Unpretty

Recently I've been really wrapped up in appearances, mainly my own, worrying about the way that I look and being generally dissatisfied with what I've got to work with. Like it or not, appearance matters. And I truly believe that if you are attractive, doors will open for you that would otherwise be slammed in your face. Plus, you'd have less villagers chasing you back to the swamp with lit torches held aloft in a fiery condemnation of your sheer ugliness. The confidence you'd have must in itself make a major difference to the way you live your life. So, despite what I am about to say, I do realise the way the world works.

I've been placing far too much emphasis on looks, particularly in the demise of my brief brush with Alfie. I have been kind of working on the belief that if I was prettier, he'd want me. Alfie is oft surrounded by beautiful women, and I couldn't help thinking that people were looking at us when we went out, wondering what the blazes he was doing with me. But then I thought, well, Alfie isn't the best looking guy in the world, there are plenty of guys hotter than him, and I'd still choose him over Jake Gyllenhaal's doppelganger any day of the week. It's not all about looks. Take this girl.

Former Miss England, fellow scouser, model, and Celeb Big Brother contestant Danielle Lloyd. She's bloody gorgeous. I would kill to look like her. But the girl, if we judge her solely on her behaviour in the house, which is all I have to go on, is a complete bitch and alleged racist. She may be stunning on the outside, but her actions in the house so far have been hateful and ugly.

I guess it all depends on how superficial you are. But it takes more than a pretty face or a hot little bod to build a relationship. I saw something special in Alfie and for whatever reason, he was irresistably attractive to me (as my sister said, somewhat bemusedly, "It must be his personality.") And I'm sure that Alfie did look at other women and think they were way more gorgeous than me. But that doesn't necessarily mean he'd prefer to be with them. It probably meant it, since y'know... it's turned to dust. But I wasn't looking at better looking guys thinking I'd rather be with them, and that's enough to prove something to me!

So, in conclusion. Yes, I'd love to look like Danielle Lloyd. But I would rather be wanted for being me. (This does not mean I will stop bemoaning the fact that I am Ugly Betty without the brains or the promising magazine publishing career. Sorry 'Muffin.)

Ugly In More Ways

Jesus Christ, I've been back to blogging one day and already I am here feeling sorry for myself and putting my total self absorption and general embodiment of the word pathetic out there for all the world to see, if they happen to be bored and clicking 'next blog'. I'm thinking they'll click it again right around... now.

Okay, here it is, the self pity roll, let's get it all (mostly) out in one go: Alfie doesn't like me, I'm ugly and unloveable and unsuccessful and lazy and rubbish and my own worst enemy and untalented and destined to be unhappy for ever and on top of that an ungrateful bitch who deserves everything she gets.

I'm listening to George Michael's I Can't Make You Love Me. I've got issues.

That's right: I'm back! And so is the PMS. In a few days, I'll try and shake this off. But until then, I am letting myself wallow in this self destructive and completely uncalled-for funk. I realise this makes me a bad person, but I've done worse things recently. I'm going to cry and eat chocolate cake and write really awful posts. Are ya still with me?

Oh look, a tumbleweed...

Trout Pout

Oh my God. My bottom lip has swollen to the size of a basketball. Okay, I may be using a bit of hyperbole there, but what the bejesus is that about? Am I being punished? The party is Saturday! I have three days for my body to cure itself, or the last time Alfie sees me I will look like Jackie Stallone!

Giz a kiss!

Nooooooo.

I actually called into work sick. I was advised by my friend Calico to 'rest my face' in the hopes of a miracle, and I don't need to be worrying about 'stupid things like your job at a time like this!' My glands are up and I do feel sick but that is nothing compared to the fact that I look like I have a botched collagen job going on and can't speak properly.

Not happening.

Alfie is bad for me in so many ways... Yes I am blaming this on him.