Shakira’s cool and I Need Some Hoover Advice.

I have been circling my laptop for about two hours now. Like a shark and its prey. Only I’m not bloodthirsty to write this post. It’s not that something horrific has happened, it’s just I’m a lazy bum-mother.

The Walking Dead and Fearne Cotton.

I realised I had no pictures for this post, so I did a cheeky lil’ photoshoot. If you want the Gif. file to download for personal use, please don’t hesitate to ask.

I think I have died and gone to heaven. I have discovered

Zombie Conventions and Delicatessens

Here I am enjoying my Lush coffee face mask and ridaculoosely good hair mask that I got free last week. It’s so good. I have horrible hair and everyone thinks it’s nice because I know all the good hair products that create this mega illusion.

Hello. I’m Jenn. This is my blog and it’s mine because it is. I am the only one

Beef PotNoodles aren’t what they used to be and I hiked Machu Picchu

Well what is dis? What is it? It’s my life blog, crawling back from the depths of WordPress to terrorise your social media feeds.

This is the year of the Croth (the Chinese have argued, ‘monkey’ but whatevs) and this such means hence forth that 2016 is going to be stonking. Stonking here means, ‘really good’.

I’ve decided to become a TV presenter. So, I quit my job and

Eamonn Holmes is more real than Solange Knowels

Just had a good stretch. Love a good stretch. It only dawned on me in the very second of writing that you could say, ‘stretches? I’ve had a good stretch.’ And mean like the same that you would mean if you said, ‘relationships? I’ve had a good stretch.’ What if like someone mistook you and they were like, ‘How does stretching and relationships relate?’. You’d probs be like, ‘well they don’t really.’ I reckon you’d be stuck in some kind of to-and-fro convo for a bit then move on. 

I went on a date and I’ve got Rabies.

Right here we go then. What bloody shit show has Crothers gotten herself into this week. Drum roll pls.

So as I sit here wearing Gina’s jumper (‘just be careful mate I think there’s dog shit on the front’) I am a tad hungover as I went on a date last night and apparently

Fish Sticks are made from Pollock and Machu Picchu is gonna be Cool.

After spending a weekend at home (Southwold) and having yet another D&M with Marj (what I call my mum. I got it from Austin Powers when that Dutch bloke says, ‘farja’ (instead of ‘Father’) and I changed it to Marja and now it’s just Marj). Came away feeling tres excite but also tres full of apple pie pud pud.

I’M A CREATIVE IN ADVERTISING

Here’s something I do when I’m working super semi hard in my grown up job, and I have hangover-induced depression-giggles:

I like to screen grab things which make me laugh.

Sometimes,

I haven’t washed in nearly a week but I’m definitely into flossing.

Last time we tuned into my brain (I say this like I personally don’t engage with my brain. If that were the case then I’d be like kjdhadhjdshjklvn..2/ but it isn’t the case I just mean last time I wrote INSIDE THE MIND OF JENN) We noted (use noted here like, ‘I noticed that…’ and not like noted photographer Nigel Barker) that Hazel not only dyed her hair, but she also got a job. The next time I saw Hazel was Gina’s sister Stevie’s gig. I haven’t seen her since this so she may very well be dead and someone’s hacked her Facebook account, cruelly yet tediously pretending to be exactly like Hazel.

We also NOTED that I’ve started flossing my teeth. Like properly. Like actually every day. Perhaps this is a grown up thing to do and I’ve only just cottoned (pun intended (like the floss is pretty much mint cotton)) on to the idea.

Absolutely completely obsessed with Ellie Goulding’s new song. Every time I listen to it I pretend I’m in a music video riding a horse through Las Vegas when in reality I’m eating hummus watching Youtube.

Can I just say (can I? yes, you can Crothh because you’re essentially talking to yourself, you big bumder) that I got my highlights done avec le blowdry at Gusto in Soho (can write French) LAST FRIDAY and I HAVEN’T WASHED MY HAIR SINCE. This is either 1. Impressive 2. Disgusting. Probably a bit of both, but I’m just really enjoying having straight hair. I want to tell everyone that my hair is normally REALLY CURLY but most people don’t care either way. I’ll take a selfie so you can see how straight it is and not because I want y’all to be like cuuuuutteeeee hair Crothh.

Me and G have been loads of our friend Rey. Here we are chowing down hard on some pizza at Pizza Pilgrims in Kingly Court in Soho. He’s a food critic- I think. I mean I don’t actually know what he does but every time I see him I ask him and then zone out. He’s either really boring or I’m really rude. I don’t like to poo-poo myself so let’s assume my good friend Rey is boring.

OH MY GOD. I accidentally (and I mean this sincerely. Genuinely really didn’t mean for it to happen) went to the Grump club last night. I was only meant to do a little bit o’work but then I bumped into A REALLY TALL MAN WHO LIKES SPORT and well, work turned into wine. Similar how Jesus turned water into wine. And anyway, I vaguely remember talking to a lot of people in an AMERICAN ACCENT. I literally know I’m dogshit at accents so I probably sounded a bit like Siri.

I’ve been seeing loads of RORY BLUFF recently. I like him a lot. He’s tall and has a gentle face. I used to work with him in Budapest and when he was growing his hair out he looked a bit like a librarian so I called him Wendy loads and he did not like it.

Smashed the gym this week, which is not impressive because I’ve been laying horizontally eating lard for like 3 weeks (this is an exaggeration I just mean it’s similar to the horrendous lifestyle choices I’ve been making in terms of my PERSONAL FITNESS.) Got back into running which is nice.

I borderline died last weekend. I had an accidental mid-week bender then had to carry on with plans I’d agreed to actually do on the weekend. I like saying ‘on the weekend’. Coley (pretty much if a magical woodland creature had an orgy with a daffodil and a bag of cotton wool and the daffodil got pregnant and kept the child and it grew up in a meadow of candy floss, it would be Coley) got us super chic super fun GIRLS DAY OUT tickets to Stylist Live.

Unfortunately for Gina I was in a bad way post-bender so we pretty much laid down at the Green & Blacks stand, and ate our body weight in chocolate. Look here I am being quirky with some balloons, etc.

Then we went to Christian’s birthday. He’s a guy I work with and I love him and I had crisps made from Champagne. But then I slopped home because, like I mentioned before, I was minutes away from dying.

I met up with my sister on Sunday afternoon at a café called, ‘My Village Café’ in Camden. It was really bloody quite good- kind of Kurdish vibes with a hint of vegan. I had the ginger and peppermint tea with the falafel wrap. Kirsten (sister) and I spoke about the European Union and boys then she left to go back to Manchester. I trawled a few charity shops then went back to my little Boogaloo. After this I think I tried to find my potentially dead cats. I say potentially here because I have no idea where they are- assumed dead if not just a bit AWOL.

So far this week has been pretty tame because I’m a boring bitch jks I’m wild but I’m going on holiday with my work mates on the weekend and I’m pretty sure the aim of the game is to be drunk for three days straight.

Right now at work I’m feeling good but I’m also feeling like I need a coffee and maybe a brownie. Nicky ate the last chocolate buttons, and for that I am angry with her.

Panic at the Disco jks at the Hairdressers

I was getting my highlights done on Friday evening because I thought it was a super chic thing to do, and whilst the nice hairdresser lady was mixing more bleach, I suddenly thought what if I have a panic attack and have to go outside for air and I can’t because the bottle of developer strictly says don’t leave bleach on for more than half an hour and if I do that I’ll probably die from the fumes whilst having a minor melt down on the street and to make it worse I’ll be ginger because the bleach will have a funny reaction fuck fuck fuck.

It’s weird, isn’t it?- you’re like, all chipper and gal-about-town one minute, then BAM you’re a fucking wreck because anxiety’s like, ‘ohhhhh hell-to-the-NO. SIT THE F DOWN WHILST I RUIN YOUR DAY.’

I’ve even started convincing myself that if I think a bad thought, for example, ‘that man’s so fat’, I will suddenly get an anxiety attack, because my body must be punishing me for thinking something that’s mean.

Then my brain calms down a little bit because OBVIOUSLY I’ve read all the stuff online about how anxiety is a an illness and it’s very common so ‘nout to be worried about there’ so let’s just skip along boppity boo- BUT WHAT IF WHAT I HAVE IS NOT ANXIETY WHAT IF I’M DYING AND I IGNORE IT AND THEN I’LL BE ON THE FRONT PAGE OF THE NEWS: GIRL DIES BECAUSE SHE THOUGHT SHE HAD ANXIETY.

This shit is hard to deal with. So here’s how I’ve started coping with the whole ‘angst’ shebang- the only thing I’ve found really super effective (and I reckon mine’s quite mild, so this advice is just what I have found useful)… drumroll please… READ SOME BOOKS.

Well, more specifically download the Kindle app so you’ve always got something handy. I find thrillers or crime fiction particularly good, because the anxiety is then channelled into something else, rather than ignored.

NONE OF THIS IS SCIENTIFIC I AM NOT A SCIENTIST I LOOK LIKE A MAD SCIENTIST SOMETIMES BECAUSE MY HAIR IS FRIZZY AS FUCK BUT IT’S JUST WHAT I FIND PERSONALLY HELPFUL.

But honestly try it- Read! Read until your tits fall off.

Anxiety makes my brain go into overdrive, so sometimes a distraction helps-something that forces me to think about something else so that my body can calm down again, without Captain Cranium saying, ‘LOAD THE CANNONS CHAPS WE’RE UNDER ATTACK…’

And my angst has been quite bad lately. I think it’s because I just quit my job and I think my cats have died and I got dumped loads this year and I like to go out on Tuesdays and I still don’t know anything about British History and I keep losing my purse one time a fox stole it and I’m 24 which is nearly 25 which is mid-twenties and I was like 18 two minutes ago and I still don’t have long hair.

So for me, the reading has really helped. Plus, because I’m freaking out big time, I’ve read nearly two books in a month- considering I’m a big old dyslexic blob, that’s hella good going.

May I recommend for your panic attack pleasure:

How I Lost You Jenny Blackhurst 

Stoner John Williams

Custard Tarts and Broken Hearts Mary Gibson

The Fault in Our Stars John Green

The Road Cormac McCarthy

The Peculiar Life of a Lonely Postman Denis Theriault

I will re-emphasise here that I understand there are many levels of anxiety, but I like reading about it, and how other people deal with their own- this is just my two cents/ pennies on the subject.

Hope it helps. Wink face Emoji.