Living the Twitter dream | Scouse Bird Problems

303502_10151125286933446_2145440191_n-3961417This week I have spent all my time celebrating my fellas birthday and stressing out about moving house. For those of you who’ve never bought a house, this is my second time round and no matter how “straightforward” things seem, there’s always someone knockin about with a crate of metaphorical spanners ready to chuck them in the works. Anway less about that, I’ll start fumin otherwise. Wednesday night we were living the dream so to speak. The lovely people at Signature Living were kind enough to give us an apartment to road test for the evening so after a lovely meal at Gusto we were sittin off in the Jacuzzi sippin on bub an feelin like a footballer and WAG. We were classy as fuck. That is until he splashes me in the grid with soapy water an I go scrambling round blindly for a towel, knockin champagne everywhere and generally smashin the place up. Can’t take me anywhere. It took us aba 10 mins of playin around with the windows and scratchin our heads like a braindead Manc before we cottoned on to the the fact the blinds were remote control operated. Imagine my horror when I’m stood next to the window starkers and suddenly the blinds start goin up! Me fella nearly had me flashin me bits to the Andrew Collinge staff and clients. MAJ! THE SHAME! Soz aba me an me untanned arse cheeks. 206175_10151125286463446_839158916_n-9853185 Friday night he decided to go out with his mates and I went to bed makin sure he had his keys to get in. I was woken a few hours later by someone outside screamin my name. Oh for gods sake. I went down to let him in. “Babe I thought you had your keys.” “I cudsnt getsh in. I borught food!!” He’s stood there holdin a kebab, a pizza AND chicken wings and chips lookin as proud as a kid who’s managed to shit in the potty for the very first time. “Urgh I’m going back to bed.” “Fine then. Fuck me off, you don’t even love me!” After spending some time downstairs crashin about and viciously scranning he finally crawled into bed stinkin like a manky tramp and proposing marriage. Again. “Yano if I did…would ya??” “If I had a big fuck off ring an asked ya, would ya say yeh?” “Depends on the size of the ring, now go to sleep you won’t even remember this tomorrow.” “You hate me.” I eventually managed to go him to shut up and sleep after several trips to the toilet to vom up aforementioned kebab, chicken and pizza. I’m ashamed to admit, my fella is a bad lightweight. I went downstairs to retrieve the sick (and occasional mop) bucket and had to laugh when I seen the kip of the kitchen. He’d emptied an entire bottle of red sauce onto his chips and put a load of tea bags in it. Why do we do these things when we’ve had a bevvy? Why? Saturday night we’d arranged to go to Mojito and Moniquesand we found out the whole cast of twitter had also been invited. Including Scouse Barbie, my arch-nemesis and blatant rip off merchant. I had to laugh, I imagine her little face fell when she found out I’d be rockin up there as well. Long story short, she didn’t show. Shithouse, I was proper lookin forward to a traditional scouse bird snarl off. I’m a top snarler like. I stumbled upon her real name, address, telephone number & e-mail address this week whilst setting up my Scouse Bird t-shirts shop. Amateur. A quick facebook search yielded her grid. I won’t give her details out cos I’m not an arlarse but put it this way, it’s up there on the internet for all to see and I made sure she knows I know. My problem with her is this, when she started out I thought “Ok, she’s doin her own thing here. She’s got pictures of Barbie’s, she’s doin notebook quotes. Fair enough.” She even came out with a couple of tweets that I RT for her cos I thought they were funny. Then I noticed a strange thing, she’d started rehashing my tweets a couple of weeks after I’d done them in a much less funny way. Murdering my poor little tweets. Then she started copying them practically word for word. Then within 10 mins of putting a tweet up one day I saw she’d done one almost word for word the same. THEN I saw she had the cheek to take a remix of Tik Tok that I’d already tweeted TWICE and not only tweet it herself (changing like 3 words different to mine just so she can convince herself she’s bein original) but change it to her bio. Nah love that’s not on that. I called her out for it and made her look a tit and I was flooded with complaints that I wasn’t the only one she’d been ripping off. Other people had tweeted stuff to her and rather than RT them or even doing a ‘via’ as is good twitter etiquette, she’d had it off as her own hadn’t she? Proper cunty that. She even took one of @LizzyParr_’s tweets off word for word after I’d mentioned her one day. I mean I think Lizzy is hilar, and she always tweets things I wish I’d thought of first, but you don’t steal them, you just don’t. Scouse Barbie – Not scouse twitter firm endorsed. 527011_10151125285858446_2025366253_n-1415710 Forgive me for that tangent, back to the night out! The lads Steven & Ben in Mojito had made us some signature cocktails, The Scouse Bird, The Ponder and Holy Water (The JesusChristFTM). The Scouse Bird was proper fit like, I can’t speak for the other 2. What makes it even better is it was blue, in my opinion there isn’t enough blue food and drink. I mean think about it, what foods are actually blue? The occasional blue cake or sweet? Even blueberries are fuckin purple. False advertising that. My fella was still feelin delicate so naturally we force-fed him shots and lethal cocktails. THAT’S what you get for wakin me up an vommin everywhere sonny Jim. Our lovely friends Sarah & Ade, Mark, Leanne, Socks & some bird from Big Brother (didn’t watch it) turned up and we headed over to Moniques. 523151_10151125285428446_985240896_n-7187146 I was wearing a silky leopard print cape skirt thing from Bowtique and I was feelin scouse as fuck. I had my new perfect pins from St Moriz an a few layers of extra dark on so I was lookin fllllyyy. Everyone had a little try on of my cape including LazzyMash who sometimes can be the gayest straight lad I’ve ever met. He was mincing round in it lookin Super Fierce and my fella was thinking he was Usain Bolt. Men. There were some promo girls there in these skintight red playsuits and I swear to god I could see whether each one of them had shaved their hoop they left that little to the imagination. I was tryin to get a picture of them to tweet as I thought initially some bird had made an extreme fashion faux pas but then I realised there was a whole army of these playsuits. I’m still not sure what they were promoting though…arses maybe? Jo-Ann brought over a chocolate cake for my fella and he blew the candle (more of a firework) out and wished for death to come swiftly (still rough). I was starving an scranned a sizeable portion of the cake but it means I actually DIDN’T get a pizza on the way home. Result! I also forcefed some to Socks which he spat all over the floor and people avoided it like the plague thinking someone had taken a dump on the dancefloor. Maybe one day I’ll go somewhere and not wreck the place, but then what fun would that be? I went the toilets and as I drunkenly swayed and got in on some one eye closed tweetin action I spied not 1 but 2 pound coins sittin off on the floor. Not arsed. I was made up. Don’t try an tell me you’re not made up when you find a quid? Well be jel, cos I found 2. In yo faces. Anyway, that’s all for now. I’m goin back to stressing out aba house purchasing.


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