Anecdotes., Uncategorized

Shopping Pandemonium

This was a shopping excursion with me and my mother.

It was bound for chaos from the outset.

We went to Costco (it’s basically a huge warehouse that sells products in bulk to representatives of businesses etc.)

The journey wasn’t exactly harmonious.

The short of it is that we ended up taking a wrong turn, swearing profusely, cutting up three lanes of angry rush hour traffic and getting eyeballed by a creepy businessman at some traffic lights.


Okay, at this point I’m going to do a quick blame-shifting exercise: the trolleys at Costco are humungous (you could probably fit two of me in there, for crying out loud) and the back wheels don’t turn side-to-side so you’re basically throwing the thing around a corner and praying you don’t take out a nun or something.

This will be of import later on.


We went in and grabbed our complementary coffee/tea (cool, right?) and started to mooch.

On our right, there were flatscreen TVs, games consoles, mobile phones, all the flashy tech you could imagine.

On our left, there was a massive cabinet of expensive jewellery, some with rocks so big they looked fake.

And what did the mother say?

“OH MY GOD. LOOK. THEY HAVE VARIABLE VOLUME STORAGE!” and ran away to basically fangirl over glorified plastic boxes.

So I slid away to look at the books, and was disappointed. Nothing but airport fiction. I did see a pair of gorgeous black Levi’s but they didn’t have my size (me cries.)

Upon meeting up with the motherbird again, we went up to the foodstuffs section, and this is where I renewed my daily tradition of horrifically embarrassing myself.

My first mistake?

I offered to push the trolley.

Bad, bad idea.

So I was trundling along, and we found ourselves in a long stretch of empty aisle.

I don’t know about any of you, but I cannot restrain myself in these situations.

I slowly backed up to the end of the aisle and psyched myself up.

Then, I ran full pelt for a few feet, jumping onto the back of the trolley and flying at hyperspeed down the aisle.

Just before the end I leaped off and pulled the trolley to a halt, giggling like an idiot.

And then I looked behind me.

Three shop employees were staring after me, a mix of confusion and utter bewilderment on their faces.

I just grinned and ran off. Well, as fast as you can run with a trolley laden with enough ground coffee and peanut butter to last a couple of decades.


We carried on having a browse (ducking behind nearby crates when one of the employees materialised who beared witness to my trolley land-speed record) and stocked up on enough everything to survive a few apocalypses and then some.

At one point, I got a little over-zealous with my trolley-handling and I didn’t bother to look when I turned a corner.

I literally came about a centimetre away from full-on mowing down a child. He looked about six and I think I may have inadvertently made him shit his pants.

Oh, did I mention that my evade-making-child-pâté manoeuvre involved off-roading onto an empty crate, almost capsizing my overloaded trolley and nearly T-boning a little old lady carrying an industrial sized pack of napkins?


I managed to get out of the place without killing myself/anyone else thankfully.

The only things I gained from the experience were chicken noodles and an affirmation of my dorkishness.

So yeah.

I’m essentially disaster-on-legs.

At least it makes a good (ish) blog post though.



I regret nothing.


Izaezel: wreaking havoc on wholesale supermarket chains since 1997



Quick sidenotes: I ended up deleting the last post I published (The ‘Proactive’ Summer) because it sounded plain stupid. Sorry for any glitchiness that may have occurred because of that.

Aaaand a superquick THANK-YOU. My follower count has shot up by about 25 in less that two weeks (that may sound pitiful to some of you luminaries of the blogosphere, but it’s all proportional). For me it’s pretty crazy that y’all would want to read my rants/ramblings/the crap that spouts out of my brain, so it means a lot. In other words: you’re marvellous

Anecdotes., Uncategorized

I am never drinking again.

I swear to the fricking cosmos, I will never touch alcohol again in my life.

You know on the last post I was all like,



Well, I did.

And holy moley do I regret it.

It’s not just the aftermath that I hate.

At the party, I was going back into the house and I tripped over the threshold.

Now, this wasn’t just some minor slip.

I really fell.

Like, a combination of:





Aaaand now my left palm and my whole fricking kneecap is black and blue.


And I’m pretty sure I did some inappropriate dancing with some other drunk people.

Too much peach schnapps/beer/spirits/life.

I can’t even think about it eurgh.

I really hope no one remembers this.

So then I got picked up, and we gave my friend a lift home.

He and I were both past the milestone of being heavily intoxicated.

Aaaand we had to make pseudo-sober smalltalk with le mother in the car.

He was actually really good at pretending he was sober.

I just kept giggling.


So we dropped him off, all was well, I got home, went straight to bed thinking, “YAH, I’LL SLEEP THIS MOTHAFOWKAH OHFF N I’LL BE PERF 2MOZ” (that’s my drunk voice btw.)

I went to bed feeling like I was going to puke.


I woke up at 4am next to a load of puke on my pillow.


So my mum, being the saint she is, got up at the ungodly hour it was and changed the sheets on my bed and got me a glass of water.

I spent the following day and a half turning my stomach inside out.

I can’t even think about alcohol without feeling BLEURGHGGHGHAASDAGDHJKL anymore.

I’m never fricking drinking again.





I think.

Anecdotes., Uncategorized

Best Friend’s New Boyfriend: A Tale In Supernatural Gifs


The bestfriend, P, has obtained a boy.

I learned that they were a thing a while ago.

First reaction?



And then:



I know the guy.

He’s nice.

So I talked to him at a party a few days ago about P.

I began with the intimidation card; hurt my best friend and I’ll pee on everything you love, etc.

Kind of like:



Buuuuut then a load of drunken people came running through like:



So that didn’t really have any cred from the jump.

Plus he’s like 5’10 and I’m basically a hobbit so it didn’t really have much effect.

So I tried the nonchalant, casual conversation approach to try and weedle some info from him.

My attempt at casual =



I am an idiot.

Buuuut he was being very cute about P.

I was trying not to explode with happiness.

I most probably looked like I was in excruciating pain.

Or really needed to go to the loo.

He actually asked if I was okay at one point.




But overall, I was like:



So all is good.

I told P later that I had been talking to le guy.

I gave her the lowdown on what was said.

My face the whole way through:





So the next time I saw them with each other, I literally ran around like:



I’m such a dork.

The general reaction to this was along the lines of:



And this, fair reader, is when the revelation came upon me.

I have officially lost my wingwoman.

I realised I would, from now on, be…




And seeing as I am going to a party tonight, there is only one solution.

The end of the road.

The last resort.

No other choice.

To drown my sorrows…



I have a feeling many post-worthy events will occur.

Wish me luck…






Swat Ninja.

Okay, this post is a measure of how lacking in sanity I am.

It was 11pm, and I was dumb enough to turn my light on and have my window open at the same time.

Then a moth the size of a flipping poker chip flew in.

I hate moths.

I’m not scared of them, I just hate them.

They’re just so…



(Michelle Obama is amazing. End.)

And I’m not squeamish.

I think it’s the flutteriness…



So I was faced with a predicament because I wanted to go to sleep at this point, and I was not about to chuck myself into unconsciousness when there was a chance of this thing flying up my nose or whatever.

And I get grouchy when I’m tired.

This moth was standing between me and sleep.

Therefore, this moth had to be terminated.

I armed myself with a flyswat and began the approach.

It was on the wall.

I had it.

Then, with a brief yuck-flutter, it landed slap-bang on my Fault In Our Stars poster.

Right on Ansel Elgort’s schnoz.

(That’s a nose for anyone who doesn’t speak Izaelien.)

I am protective of this poster.

Thus, this moth just made an act of war.

And, I (out loud, full of rage) said, “Oh, it’s on, bitch”, looking like,



So I chivvied it off the poster (I couldn’t bring myself to splat it all over Ansel Elgort’s beautiful face. Potaple will understand) and I managed to semi-swat it in the air.

It fell down the back of my bedside table. Pulling the table out of the way, I saw that the moth was still moving, but slowly.

Again, out loud, I said, Aha! I have you now, fiend!”

I am ashamed to know me.

I managed to squish it and dispense of it after wrapping it in a zillion tissues to make sure it wouldn’t magically reanimate and invade my nostrils in the night.


I think I am insane.

But nevertheless.

You can call me:

Swat Ninja, Vanquisher of Moths and Liberator of the Bedroom Realm, Defender of Sleep and Wielder of Swatness.




I will never be able to face the world again.


So, this morning I realised I had left my walking boots in the car. At this point, I was still in my pajamas. I looked out of the window, weighing up the situation with meticulous precision, and devised two plans:

Plan A: Haul myself up the stairs (in the morning, equivalent to Mount Everest) and make my appearance socially acceptable to the point where I would not scare small children.

Plan B: Risk being seen in full PJ gettup (messy hair, pas de makeup, flowery pajamas and all).

Bearing in mind this is at 7am.

I took the plunge and chose Plan B.

So, I did a weird walky-jumpy-running thing to the car (yeah, I had no shoes on either) and opened the boot.

Now, at this point I’ll mention that I have had Whitney Houston’s I Wanna Dance With Somebody in my head for the past 48 hours. So on the way to the car, I was humming this under my breath.

In true meerkat style, I did a little pop-my-head-out-and-scout-around thing. Beside the car, there is a small hedgerow separating our drive with next door’s. Because I’m short, I can’t see over these. The only other place I could have be seen from was the house over the road, and the owners are away.

So, naturally, I saw no one. Because of this, without consciously realising, I started to hum a little louder.

I grabbed my walking boots and then spotted my rucksack at the back of the boot.

I was now faced with yet another predicament:

This is a big boot.

I have short arms.

So I (very ungracefully) climbed in the boot, all the while rapidly approaching the chorus of the song.

Then, bestowed with rucksack and walking boots, I wriggled back out of the car.

I did another little peer around, and I was still alone.

Now, the chorus was upon me.

The catchiness was overwhelming.

I had no choice.

I sang.

I cannot sing.

But I sang.

And I did a low-key jig on the spot, funky shoulders and the rest.

In pajamas.


In public.

Then, mid-chorus, I closed the boot, singing: “I wanna feel the HEAT–”

And then, my life ended.

My elderly neighbour was standing on the other side of the hedge.

He had been there the whole time. Gardening. At 7am.

“Hi.” I said.


He just stared at me, looked vaguely confused.

Cue uncomfortable silence.

Then I calmly (!) scuttled back into my house.

And I have officially lost the last morsel of pride I possessed.

Why am I even here

Why do I even care anymore.

Well, sh*t.

This is going to be awkward.



Vapid teens.

Today was enlightening.

Today, I realised how vacuous some people in my year at school are.

I’ll give you the low-down:

So, there I was, minding my own business in Psychology class this morning, when I overhear some (rather bitchy, excessively made-up and superficial) girls talking about universities. One of them said that she was considering going to Belfast. The one next to her looked shocked: “I didn’t know you wanted to go to Wales!”

I kid you not.

Here are some others from people I have the dubious honour of calling my peers:

  • “What’s a trait specific to humans?”
    “They have eyes.”
  • “What’s a trait specific to mammals?”
    “They all have legs.”
  • “What’s a canary?”
  • “Was it God or Jesus that wrote the Bible?”
  • (Upon being told snakes are cold-blooded) “I thought all animals were warm-blooded!”
  • “The Eiffel Tower’s in Germany, isn’t it?”
  • (After someone said the word ‘euthanasia’) “Is that a country?”

And my personal favourite:

  • “What’s a rabbi? Isn’t that the word for more than one rabbit?”


It’s enough to make you feel like Einstein, seriously. I wonder how these people get into Sixth Form. I wonder how these people actually function in life.




I think my family is seeking some kind of vengeance against ceilings, especially the ones in my house.

Last year, I managed to spray black paint over my dining room ceiling (frustration with Art GCSE + paint pot without lid + angrily slamming it on the table). My dad described it to look like Jackson Pollock had a field day.

Then, not too long after, a Ribena bottle exploded in our kitchen and blasted the ceiling. It stained. Not good.

And today, around ten minutes ago, my brother achieved the rather incredible feat of denting the ceiling with headstock of his guitar.

We are a gifted family.

It’s probably hereditary.