So I realise I haven’t blogged in a while and there is a reason for that! I had a job – a job writing news pieces for a news website in London, and I’ve just found out that the entire team of writers has been fired because the company went bust and wasn’t making money.
If I’m being totally honest, I’m not that shocked; I knew it was risky going into a start up company with absolutely no fall back option, but at the time I didn’t think of that – I had a job! The pay was awful but the experience was all that mattered, and I have nothing.
It is day five of my lovely week away in sunny Goa – and it has been sweltering hot and I have melted and burnt. At one point I was so hot, I was actually singing the Frozen soundtrack in a wild attempt to cool down! (That’s not even a lie, I spent an entire day singing Let It Go to myself…)
Getting your ears pierced is seen, for some, as a ‘must-do’ thing. All of my female cousins have their ears pierced, and even some of the guys (because they think they’re princesses). One of my cousins recently described a girl getting her ears pierced as a rite of passage; something all girls must go through to prove their girly-ness.
Monday had me celebrate my 21st birthday, and it was glorious. The weekend just before my birthday was spent in Brighton with three of my girls, who are frankly just like my sisters. It was amazing. We all got ready together in the hotel room, and then strutted out in our heels after having drunk a lot of Ciroc.
I think the reason I loved the whole night so much was because of the makeup I was wearing. I felt like a Queen, dressed all in black with my thick black eye makeup and bright red lips!
Indian weddings are no small affair. They all follow the same pattern, and a lot of the time they’re pretty damn similar. The reception is where the party is at (literally) and everyone looks forward to it, mainly due to the open bar. Everyone gets all dolled up to celebrate the wedding, spend some time catching up with extended family, eat a lot of food, and either reminisce or plan their own wedding.
Once you’ve been to a couple, you start to anticipate the things that can go wrong, and the things that you definitely need to have with you to prevent minor disasters. Here’s my checklist for things that you absolutely must have with you when attending an Indian wedding, along with your standard bag essentials (ladies, mainly for you. Guys, just make sure you spray yourself down with antiperspirant – no one likes getting bear hugged by their sweaty relative at the end of the night!)
This list was compiled by myself, and the upcoming makeup artist Sonia Nikki. Check her out on Instagram – she’s kind of awesome.
Reading festival is my festival. It was the first festival I attended, for the day, in 2010. It was the first festival I camped at for the weekend in 2012. And since then, I’ve gone every year. I’ve done the camping thing, I’ve done the day thing, I’ve done the toilets, the food and the “where the ever loving HELL is my tent?!”
I love Reading. The acts are always incredible, I’ve made so many memories there, and the happiest moments of my entire life have been spent there. But I will not go back next year.
Raksha Bandhan is an Indian holiday celebrated by Hindus, Sikhs and Jains to show the love between brothers and sisters. This generally also extends to cousins and friends too, depending on a girls relationship with the boys/men in her life.
A string bracelet, or ‘rakhi’ is tied onto a brother’s wrist and they’re given sweets, by the sister to symbolise their love and peacefulness. In return for this, the brother will promise to protect their sister, and give them a gift of some sort, usually money.
But, as my LOVELY brothers (I count all my cousins as my brothers too) would say: “Why would I give you money for tying a bit of string on my wrist, that I can probably find at home for nothing?!”
As many of you know, my best friend is a very awkward man named Tas. I’ve frequently spoken about how awkward he is and how I’m trying to find him a girlfriend. While all this was happening, we would frequently get asked how long we’d “been together,” as if we were a couple. For about six years we would just explain that no, we’re not together and we’re just best friends.
But it seemed that everyone “shipped” us, so much so that when we announced on Facebook that we’re in a relationship we were both bombarded with messages all saying “congratulations” and “finally!”
It’s no secret that I love music more than the average 20 year old Londoner. Where everyone has their hobbies on what they spent their hard earned money from (better known as student loans) mine pretty much revolves around music. Reading about it, listening to it, and going to see it.
I was lucky enough to go and see Eminem at his second Wembley gig. Regardless of what everyone has said about it being a flop and the sound was awful or whatever – I had a great time! The atmosphere more than made up for the crappy sound quality, which is one of the main reasons I love going to gigs so much.
Another “main reason” gigs are basically heaven for me is it allows me to see the person that wrote the lyrics I love so very much, and suddenly that person isn’t just a poster on a wall or the sound in my headphones – they are there. They are alive. They are standing in front of me and talking to me!
I’ve been “blessed” with having naturally ridiculously curly hair. It’s not even the nice curly – it’s that annoying “curly frizz now with extra frizz” kind of curly, which if you have it you know is a bitch to maintain.
When I leave it natural, my hair kind of takes the weird shape of a rounded triangle. It just gets wider and wider as it gets frizzier and frizzier towards the ends of my hair. I resort to straightening my hair to within an inch of it’s life (and then cry about split ends) just to make sure it’s easier to handle, look after, and make me look acceptable when out in public.
So many people will hear that my hair is curly and respond with “oh my god you’re so lucky, I’d love to have curly hair!”
No, no, no. You do not know the gamble, the risk, the heartache that comes with having naturally curly hair. It is a royal pain in the arse!