Christmas as the Grape & Olive | Blogger Event

As November comes to a close and we continue to hurtle towards Christmas, I wanted to write a little something about the blogger Christmas event at the Grape & Olive in Swansea. Yes, it took place over two weeks ago, but, between the never-ending madness of my PGCE and an unexpected bout of lurgy, it's taken until now to find five minutes to sit down and write something up.

As someone who lives within easy driving distance of Swansea, I'm a little ashamed to say I'd never been to the Grape & Olive before. I'm even more ashamed to admit that, even though it's located at the top of the tallest building in Wales and therefore in the most visible building in Swansea, I ended up spending twenty minutes wandering through the marina in the dark, heading in the complete opposite direction. Such is the story of my life.

"Stop Comparing this to Toddlers and Tiaras!": Cheer Competition

This morning I woke up aching all over and tinged orange, which can only mean one thing. We had another cheer competition this weekend. We hauled our oversized makeup bags and sparkly bows all the way back to the Birmingham NEC, this time for Legacy Dream Extreme.

I haven't changed much in 20 years apparently

As per usual, the bus became some kind of frantic beauty salon on wheels, with teasing combs, eyeliner and cans of hairspray flying left, right and centre. By some miracle we managed to get there without anyone blinding themselves with a mascara wand, but the stress of having to apply winged eyeliner whilst on a moving vehicle threatened to ruin team morale for the day.

This time we had to wear our hair in giant, back-combed ponytails. Personally I hate wearing my hair up in any way, shape or form because it exposes by ridiculous Dumbo ears, but I'm a sucker for huge hair so I ended up loving it. The only issue I had with it was that my ponytail wanted to curve around the sides of my face, which made me look disturbingly like I did when I was three years old and my mother thought I'd look cute with a bob.

The competition itself went brilliantly. Every stunt hit, there were only two minor wobbles and this time I didn't feel the overwhelming urge to run off the mat during the pyramid to be violently sick. A win all round, I would say. We weren't even phased by our music cutting out towards the end of the routine.

As my friend, Helen, pointed out after we had finished performing, "You just have to keep going."
"Oh yes!" I agreed. "I've seen enough episodes of Toddlers and Tiaras to know that no matter what happens (if your musics cuts out, if you fall over, anything) you just keep going."
"I wish you would stop comparing this competition to Toddlers and Tiaras." Said Helen.
"There are rhinestones and big hair. It's pretty much the same thing." I insisted.

And then came the awards ceremony (or, as I kept accidentally referring to it all day long, crowning). I loved the way Legacy set it up. All the teams from all the divisions were called out one by one and we all sat on the mat. It was like a sea of sparkly, oversized bows! Then, in true American fashion, (because Legacy is run by Americans) the presentation of prizes for each division was accompanied by the cheesiest of music, presumably to create suspense. Naturally, I loved it, as I do all things cheesy and over the top.

And we came fourth! Not last! Sure, some teams were hoping for first or second, but for us not coming dead last meant we had significantly improved since last time. After all, half the team is new, most of them have never cheered before and Future Cheer last month was the first time a lot of us had ever even stepped foot in a cheer competition. So fourth place was a major win for us!

But the day wasn't over. First we all had to commit to the odious task of brushing all the back-combing and hairspray out of our hair (which I can confirm was both painful and exhausting) and then we headed back to the Holiday Inn for the night. And can we pause here to clarify that a three-quarter-sized bed is not meant to fit two people, especially when it's not actually a bed, but a sofa bed?

That night some of us went out for a meal, some of us stayed in the hotel and ordered pizza, and some of us drank what I can only assume was an excessive amount of alcohol. The next morning when the party-goers climbed onto the bus I was glad I'd opted for nothing more than a few glasses of wine with my cheesy chicken. Hangovers are bad enough without adding a three and a half hour bus journey into the mix.

So our weekend went spectacularly well! Our team performed better than we ever have before, came away with a fourth place trophy, and I got to stuff my face with chocolate in the hotel room. I don't think I could have asked for anything more.

For more cheer competition craziness, you can watch my Cheer Vlog here:

Bethan's Birthday Bowling Bonanza (and other B words)

This week my friend, Bethan, turned 23. The same Bethan I travelled Europe with. The Bethan who got head-butted by a horse in Berlin, forced a drunken Irish man to take off his top and bench-press a keg in a nightclub in Prague, and is always my first choice for karaoke partner. Yes, that's the one.

To celebrate we went bowling. It's difficult to say which of us is the worst at bowling. Bushell seems to score quite highly. but that's only because we keep the rails up and he ricochets the balls off them. Hayleigh is particularly good at aiming her ball at small spaces where there are no pins to knock down. For my part, I repeatedly start off well, all strikes and spares, only to totally lose all control of my arms during the second half of the game, sending the bowling balls off in weird directions and eventually coming last out of everyone.

Actually, as far as the first game goes, I blame my failure purely on the garlic bread I was eating. I was too afraid to set it down when my turn came around in case one of my friends ate it or hid it somewhere weird so I took it along with me.  Unfortunately my brain couldn't grasp the idea that my right hand needed to release what it was holding (the bowling ball) whilst my left hand needed to keep a firm grip on what it was holding (the garlic bread) so I ended up throwing them both.

Naturally, as it was a celebratory occasion, we had some drinks. We each had one free drink as part of our package (along with chicken nuggets, burgers, fries, and all kind of glorious junk food) and, when I went to the bar to get my second I asked the barman, "What would be the difference between a Bells and a Jack Daniels?" (Look at me, being all frugal!)
The barman misunderstood, thinking I meant, what's the difference between these two different kinds of whiskeys. Really? I was wearing a Jack Daniels t-shirt and cowboy boots. This girl knows her whisky!
"No," I said. "I mean, the difference in price."

I did not add, "Anyone with taste-buds would know Bells is a scotch, while Jack Daniels is a Tennessee sour mash, most comparable to a bourbon."
As it turns out they were the same price (when does that ever happen?) so no prizes for guessing which I opted for.

When bowling was over (needless to say I lost both games) we went on an adventure. Or rather, we almost went on an adventure. We drove out to an old abandoned police station, sat in the cars discussing whether or not to go in, and eventually decided it was way too scary and drove away again.

But, creepy-horror-movie-type moment aside, it was a really fun evening. The only thing that could have possibly made it better is karaoke (although I don't know many places that combine bowling and karaoke). So happy birthday Bethan! Here's hoping you don't get too drunk this weekend.

Someone Hand me a Tiara, I'm Officially a Princess!

"...we're both women of business..."

Well, I've hinted at it and mentioned it in passing and used all of my self control to stop myself from blurting it out for the past month or more while boring bits of paperwork were still being signed and nods from official-type people were waiting to be received, but at long last I am officially self-employed. My Entrepreneur Barbie beams down at me from my dressing table every morning and I think about how much we have in common. We both like shoes and pink things and we're both women of business now. Granted her hair is significantly better than mine and she never gets bags under her eyes, but I try not to dwell on that.

So what is this business I hear you cry? Am I going to be some kind of high powered business woman in a suit, talking about graphs and holding business meetings in Starbucks? No. Of course not.

"I am...a princess"

I am fulfilling my life's ambition. I am...a princess. I think the technical term is 'children's entertainer', but I love to see how people react when they ask what I do for a living and I tell them I'm a princess. They are most likely inwardly debating whether or not I'm crazy. 

But I swear I am totally sane. Or, at least, as sane as I have always been. I've started up a hire-a-princess business. If you read my post about Lauren's birthday party back in August, then you may recall the Elsa impersonator we hired. The one who had her black bra on show and seemed to have no actual knowledge of Frozen. And didn't actually talk to the children. Or smile.

Well right then I there I decided to go ahead and become a princess impersonator myself. I mean, clearly this job is only second to actually working in Disney World! And, being a perfectionist, and lifelong princess fan, I knew I could do a good job of it.

So my bedroom is covered in glitter and rhinestones and there are princess-themed props all over the house (much to my mother's dismay). I've gone on a business course and can now confidently navigate Microsoft Excel and sort out my taxes. I have leaflets and my very own business page on Facebook (which you should totally go and like, by the way) and things are finally getting off the ground.

I had my first party this weekend and it was absolutely magical! The little ones were in awe and it was just fabulous! We had a princess story time, lots of lovely photos and the birthday girl had a very special pixie dust wish. One little one was a particularly big fan and came out with all sorts of wonderful questions and comments. My particular favourite was, "I've been at work all day in the killing factory. We kill the nasty animals for people to eat. Not the nice ones though, only the nasty ones". Oh, the mind of a four year old is a wonderful thing!

So I am officially a princess and loving every minute of it (apart from the accounts, obviously). I mean, prancing around, singing, watching Disney films and getting to dress up in sparkly princess dresses...it's the job I was born to do! 

My Blogging Birthday!

Firstly, seeing as this is a post dedicated to the celebration of this date, I know it seems ridiculous to be writing it at 10pm when the day is almost over. But I spent the entire day at a safari park (which is a whole other weird, wonderful and saliva-filled story) and this is the first chance I've had to sit down and get to work.

Somehow it has been an entire year since I started this blog. I started it with no clear vision, knowledge of computers or idea of what I was doing. In fact, it only came about because so many people informed me they liked to keep up to date with my Facebook statuses because, apparently, they're hilarious. Then one night, in a night club in Exeter, a slightly tipsy girl I'd never seen before suddenly called my name.
"Oh wow! I read your status updates on Facebook. I always log in to see if you've said something funny. I love them! Seriously, there are so amazing!"
At that point I decided on two things. Firstly, I needed to change my Facebook privacy settings. And secondly, I needed to start a blog.

And so twenty oddball was born one year ago today and in that time I've blogged about:

- Enormous pants
- A transatlantic love interest
- Hugging Floella Benjamin
- Men who claim to own gondolas (but clearly don't)
- Elves
- Various near-death experiences

And those are just a handful of examples off the top of my head.

Actually, when it's all laid out like that, I have to acknowledge that it's been a really weird year...

But, what's very depressing is the fact that, even though the last year has seen me travel Europe, graduate from university and survive the Eurovision, I've somehow wound up in exactly the same place as I was when I first started twenty oddball. In my first ever blog post I wrote...

"At 21 years old I find myself back at my parents' house during the summer break from uni, and very, very single"


And here I am, exactly one year later, back at my parents' house after graduation, and very, very single. I'm not convinced that I've really made that much progress.

But, if nothing else seems to be moving forward at a visible rate, at least my blog is doing well. What started out as a kind of vague mess of ramblings has, during the last year, flowered into a vague mess of ramblings with an accompanying twitter account. And the occasional reader!

And, for the nosey among you, you might like to know that in my first year I've had 6,118 views and my most popular post was F-Words All Round: Freebies, Fun, and Foul Cocktails.

So here's to twenty oddball and let's keep our fingers crossed that my life will continue along unexpected and somewhat bizarre paths so that I can entertain you all for years to come!

"Just Squeeze your Butt and go up in the Air."

My post-university life has continued to idle by in a really boring way. I have no money, nothing to do, no where to go and, worst of all, Jo Frost's Family Matters has finished for the summer so I have nothing to watch while I eat my poorly prepared lunch. On the up side, I'm doing really well at Rollercoaster Tycoon.

I have, however, taken up a new hobby. Hayleigh and I started cheerleading a few weeks ago. If you can look past the fact that I have no co-ordination, upper body strength or balance then it's the perfect sport for me. You know, as in I like big bows and rhinestones. I have an abundance of enthusiasm, but a distinct lack of talent. 

I tried out cheerleading in university and I loved the whole jumping around, throwing people up in the air thing. Plus they had great jackets. But it was really cliquey and high heels were banned from socials. So that didn't work out for me. But this club is totally different. The girls are all lovely and in no way judge the standard of my forward rolls, which are wonky to say the least.

Initially it was a shock to the system to attempt handstands and cartwheels for the first time in over fifteen years. There was a lot of flailing. And falling. Then there are the stunts. Trying to muster the strength to get someone up in the air is a lot harder than it looks. And after last night's practice I'm convinced I'm going to have a foot-shaped bruise on my right boob. On top of that my left wrist hurts and I pulled my groin attempting a somewhat over-zealous jump.

But it's fun! Last night Hayleigh and I were the first pair out of the team bonding game because I couldn't remember the rules and just collapsed on top of her in a state of panic. It was a bizarre and hilarious point in our friendship. So was the awkward head-butt we did when we caught the flyer and kind of accidentally kissed each other.

Perhaps it's a good thing my life has been a little dull lately. There's no way I could deal with random late-night adventures with every muscle in my body aching.

UPDATE!

I simply must share my childlike excitement over the new cheer bows I got in the post. Lauren wanted one for her cheer try-outs yesterday (she did a lot of standing in the corner pouting so I doubt she made the team) and I got really jealous and ordered one for myself. Obviously. I mean, they are obnoxiously large and sparkly. What's not to love?

They're made by Bella Bows on Etsy and look at them! They are absolutely amazing! The detail is fabulous and the quality is great. This lady has some of the nicest designs I've seen and the lowest postage we could find (bonus!) because everyone knows the best cheer bows come from America.

I only have two questions:
1. Can I wear it casually around town because I love it so much?
2. If Lauren doesn't make the team, will it be acceptable to steal hers?

My Life as a Grown Up gets Boring...and Sticky

I know things have been quiet on the blog-front recently. That's an understatement. I'm actually surprised virtual tumble-weeds haven't started rolling across the page. But that's just a reflection on my life right now. No job = no money = no fun = nothing to ramble about. I haven't even graduated yet and I'm already fed up with life as a full-time grown up.

I had every intention of sharing the highs, lows and inevitable humiliations of my night out in Swansea this past Wednesday. Unfortunately I woke up on Thursday morning with nothing more than a vague recollection of a McChicken sandwich and the stench of shisha clinging to my hair (I dread to think how much that cost me) and that hardly makes for a gripping blog post. Seriously though, that was the first and last time I will drink Bacardi. 

Hayfever destroys my face 

I'm meant to be on an exciting adventure today, but I managed to make a pig's ear out of it. Tonight is the Cosmopolitan Super Bloggers Masterclass (or some kind of similar awesome name to the same effect) and I've had my ticket for months. I was counting down the days until I could go up to London, make new friends, learn lots of great tips, and, perhaps most exciting of all, take home an epic goodie bag. Unfortunately, while I was counting down to the 23rd July, the event was in fact on the 23rd June and, while planning a trip to London was never going to be easy, planning one in two days with no money was impossible. Especially when certain friends who live in London refuse to return your frantic messages, begging them to let you sleep on their sofa. I will name no names. Cough cough Tim! I'm so disappointed I can't go!

To make things even more boring (and miserable) my hayfever has forced me to barricade myself in my bedroom. I genuinely thought there could be nothing worse than sitting in my little room with a flannel over my face, wheezing like Joseph Merrick and listening to the rest of the world enjoying the first glorious summer Wales has seen since the Dark Ages. But then I went downstairs and realised all the Jaffa Cakes were gone and I hit a whole new low.

In other news, the fire alarm the firemen installed a few months back started screeching incessantly in the early hours of the morning because the battery was starting to wear out. It wouldn't shut up until someone hit it with the feather duster. This ridiculous ritual would start again every fifteen minutes until I lost my patience and ripped it apart with my bare hands. Now it's just making a feeble, but continuous ticking noise and there are bits of plastic scattered all over the landing.       

So, the past few weeks have been fairly uneventful. But, regardless of how high the pollen count gets and how swollen and sticky my eyes become and, in spite of my ever-dwindling lack of funds, I simply must get out and have some crazy new adventures. Even if it's only because the bloody ticking of that fire alarm is going to drive my crazy otherwise.

Nil Pois and an Excessive Amount of Wandering

My favourite way to spend Eurovision night is sat in front of the tv with my dad, arguing over whether or not half the countries even exist and resorting to pulling out the atlas, which never settles anything because it's so old it still has the USSR in it. I will expose my worrying lack of geographical awareness ("Wait, I thought Belgium was the capital of Holland...") and we will give a running commentary on everything...including the running commentary.

This year was different. My friend, Shaun, was hosting a fundraiser so I spent this Eurovision night in the local golf club, taking part in a drinking game that rendered me useless before half the performances had happened. Drink every time someone winks at the camera, there's someone on stage doing something pointless in the background, Russia gives points to the Ukraine...it was intense.

So I wasn't surprised when I ended up in a taxi on the way to Swansea at half past midnight. I was in no way shocked when I found myself having an in-depth and weirdly emotional conversation in the women's toilets about a girl's choice of lipstick colour. I wasn't even flummoxed when I looked up from my Jack Daniel's to find all my friends had been kicked out of Bambu. But I still can't grasp how I came to end up in the smoking area of Monkey, consoling a random man about his recent breakup. But here are the facts as I know them.

I had, in front of me, a free drink. (Note to my mother, yes I watched the bar tender pour it and no I did not take my eyes off it for a second.) To my left was a good-looking man who, from the outset, appeared to be somewhat of a compulsive liar.
"I work here." He said. It was entirely plausible.
"Oh, at the bar?"
"No, I'm a bouncer."
I tried to remember which shoes I was wearing so I could do a quick calculation of how tall he was. Not very.
"Oh, you don't look big and bald and scary enough to be a bouncer."
He laughed it off. Later I found out he was a promotions worker.

Nonetheless, we had a good time. Then I realised that the club was closing and everyone else was missing. There was, at the back of my mind, a vague memory of a search party going after Jonny and Hayleigh walking past me, telling me they'd been told to leave. Even now, I have no idea what any of that meant, but I knew then that they'd gone to Monkey. Whatever that was.

"You have to take me to Monkey." I told Mr Bouncer.
His friends did not look impressed. One of them had just broken up with his girlfriend and looked like he'd rather chew his own arm off than go to another club. 
"I have no idea where it is and I can't go wandering around Swansea on my own."

So we headed off. Me, Mr Bouncer, Mr Heartbroken and...some other guy. It wasn't until we got to Monkey that he earned himself the nickname Mr Forgot-my-ID. And so, following a barrage of complex conversations and assurances, I ended up in the smoking area with Mr Heartbroken, leaving angry and probably very confusing messages on each of my friends' answering machines. From here things went from unusual to plain weird.

There I was, giving my best drunk love advice to a stranger who clearly wanted to be anywhere else, waiting for some sign of any of my friends or even Mr Bouncer, when a random man sat down on the other side of me. He explained, in great detail, that it was his birthday and he was all alone and in need of a friend. As much as my sensitive heart felt sorry for him, he gave off a bit of a crazy vibe. I looked to Mr Heartbroken to do something, but he seemed too relieved by the fact that I was no longer lecturing him on the downfall of chivalry to shoo away this new guy.

Luckily, all at once, a very odd phone call from Hayleigh confirmed they had somehow made their way down to a gay club I'd never heard of, and Mr Bouncer arrived.
"You have to take me to the gay club." I told him.
"What?"
"My friends are there and I have no idea where it is."
Suddenly the birthday boy piped up and offered to take me.
"No offence," Said Mr Bouncer. "But I don't know who you are and I don't feel comfortable sending her off alone with you." I didn't point out the fact that I'd only met him two hours before.

I very rarely get hit on and, when I do, it throws me a little bit. So try to imagine how awkward it was, heading off to a gay club with a man on either side of me, vying for my attention.
"I just bought a new car."
"I have a convertible."
"I take three holidays a year."
"I'm going to China this summer."
Oh goodness, I just want Hayleigh!

Right in the midst of what was becoming an intense struggle for alpha male status, I spotted my friends on the other side of the street. I'm not entirely sure they'd even noticed I'd been missing for the past few hours. They all seemed very merry.

So I thanked my escorts, who were still quibbling about who could out-do the other, apologised for the drama I'd caused and jumped in a taxi with Hayleigh. The moral of this story is...don't get lost. And if you do, don't try to give love advice to strangers. Always carry a rape alarm. And don't believe a man when he tells you he's a bouncer. If your friends go missing, check the gay bar first and always, always wear a good shade of lipstick.

I guess next year I'll just stay at home with my dad and the old atlas.