Getting rid of nastiness

So, I’m sure you all heard about the horrific attack that took place in South London on Wednesday. It was truly, truly disturbing and almost unbelievable. These are sick times we live in. For a man to be hacked to death in the middle of the street for nothing other than being a British soldier is bad enough. But then for the attackers to be able to make a video about it and wait around 20 minutes for the police to turn up is beyond belief. Shudder.

As to be expected, Facebook became the place to vent. It’s only natural I guess. My issue is that you get FRANKLY IDIOTIC people talking about complete and utter bollocks. Seriously. The amount of posts I saw stating they were up for going to march with the EDL. The amount I saw talking about p*ki cunts (laughable really since the attackers were actually black, of Nigerian descent but hey, what do I know?). I cleansed my friends list by quite a few. Most of them I’m not bothered about, but there was one that got me really angry.

A friend, or so I thought, who I’ve known for oooooh, I dunno. Maybe six years? She was the  girlfriend of The Ex’s best friend so we spent a lot of time together, even went on holiday together and split up with our respective partners within a matter of weeks of each other. We don’t see each other all the time, but she’s definitely someone I would have counted as someone I could go to if I needed to. In other words, a friend. She’d shared an update from a page called ‘ban islam.’ Bad enough in itself. This status was basically saying not to use any ‘muslim’ businesses and listed some, for example, taxi services, corner shops etc etc. It said we shouldn’t be so dumb as to give them our money. We should STARVE THEM OUT. In caps, just like that.

I asked if she was being serious. After all, for one, those businesses are not inherently muslim. It’s not like you can say that because a guy who runs a business looks like he could be from a predominantly muslim country and therefore we should boycott it and I said so. I gave her a chance. She replied, saying that to be fair, the status did say muslims (therefore my argument was invalid) and not everyone might agree. But she did. And that’s why she shared it.

This coming from someone who was happy enough to sit in a house, eating food, socialising with me and my MUSLIM ex. Fuck. That. Shit. I was angry but I just replied with ‘fair enough.’ She was deleted and blocked. Her contact details are gone from my phone. Drastic? I don’t think so. 

I’ve had enough of seeing racist, xenophobic, homophobic – everythingphobic – on my Facebook. I don’t need to see that kind of negativity. And I don’t want to. What makes me angry is that if I were to ask any of these people anything about politics or foreign policy, they wouldn’t be able to say fuck all. Interestingly enough, it was the military friends I have, some of whom have had multiple tours in Afghanistan and Iraq who were the ones speaking the most sense. One said that the kind of behaviour and rhetoric he was seeing on his Facebook from so called family and friends was not the reason he put his life on the line. He didn’t make the choice to protect and serve morons who can barely tell the difference between Europe and the Middle East.

I definitely wont be mourning the ‘friendships’ I’ve ended.


An apology to Cots, Racism and…Eeek!

OK. I’m clearly a bit hyperactive. And perhaps a bit tipsy too. Let’s do this in stages.

1. So following on from my mini rant earlier, I need to make a public apology to Cots Girl. Because if WordPress wasn’t broken before it’s probably broken now. After speed reading, I’ve now caught up on what, a dozen posts? And commented on most of them. Oops. Sorry! And while we’re on the subject of WordPress things not working properly, I’d really like to have a notification on my mobile app when someone replies to a comment I’ve left on their post because a – it looks like I’m ignoring them and being rude, b – I forget to tick the little box at the end of the comment and c – I rarely ever log onto the site on my laptop. By which time, the comment’s been lost.

2. The reason for my hyperness. I just had a massive, ginormous rant on Facebook. Like, really bad. People don’t seem to realise when they like posts from pages, it shows up in the news feed and someone liked a fairly inconspicuous picture. Because I’m curious, I clicked onto the group page to see posts decreeing that I’m basically a barbarian because I’m a third generation immigrant and therefore responsible for all the murdering, burglary, shoplifting, raping, pillaging, unemployment, economical crises, NHS, scandals misjustice and probably all the road traffic accidents in England (some of these are me being sarcastic, I’m sure you can tell which ones). Well why don’t you just fuck right off and do us all a favour. Twat. So I had a huge, huge rant on my status and deleted her. Then she messaged me, apologising and saying it was a friend of hers who liked the photo which she then saw and liked too. She was horrified since she’s from a place which is renowned for being a hot bed of racism and quick to disassociate herself from it. To be fair, she handled it well. If it was me (which clearly it would never be), I’d have thrown a barrage of abuse from myself. Clearly a lesson to look more deeply into what you’re liking in Facebook land and I felt bad afterwards, but my message still stands. So my adrenaline is still pumping, hence the hyperactive jitteriness. Especially because all I could do was report the page which is probably pointless. I really wanted to comment on it and tell them I thought they were inbred, backwards and illiterate (think of people who spell lyk dis innit) but I didn’t. Because I now have a kind of business venture with a Facebook page and I have to be respectable kind of. And because it would be me against hundreds of mean horrible ogre racist types and I’d get so angry I’d probably self combust or have a hernia.

3. The eek? Well, I have some major news. But I can’t say what it is yet, mainly because Miss Yoyo will kill me if I tell you all before I tell her. After we’ve caught up over dinner tomorrow, I’ll spill.

Phew. And breathe.


Maybe slightly extreme. Ok. Remember Mr Clingy? My rebound from last year? Well, he found me on Facebook again thanks to our mutual friends and we had a brief conversation over Facebook messenger. I admit to feeling a bit bad for how I chucked him last year so I took the opportunity to apologise, and basically said I just couldn’t deal with all that intensity. He apologised too and said he didn’t actually want to break up, he just went about it the wrong way by issuing an ultimatum between him and my ex. Which, when the object of your affection is a – rebounding and b – wanting to get back with their ex, is a bad idea. Anywho, we said we’d call it quits – all was well.

Then again, maybe not.

Now that we’re Baitbook friends again, he’s taken to commenting on practically everything I post, in record time, too. Am I on his close friends list or something? It got to the stage where I’ve now added him to my acquaintances list, so I can control what he sees. And before you ask, no, I can’t delete him. I feel really bad deleting anyone from Facebook. I’m a sensitive soul. Since moving him to this list, it’s been good, because my notifications haven’t been blowing up with ‘Mr Clingy commented on this’ or ‘Mr Clingy likes a photo you posted ten fricking years ago’. I told Miss Comeback and Miss Sunshine about it but I don’t think they actually believed me until he liked and commented on a picture Miss Sunshine tagged me in, literally seconds after it was posted. And it was the same last night, when I forgot to change my sharing options on an update – as soon as I posted it, he commented. I actually asked him if he had me on a close friends list because, doesn’t he have anything better to do?

The thing is, we split up A YEAR AGO. We dated for like, two months. I know I’m irresistible but really? (joke). I have no issues with him as a person, he’s a decent guy, but it’s getting to the stage where I want to scream at him to eff the back up and stop smothering me. He knows about Mr Marseilles since he liked my Toulouse pictures and asked why I was there. I might have embellished the truth a bit and said that I was actually in a relationship, but it’s not stopped him. Every other day I’m getting a ‘how are you? x’ message and he’s taken to trying to moan about his problems at me, which he used to do when we were together.

I’m trying to be as nonchalant as I can with him because, if it were me, I’d be thinking ‘wow, Freechick doesn’t want to seem to talk to me AT ALL. Maybe I should just stop torturing myself’ but it doesn’t seem to working. What a palaver.

Getting rid of emotional baggage


As much as I love social media, it can be a challenge to understand the protocol when it comes to break ups. Do you remain Facebook friends? Do you block them? Do you keep all the pictures of you as a couple?

Over the last month or so I’d been getting a bit fed up of seeing pictures of me and my ex on my profile page. It felt like I was looking at pictures of someone else and I might as well have been because I’m not that person anymore. Mostly it felt like I was hanging on to a lot of emotional baggage. I’d already deleted the text messages I’d kept from when we were trying to patch things up, and any photos I had of him on my phone were long since deleted. So last night I deleted the pictures of us together on Facebook, and I feel so much lighter! It really got me thinking about how I’ve got through the last 5 months. Now I’m no expert in relationships or break ups, but here’s what helped me:

1. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Unless you cheated, abused or did something equally heinous, don’t beat yourself up too much. One thing I’ve come to realise is that people change and grow apart. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, it’s just the way it is.

2. Your ex is not the only man/woman in the world. There really are plenty more fish in the sea, and probably better fish at that.

3. Keep your friends close. There were times when I really didn’t want to see anyone, including my best friends, but I made the effort and looking back I couldn’t have got through it without them. So a huge thank you to (in no particular order) Gym-Buddy, Miss America, Miss Yoyo and Miss Sunshine (newly introduced but she’ll know who she is).

4. Get laid. A friend told me that the only way to get over someone is to get under someone else. She was right. A rebound fling is inevitable, do it, get it out of the way.

5. Do something you never thought you would. There’s many a number of things I’ve done so far this year that I’d never have dreamt of. Even small things like going to a gallery by yourself or booking a girls holiday to somewhere hedonistic. Do it.

6. Use social media with caution. I had to go back and delete a load of Facebook posts where I’d poured my heart out. I sounded positively suicidal and I cringed when I read them back. Be careful.

7. Don’t stalk. Don’t make your ex a ‘close friend’ on Facebook. Do you really need to know every little thing they’re up to? Don’t spend hours pouring over your past holiday photos either. It’s not going to make you feel any better.

8. Treat yourself. This year I’ve done just that. I had planned to save a heap of money as a bonus of moving back home but I haven’t. I’ve spent shitloads, but I figured I deserved a little niceness. Go buy an expensive pair of shoes, a nice dress or get your hair done. You’ll feel fabulous.

9. Fall head over heels in lust. Remind yourself that you are attractive and had you can feel strongly about someone else.

10. Lastly, have FUN! Go out with your mates, go to concerts, parties, shopping – whatever it is that makes you happy. Your life isn’t over, it’s just a new chapter beginning.

And if I could add another to my top ten, it would be to start a blog. It’s so much more effective than having a diary and made me feel a whole lot less alone.

Break ups create a lot of baggage, but they’re meant to. I feel a lot stronger and comfortable in my own skin than I did even just 8 months ago. Realise that not everyone is going to hurt you – don’t become bitter or you’ll miss out on all the sweetness 🙂

Facebook stalking and transformations

You know what it’s like when you meet someone on a night out. There’s alcohol, it’s dark, you’ve had a crap night after meeting your crush’s new lady-friend. The guy I gave my number to last week, who I’ll now refer to as The Scotsman texted me this week. My first thought was ‘oh god, what did he even look like?’. Thank God for Facebook.

I’m sure I’m not alone in this. Surely when you meet someone, it’s only natural to check them out on Facebook or Twitter nowadays? Hell, companies do it for prospective employees. Well, I hunted The Scotsman down in Facebook and after some digging, I found him. Thankfully, I wasn’t turned off by what I saw in the sober, Facebook world. We should be going for dinner next week.

Someone else I’ve been eyeing up is one of the security guards at work. He’s pretty cute – tall, brown hair, Polish and younger than me I think. After some persuasion I spoke to one of the ladies on reception and found out his name. Baby steps! Oh, and I’m meeting up with (literally) the man of my dreams I blogged about a couple of posts back. I texted him earlier to confirm Saturday night and I’ve told him I’m up for a messy night.

I’ve had a busy day today without really doing anything. I spent almost 5 hours at the hair salon today and lopped all my hair off. Well, not all of it, but it’s very short now anyway. It’s been a busy old week – hopefully I’ll have something interesting to blog about after this weekend.

Happy Easter!

Random Rant Alert

Grrr. I just checked my Facebook, and someone updated their status with something about their kids, followed by ‘love you millions’. Am I the only person who gets annoyed hearing this? I have zero idea why this phrase grates on me so much but it really does.

‘I love my boyfriend millions’

‘I love my kids millions’

‘I love my vibrator millions’

I don’t get it. Be original. Why does nobody say, ‘I love my boyfriend googolplex’. Or, ‘I love my kids to the value of Pi’?