Attempting life as an adult

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“Welcome, welcome, the time has come to select one courageous man and woman” – Wait. Is this the hunger games i’m entering?
Nope, it’s just another job application. Although there isn’t the inevitable threat of death, don’t be fooled, part of you will die – your soul.

Applying for jobs nowadays feels like your volunteering as tribute in a fight to the death of future employment. The questions, the tests, the stages, the interviews – WHY GOD, WHY?! It all makes me think Gale was right when he said “they just want a good show, that’s all they want”. Why else would a company subject other human beings to this torture if it wasn’t for the shits and giggles of it all.

The Districts – different universities.

District Representatives – other applicants, potentially old classmates.

The Capitol – the merciless employer.

The Arena – the job application.

Me – Jennifer Lawrence, the resemblance is uncanny i know.

My Mentor – my cv, (which might as well be a drunken Woody Harrelson from the mismatch jobs                        I’ve had in my lifetime).

STAGE 1: Job Applications questions;

You see a job advertisement online and before you know your saying: “I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE”. Instantly you regret it when the likes of this question pop up;

“What was the last thing you wondered about” – a genuine job application question I answered.

Right ok, you got this, you are Katniss Everdeen. Just give an answer that’s interesting, funny, and up to date with current affairs. Oh and remember to sound intelligent, but not too pretentious that you come across as an arse, but then again not too simple that it makes you look like a Kardashian.

STAGE 2: Tests; 

You receive an email. They want you to come in for an interview after impressing them with your witty, intelligent and down to earth answers right? Nope. They want to test your ability to answer more pointless questions, but wait for it, this time you’re timed. Right Katniss, just think of it as another higher english test. I’m sure this requirement wasn’t in the ‘ideal candidate’ section.

“Right here we go, this isn’t too bad – I think it’s this answer – phew that was close – wait – what? – What does that mean? – I don’t get it – ”

*session has expired* 


STAGE 3: The assessment centre; 

Finally the time comes to enter the real arena and the games can officially begin. You meet the other tributes, eyeing every one of them up and instantly there is a mutual hatred for each other. Like the hunger games, there is a group training exercise and other tributes who have trained for the games can show off their skills. Again, just like the Hunger Games, only one comes out victorious and I’ll be damned if it’s not me.
But wait, you meet your very own Rue.
That person is the only one you can relate to in a room full of pretentious twats. But she has to go, you have to outshine them all because this the hunger games and there’s only one job position!

STAGE 4: The Interview;

The time has come to remember everything your mentor taught you. Impress them with your made up skills from your CV. OH, tell them how much Nick Knowles liked your soy lattes, that’s bound to impress them, but maybe leave out the part about the accidental burn. Like a bow and arrow, take aim with your buzz words and release a perfectly rehearsed one-liner. BBHAAM, Jennifer Lawrence who?

At the end you take stock and for a second you think you’re the last one standing, everyone’s dead. But your glory is short lived, as a week later you receive an announcement from the capitol and your reminded that there can only be one winner in the hunger games, and it’s not you. Despite the extraordinary resemblance, you are not Jennifer Lawrence, you are just a ploy in their twisted game.

In desperation you reach for the poisonous berries and guzzle them down as you can’t let these vicious corporations get away these acts of torture. But they’re not poisonous berries, they’re grapes, and the only thing they’ve destroyed is your soul.



Keeping in tone with the Queen’s Christmas speech this year, my last post of the year is about reflection. 2013 has been a tough year to say the least, even writing this is emotionally difficult for me. I can sum it up in three words; emotional, depressing and morbid, there even came a point when I asked “why do I do this to myself”. To be honest with 2014 just round the corner, I can’t see it getting any better.

Now, now don’t get this twisted (queen bey reference, hollaaa) this is not sob story on how pathetic my social and love life has been this year, although it would be quite a fitting introduction to that story, no I’m contemplating this year’s TV entertainment offerings.

So many people in life annoy me, but nothing frustrates me more than someone who doesn’t appreciate good TV shows. A good TV show is like the friend you will never have; they comfort you just as much as carbs will; they don’t care if you’ve not shaved your legs for over a week or if you fart while listening to them. No, all they want to do is entertain you, make you escape in their fictional lives. But just like a friend you can’t give up on them, you gotta stick with them out of loyalty and just like the last three episodes in season three of Homeland you will realise it was worth it.

Fiction, that’s the key word I constantly need to remind myself of, “IT’S NOT REAL, STOP CRYING”. I’ve never understood how I can get so emotionally attached to people I’ve never met and aren’t real, but I live for TV binging, uni work distracts me from my TV entertainment. Using “I don’t have time” as an excuse is lazy, you make time for TV, prioritize your TV consumption it pays off.
TV shows have taught me so many things in life for instance; torture is a highly effective method for protecting your national security; if I ever go to prison I should maybe change my name to Katia Rodriguez as the criminal community seem to respect latinos; maybe I should have pursued chemistry in school as it could come in handy; that sixteenth century royals were randy buggers; that I should never rat on someone especially if they’re Italian-American and own a classy establishment called Bada Bing. Useful life lessons.

Who am I to say what is a good TV show or not right? Well actually this is one of a few topics that I can discuss with some conviction. You see most children grew up watching postman pat or some crap like that when they were young, but not I. Thanks to my gran my TV morning entertainment started with some Lassie, then Charlie’s Angels and finished with Dallas. As the years progressed the only family time in the Stenhouse household was on a Sunday night where we gathered in one room to watch 24, nothing quite like a bit torture to cement a bond.

It’s frightening how much I get caught up in TV shows and this year has been hard, so, so hard. I went into a two-week depression after ‘The Red Wedding’. I’m still recovering from last week’s season finale of Homeland, every time I see a ginger I start to well up – WHY GOD, WHY?! I think I’ll forever be mentally scared from the father’s day episode of House of Cards:

“Aren’t you going to wish me a happy fathers day?”
“You don’t have any children”
“Don’t I?”

Visually it’s a lot worse, *shiver*.

On a lighter note I cried out of happiness for Will and Mckenzie in The Newsroom’s season two finale, I was just so happy for them they’d been through so much and I just knew that one completed the other, bless. Near enough every week I cry at Glee, they’re following their dreams and tugging at my heart strings with their angelic voices, the camp one gets me every time dammit.

The Queen was clearly taking about this year’s TV entertainment when she said with so many distractions, it is easy to forget to pause and take stock. Taking stock of this year I can see that TV entertainment was on point. Bravo to all the writers, actors and especially netflix who have made this year that bit more entertaining for all those like myself who have nothing better to do on Friday night. Honestly I’m apprehensive about 2014, it has so much offer in TV it could near enough emotionally destroy me. I swear if another Stark is killed off I’m Eskrine bridge bound.


  1. If their local sports facility centre was a ski club.
  2. If their packed lunch to uni consists of cous cous with vegetables.
  3. If their summer days were spent at Balamaha on their friends jet skies instead of getting drunk at their local park.
  4. If their birthday party spread consists of cured italian meats, fresh bread and cheese instead of iceland’s spring rolls.
  5. If they say “yeah man” more than twice in a sentence.
  6. If their first car was better than the car your parents drive.
  7. If they put foundation on their lips, wtf is that about?
  8. If their version of misbehaving in class was challenging the philosophy teacher to a debate.
  9. If their scariest fight in school consisted of someone getting belted with last seasons Prada.
  10. If their hardest decision in 6th year was deciding between touring Europe or Southeast Asia.
  11. If the local delinquents were as effective a young team as the cast of Made in Chelsea.
  12. If their biggest fear at house parties was that their parent’s fine crystal champagne flutes would get chipped or god forbid the ice dispenser would break.
  13. If they know at least two people who own a boat. Or they actually have a boat themselves.
  14. If they pretend to like sushi while secretly gagging on the inside.
  15. If they know at least three people who are Tory voters.
  16. If their life ambition in school was to be part of the fashion show committee. In fact if their school even had a fashion show.
  17. If they complain about how much money they spent in the casino after being “like so, so drunk man” off of grey goose and patron.
  18. If their local ‘scheme’, if you could even call it that, resembled a cul de sac in a street.

    and finally….

  19. If they write a blog.


9/11, UFO’s, the moon landing, t-pac’s death all conspiracy theories sold to the public in various ways but one which I think is the most dangerous to our society and the most abused is the conspiracy of love.

I’ve been described as a negative person with a pessimistic outlook on life which wouldn’t be a lie but you see I wasn’t always this way…..
It all began when a man came into my life and lured me into a false sense of security on love, to then leave filling my life with cynicism. He was a wicked man who preached the power of love through his truthful depictions of life but he forgot to tell me something crucial which would of saved me from years pondering which was that all of it was a lie. Screw you Nicholas Sparks, screw you.

The recipe to a Nicholas Sparks film has the following three ingredients; a large scope of ridiculously good looking love interests, a splash of death and a heap of bullshit. The leading characters lock eyes in a crowded place and just can’t help themselves to fall madly in love with each other. The only thing that can either bring them together or disrupt this new found love is the news of a death and each story is presented to us in an idealistic world where love trumps all, usually somewhere near a beach or a lake of some sorts. Oh and there’s a kissing scene in the rain, that’s just standard.

Dear John – we live in the 21st century so even if John (Channing Tatum) was so heartbroken to leave surely he would of wrote emails, far more efficient and quicker. But then this leaves the question of how many xxx’s does he put at the end of his letters? One is a bit too informal and he doesn’t want to seem too needy and put like five, but then again we are talking about a Nicholas Sparks film where all characters feel the need to tell each other every single feeling that they’re dealing with, so my guess would be that john’s xx’s would be in the 5-10 range.

The Last Song – the fact that Ronnie (Miley Cyrus’s character) would even get a boyfriend in the first place is laughable because she doesn’t even crack a smile untill three quarters of the way into the film. If you saw Ronnie sulking around a shop or sitting on a beach with one frown away from killing herself the first thing to come to mind would definitely not be “she looks like a fun date”. No, you would be like cheer up hen you’ve only gone and got yourself into one of the best universities in the world and if that didn’t work I’d offer her some of my Prozac. Oh you’ve got daddy issues Ronnie? Boo freaking hoo, join the club we meet every tuesday. I felt sorry for Liam Hemsworth’s character having to take her on a date, frankly I’d have more fun at funeral.

Safe Haven – this one I can’t stand just for the sheer fact that this concept was a complete rip off of ‘sleeping with enemy’ where Julia Roberts did a much better job of it. But again we see another man dealing with some issue which makes him so sensitive and attentive to the woman’s needs and desires that the only place she feels safe is in his arms. BLEUH. Josh Duhamel’s character Alex is a widowed father of two therefore the idea of him even having the time to find some other partner seems slightly odd. Being a single father he has to care solely for his two kids which means he would be working pretty much every opportunity he gets to provide a living for those children. Education in america is not cheap and I don’t think owning your own convenience store in the middle of some hick town can be too lucrative, just saying. So having to chase around after some ‘mysterious’ new resident in town who is paranoid about anyone knowing her whereabouts would be exhausting and just not worth in my mind. The fact of the matter is he would of been better off leaving her alone as his only source of income, being that lucrative convenience store, would not have burned down. Jokes on you Alex, jokes on you.

The Notebook – this is the most ridiculous and the source of all my agony. Seriously I don’t know where to begin here, you might as well call bullshit on the whole thing. Ryan Gosling’s character Noah, who keeping in mind you’ve only just locked eyes with at a fun fair, decides to climb up a moving ferris wheel to get your attention – that right there my friends is the first sign of someone with attachment issues. He writes to you every day for a year, even if Allie had received them which he thinks is the case surely you’d get the message by week three? Is he that needy and desperate that he needs to write every single day for a year, really? Even then, what do you write about after week two?

“Dear Allie, I worked on fixing my Dad’s house today. Have you got my letters? Noah xxxxxxxx”

“Dear Allie, Still working on my daddy’s house, saw a pretty bird today, Why haven’t you replied to my letters? Noah xxx”

“Dear Allie, Not much has changed since yesterday. Seriously why aren’t you writing back? Noah xx”


And is Nicholas Sparks really trying to say that someone as good looking as Noah would not find some other girl he can inflict all his emotional baggage on to? Please.
Allie went about this whole thing the wrong way, she followed her heart where she should of went with her head. Maybe if she had looked at her relationships like an investment she would of realized that Lon was the one she would of went with. He was a lawyer of Southern money which would of came in handy when she was diagnosed with dementia, didn’t work out too well for you Allie did it?

What Nicholas Sparks fails to depict in his films is the awkward/nervous chat on first dates or the drunken phone calls where you make a tit of yourself, or deciphering the meaning of a facebook message. If life really was like a Nicholas Sparks film then I’d be married by this point with my second child on the way. You do not not meet your other half in a cafe when your eyes lock from across the room – bullshit, I call that a Wednesday and the look they give you is out of pity for sitting alone.

The truth is that it’s not just Nicholas Sparks that is polluting our minds with these false expectations of love. Everything from Disney to The O.C I call bullshit on, fairytale romances do not exist. For example Disney’s Sleeping Beauty was severely adapted to impose this idea of love upon us from an early age. The real ‘fairytale’ was that the prince could not wake up the princess so he left and married someone else, however the King stumbled across the princess’s lifeless body and he too was unable to wake her so he decided to rape her. She woke nine months later from the pain of child birth, that is love my friends. Case and point.

I used to believe life could really be like Nicholas Sparks film but then I woke up and smelled the shite. What he tells us is that if you’re ridiculously attractive and have abs of steel you can get away with being a pain in the arse. Now I walk away from these films with an overwhelming sense of “Dafuq?”.


“In the regular world, halloween is a night where children dress up in costumes and beg for candy, in girl world, halloween is one night a year when a girl can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it. Unfortunately no one told me about the slut rule, so I turned up like this….” 

(If you can’t tell where this quote is from, we can no longer be friends) 

I’ve never understood people who don’t like Halloween as a) you get to dress up and b) people willingly give you free sweets, what’s not to like about it? But for me, it also brings back bitter memories of an experience that this quote brings much to close to home. 

The year was 2003, the night was cold and the mood was high filled with the excitement of underage drinking all too familiar with all hallow’s eve. Little did I know that this was the night where my public humiliation would begin. 

My good friend decided to have a halloween party, being american she doesn’t do things half assed meaning she rented a church hall and invited half of our year to it. It was the talk of the town in the weeks leading up to it and everyone was making their costume preparations well in advance. I, being my usual self, left getting a costume to the very last minute and was left with very little options in the fancy dress shop. 

Being a twelve year old I thought the most logical and appropriate costume would be to go as a ‘Vampire-ess’ and not the ‘naughty nurse’. Arriving at the party I soon realised that I had forgotten about the girl code of Halloween – the more skin the better. 

All I could see were girls dressed like cats or like Sandy from Grease, all wearing flattering ‘girly’ costumes that emphasised their cleavage. 
I…..I looked like Morticia’s fat cousin who had just escaped from a mental institution. Every single very inch of my body was covered by my long black dress and my hair was pulled so tightly into a high bun that I had a permanent look of shock on my face. I actually lost track of the amount of people who asked “what are you meant to be?”. 

To make things worse I don’t really bode well with heat and I was quite a sweaty child (if you’ve seen me at the gym then you’ll know I still am rather sweaty), my white face paint started to mix with the fake blood from my mouth and gathered down into the costume’s structured collar. As the night went on a pool of pink liquid formed in the collar’s seem. 

I was sex on legs. 

Now I know what you’re thinking, I’m ripping of Mean Girls here as a way of getting a few cheap laughs. I wish I was making this up, trust me. As every girl who calls them self a fan of Mean Girls will know that the film actually came out in April of 2004, therefore I could sue Tina Fey for ripping off an event in my life. I am at least owed royalties for that scene in the film as it couldn’t be any more accurate, every time I watch Mean Girls I am reminded of the horror of that night in 2003.

I like to think the emotional anxiety it caused was character building and looking back I laugh now, it’s a good conversation starter round about this time of year. But at the time all I wanted to do was cry and go eat my feelings. I understand now that Miranda really was right when she said: 

“The only two choices for women; witch and sexy kitten”

(If you don’t also know where this quote is from, then just get out my life now.)

It’s true, you’re either sexy or ugly on halloween. In an attempt to be truly funny, chances are your probably leaning on the ugly side, as you can’t be funny and sexy it just doesn’t happen. For example; ‘sexy slice of pizza outfit’ or ‘sexy big bird outfit’ – bitch please. Like it or not there’s nothing funny in a sexy costume, only a cry of desperation. 

If you can pull off doing a sexy halloween costume then go for it, just admit your more suited for a strip club. But hey who am I to judge, just because I can’t own being a sexy bunny like Regina George can doesn’t mean it’s wrong, just means I have to be more creative with my costumes. I’m thinking of Mr Blobby for 2014, too far? 


Mark Twain once said, “Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter”. Mark Twain has clearly never heard of Jellybaby Thursdays then.

I like to think that your choice of cereal can say a lot about what stage in life one is at. For example, this morning I grabbed a box of sultana bran completely ignoring the box of coco pops next to it, and instantly I was aware that I am no longer an adolescent. As I stared at my bowl of bland-dry-bran with despair, I realised that I had made the conscious decision to become more like an adult. When did this happen?

The stage of life I and most others my age are at feels a bit like limbo. I’m too much of an adult to have as much fun as a fresher, but too young to be as boring as an adult. With that sentence I‘ve wiped out two thirds of Glasgow’s nightlife as potential options. That’s not to say I don’t still get shtfaced – oh I do, I just feel it’s not as socially acceptable as it once was at 18.

Octo wednesdays used to be the shit, you could go swimming, go on a bouncy castle and get married by elvis all in one night. I used to love Jellybaby Thursdays at ABC, I was it’s number one advocate! It was like you could run around in a playground with alcohol, however a recent return confirmed that it was in fact a playground – full of children. Unfortunately going to these places now seems tragic and pathetic, it sucks.

A couple of weeks ago I was out at a club engaging in conversation with someone on le dancefloor, as you do, and before i knew it I came out with:

“so what’s your thoughts on Syria?”

It was, as Cady Heron would say, word vomit. In my mind I thought that would be a good conversation starter but I was wrong. The response:

“I’m just trying to dance man”

There, in that moment, I’ve never felt so old. Now my patter was never that good to begin with, but really, is this what my chat has came to? Opening up a debate for foreign policy in the middle of Subclub with someone who’s clearly chewing their face off??

The opposite attitude occurs when you hear that someone your age is being too much of an adult; living with their partner, getting married or actually becoming a parent themself. Hearing such things I instantly revert back to my teenage self –


Even if the bank would let me I am far too young to have a mortgage. I can barely look after myself let alone another human being, that one really isn’t an option though as I’m missing a vital part in that situation – a man. With marriage at this age I don’t think people realise that marriage is for life, hence you are stuck to the same person FOR LIFE – why rush you’ve only got like forever to do it!

I feel I’m too young to go to the Corinthian on a Saturday and spend half my night in the casino pissing away what little money I have. I genuinely don’t know what is more tragic: middle aged steaming women, falling about the corinthian in their jaeger stained Lipsy dresses or 16 year old boys dancing topless in Jellybaby. Yes, I have seen both.

Therefore we find ourselves in limbo like situation. I want to go out on weeknight like a fresher but at the same time I don’t want to be shoved about on a dance floor by youths who were six years younger than me in school! I’m trying not to judge Mr Twain, I’m trying but I think for the time being I am going to need to stick with the Sultana bran.

(Saying that, my mum even doesn’t let me have coco pops in the first place as she said it makes me too hyper)


Some can sing, some can dance, I on the other hand can stalk your every online move through social media without you even noticing.

Ok that sounds pretty disturbing when I put it like that, what I maybe should of said is that through social media I have taken nosiness to a different level.

Being nosey about my friend’s, old school mate’s, frenemie’s, crush’s lives has led to something which I like to call ‘facecreeping’. I regularly creep on people’s Facebook profile or twitter accounts, I’ve even stooped to swatching linkedIn accounts. Hell, I even creep on people’s friends of friends, you know your onto a winner when their profile isn’t private. If I have you on any of these platforms then chances are – I’ve creeped on you.

I love facebook creeping, it’s part of my daily routine. What’s not to love about seeing your former schoolmates or colleagues, who in their hay-day ruled, receive their karmic retribution.

I’d like to use the public interest defence here, however don’t be fooled into thinking that this is an easy job folks – no, no. Facecreeping is a form of art. As simple as it may seem, not everyone can do it. Getting away with it is the key.

The first point I’d like to emphasize is that it takes effort. You get what you put in people. Most often this translates into spending the time. If you wanna know what your ex has been up to or know what your up against with his/her’s new interest, then this requires a lot of starring into the black mirror my friend.

Second, choose your device carefully. Computers are the most reliable tools for facecreeping on someone. Facecreeping on a smartphone is a rookie mistake. The chances of you accidentally clicking ‘like’ are more probable. If you’re facecreeping then you’re likely to be trolling through past photos or posts and nothing will give you the fear more than accidentally ‘likeing’ an old photo or post as it exposes your creepiness.

Just like you wouldn’t go for a run on an empty stomach, do not approach your creeping with a weary attitude. This is the downfall for most people. Being tired whilst facecreeping can lead to a number of fatalities; confusing your status update for your search bar, again accidental liking something and the most unfortunate – accidentally sharing a post or picture. Embark on your facecreeping with a clear head and a steady hand, optimum time being around lunchtime.

Most importantly, and crucial to the key of facecreeping, do not let individuals know that you know what they’ve been up to. For example, casually meeting an individual who you’ve recently creeped on can be potentially disastrous. Through an exchange of pleasantries they, hypothetically, reveal to you that they had recently broken up with someone. This will not be new knowledge to you the creeper, and hence you’re faced with a dilemma. Divulging that you know such information exposes your creeping, therefore one must act surprised – “THAT IS BRAND NEW INFORMATION”, further concealing your creeping.

By discussing the art of facecreeping I have in affect broke the pivotal rule and revealed that I am a creep, but the thing is we all do it to some degree. I like to think of it as an adventure like i’m Chloe from 24, but I think that is just to take my mind off the fact that I am sitting in on a Friday night with no one but two men called Ben and Jerry to satisfy me.