

It is a truth universally acknowledged that if your parents don't like your boyfriend, then your relationship is doomed. Sure, there are the exceptions (as any Nicholas Sparks novel will testify) but, generally speaking, if Mamma says No then that boy's gotta go!

So you can understand why I was bloody terrified about my boyfriend meeting my parents.

Firstly, because my parents are nutters. My mum asks a gazillion questions to any male guest that we have round for dinner, so by the end of the meal we know all about his dreams for the future, his childhood vacations and his favourite type of sandwich. My dad is a hilarious funny bunny and, being in a house of girls, doesn't often get to assert his masculinity. So when a man enters the house Dad's voice drops three octaves, the football is turned up and beer cans are opened. Plus, of course, there is the mandatory "Man-Shake" ('man hand-shake').

I didn't want to bring my boyf into that!! Nonetheless, I wanted them to meet him and see how he is the definition of an awesome possum. So I got myself ready (which included making the fatal mistake of shaving and then putting deodorant on...pain doesn't begin to describe it...) and we sat down for a meal.

To my great surprise, it was a wee bit perfect. My guy (he needs a nickname, I can't keep calling him "boyfriend", "boyf" and "guy"...Let's call him Mr. Melon) shook hands with my Dad and wasn't phased by the extra low tone of his voice. He answered my mum's questions so well that it was like watching my Ed on Russell Brand's Trews (yes, I am on first name terms with Ed Miliband). 

There was a slight dilemma when, after eating all of his hadddock up, Mr Melon told me in private that he hates fish. A minor dilemma!!

And then we went to our pub's quiz night and, not going to lie, I think I am a Quiz Genius (just the other day, I got 4 questions right in the University Challenge Final - just call me Alan Davies!!) but this quiz was bloody hard. So, naturally, I turned to alcohol and was a bit of a tipsy gypsy for the rest of the evening.

But all in all, it was just so fantabulous and cwoot. Hurrah for Mr Melon getting on with my parents - if only they had been so lucky in The Notebook. (Oh I do love that film... *drops everything to watch it*)

Keep you posted,

Grammar Gal 

Spring Cleaning My Attitude

I have decided to start doing things that make me happy. I'm aware that this sounds like one of those goofy Instagram 'inspo' quotes that we all favourite because we secretly think they are cute. But I'm serious; henceforth, gone shall be the days of obsessing over whether my boyfriend is ignoring me (because the Blue Ticks of Whatsapp don't lie!) and I'm bidding adieu to feeling like a Primark pump in a wardrobe full of Jimmy Choos.

When you're a single pringle. you are totally self reliant. The only person that you're dependent on is Alex Vause from Orange is the New Black. True, most girls are totally self-reliant whilst in a relationship too...

And then there's me. To say I'm a sillymilly would be a ridiculous understatement. You see, the thing is, I've always denounced boys as Manwhores and Knobheads on this blog but I think that I was just  trying to keep the baes at bay! Falling in love is scary shit - it's like being given a winning lotttery ticket and being sent out into a rain-storm to claim your prize: you're so happy you've found it but you're scared shitless that you're going to lose it!

And now I have The Perfect Guy but I keep wondering why he puts up with me when I have the mood swings of a pregnant lady in an elevator...

But you just can't keep worrying about what other people think!! I've decided to Spring Clean my life - starting today! All of us are fantabulous creatures whom any guy/girl would be lucky to be with. And it doesn't matter if, when you get excited about something, your voice goes so shrill that it feels like Janice from Friends is in the room. When you find The Right Guy he'll just think you're a hoot and a half!

So with this positive new attitude towards both myself and Boykind (after 3 years of calling them all Twazzocks I've decided to give them a break!) I've decided to restart my blog - for real, this time. I know I sound like that ex boyfriend who texts you saying "babe, I've missed you. I'll change xoxo", but I'm serious! I love writing this blog and I'm not going anywhere.

Keep you posted,
Grammar Gal

Overthinking: A Curse

In Sleeping Beauty, the evil witch cast a curse on the baby Aurora to put her into a deep sleep for 100 years. Anyone who has watched the film will agree that this is a really mean curse, and we all root for this girl to be freed from her deep sleep.

If modern life was a fairytale, then I'd say that most girls have been cursed with the awful trait of overthinking. Or maybe it's just me. The moment I get really, truly happy about someone, I start overanalysing everything; do they really like me? Where is this going? When will we get married? Etc...

I think it's time that we all just took a deep breath, stepped back and realised that letting your boundaries come down is a good thing - it brings happiness! We have to stop being so scared of everything all the time and overanalysing every little thing. Only then can we truly be happy.

Being Cool isn't Cool

Today I turned up to a seminar in dungarees with greasy hair scraped into pigtails. Yes, I looked like a farmer who had fallen into a bush on the way to milk Daisy the cow. But the thing is, that even though the 'cool' girls in my class stared at me and clearly thought I was a capital L 'Loser', I didn't really care - I like dressing how I dress and acting like I'm 12 because it's just who I am and it makes me happy!!
Happiness is way cooler than wearer leather jackets and (god forbid) make-up.
Having said that, I was an actual mess today. The reason is that I overslept (classic) so didn't technically have time to get washed. I'm rather ashamed of what I did...
OK, before I tell you I have to defend myself. In Geography GCSE my teacher told me - he SWORE DOWN - that toilet water is 100000% clean and actually drinkable.
I was stressing. I turned up to my seminar smelling like a stray dog and I knew I couldn't go into my seminar with the pigtails, dungarees AND grim smell. I had to do something. But the toilets were rammed full with more cool people (why do so many cool kids do English?) so...
I'm just going to type it really fast and if you judge me then that's totally cool because I judge me too...I used a tiny bit (REALLY TINY) of toilet water to wash under my arms.
I KNOW I'M A GRIM HUMAN. Seriously, how do I have a boyfriend when I act like I'm from Planet of the Apes (OK, I've never actually seen that film but it's something about creepy monkeys)
But aside from Dubious Hygeine Measures, I think that being weird is totally fun. In fact, I've always said that I can tell a date is going well if the guy says I'm "really weird" - it means he thinks I'm cool (this is totally a lie my mum told me to comfort me after many a disastrous date, but it works!).
 The first time I met my boyfriend's best friend I was told that I needed to "act cool" because the guy was "really cool". My boyfriend (let's call him Melon to make things easier) said that I should "just not be myself". I tried - really I did. But as soon as I saw his friend I ran and gave him a hug and then had Verbal Vomit - where I just say everything that comes into my head.
But Melon was wrong - his best friend found my kooky (in a good way) so #winning.
The moral of this story, chums, is that you should never try to be "cool" - it's so overrated. On a night out, who looks like they're having more fun: the girls who are dancing sexily and swooshing their hips around OR the girls who are jumping around with air guitars? Yep, the latter.
Being weird is a gift so use it wisely, girls.
Keep you posted,
Grammar Gal

Teenage Rebellion

In every teenage film we've ever watched, there's always been the Bad Boy. His smile is so dreamy that our hearts go huminahumina-ahhhh when he walks in the room, his bum is so yummy that we want it on toast for breakfast, and - if he's Patrick Swayze then, boy, he can dance!
But in real life, the 'bad boy' is often nothing but trouble; look at how upset Taylor Swift gets in her 'I Knew You Were Trouble' music video. It seems that 'bad boy' is synonymous with 'twat face'.

But now that I'm at uni and I'm in my final year of being a teenager, I can't help but feel nostalgic... Nostalgic for the times that I thought a bad boy was The Coolest Thing Ever, nostalgic for when I was 13 and watching Dirty Dancing and looking forward to the days I would sneak out of the house to meet the guy of my dreams...
Life didn't really turn out that way. I was a total geek from 15-19: if my parents told me I couldn't go somewhere then I didn't go. Once, I did like I guy (who remembers the Knight in Shiny Abercrombie & Fitch?!) and my parents wouldn't let me see him...and, yeah, I did meet up with him in secret. But I still don't think that counts as teenage rebellion (besides, I came clean like a week later!)

I'm worried about entering my Twenties without having gone completely cray cray. I'm not saying I want to go out with a bad boy - I happen to have the best boyfriend in existence. Literally - you know that old Carpenters' song "They Long to be Close to You" ? He is the guy that that was written about (OK, not techincally - since neither of us were born then... but, you get my jist!)
Oh, now I'm daydreaming about how perfect my boy is...

Let's backtrack. Maybe teenage rebellion is overrated - I've never majorly fallen out with my parents because I snuck out the window or thrown a massive house party when they were away for the weekend - but so what?? Yes, I did choose Textbooks over Tequila, but I'm still a totally happy person. Maybe the films are wrong - we make our own fun.

Having said that, I'm planning to make the most of this term at uni to have an absolute ball!
Keep you posted,
Grammar Gal