When all the world is going to shit, I mean really shit, I have one way of coping. I’m talking really, really shit. I mean past all the ‘my life is shit‘ kind of shit and into the ‘well, shit‘ kind of shit. I’m talking the kind of shit where you can’t do anything but sit and listen to music and stare at a wall, because laying in bed means you’re alone with your thoughts for too long than you’re comfortable with and soon enough your pillow starts warping into the image of a faceless person. The kinda shit where you don’t even consider self harm because you don’t want attention from anybody and what’s the point in doing it unless you’re actually ready to kill yourself.

So yeah, as you guessed, the coping mechanism is a song. I’m not going to lie, as lame as that sounds, and as much as I wished I had an actual person as my coping mechanism, this song is important to me. It has helped me through many a terrible time and I was thankful for it in the good times. As Bob Ross said, we gotta have a little sadness, right?

Nobody knows about this song. Not a single soul. And that isn’t about to change, at least not for a long time now – I’ll probably take it to the grave with me. I’ll never use a lyric as a blog post title, it is that sacred to me. But, as this is an entire post dedicated to the song, I’ve used one of the words as the title. You’re welcome. I’ve told people what my ‘favourite songs’ are, but never about this. It’s not Belief. It’s not Superheroes. It’s not Grace. I have never even spoken about the fact that such a song exists until now.

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Become the bull

Did you know that people are paying £1.19 for a can of Red Bull, when ASDA’s own brand energy drink is 30p? I don’t even know if there’s any difference. Looking at the ingredients, the caffeine content is the same and Blue Charge is fortified with more vitamins than Red Bull is. Anybody who says it doesn’t taste the same is lying; they’re just brand junkies. I’m not even a fan of Red Bull and I only drink it when I have no choice. Rockstar girl since 2k10 ❤

Anyway what I’m really here for is to make the following, very alarming statement: I am about to consider running.

Like buying proper running shoes and desperately begging the morning air to clean out my shitty mind type of RUNNING. I don’t know where. I will lose my butt and I don’t know how much I care about that. The entire truth is that I was about to sign up for the London marathon. I was so close, I filled in my details and just had to confirm it. But I realised that if October came around and I got the place, I would feel real shitty if I backed out. And not applying in the first place prevents that from happening so… If I’m alive this time next year, I will definitely sign up for the 2019 marathon. I promise this. Right now, though, I’m about to consider switching the stationary bike for some absurdly bright trainers.

Okay what I’m really here for is to talk about fitness, part 1. A few years ago, I had a lot of people ask what I did to maintain my figure. I’m not trying to brag – I’m here to talk about that.

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You will never love me again

I’m just trying to find a friend that I can kick back with.

Maybe snort some cocaine (if not then 5 cans of Rockstar) and listen to Fleetwood Mac for hours whilst getting shit done. Write music. Sing songs with so much passion at the top of our lungs and convince ourselves we wrote them.

Or take some mescaline and see who can come up with the wildest stories (whilst listening to Jeff Buckley) and draw shit. Stare at the ceiling and talk about literally everything. Rant and talk shit about the people we hate. Tell them my struggles and not be judged or ridiculed or ignored. Someone who will be there whether it’s 4pm or 4am.

I want to be high as fuck when I tell them something that’s bothering me, and they’ll be high as fuck defending me to the death and coming up, in the utmost seriousness, with an elaborate plan to kill whoever pissed me off. And we’ll both believe it’ll happen even though later on we’ll laugh about it. But they weren’t joking and I’d have to stop them from doing something insane.

Reserve Sundays for formula 1, obviously.

It’s me. I’m describing myself.

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Hey Assbutt: Men who tell women how to dress

I want to start this by clarifying that I still don’t identify as a feminist. I don’t agree with so many aspects of modern feminism. I believe a woman can cover up and that it is NOT oppression. In some cases, however, it is. I’m drawing attention to that.

Before I wore the abaya, and even the hijab, someone once tried to convince me that women must cover up because we must be responsible for attracting men. That men and women are inherently different, and that men are more likely to be attracted to physical aspects of a woman than vice versa. Because men are dogs.

The only part of that I agreed to was the fact that we are inherently different, to an extent. And that has largely been the basis for me urging women to continue to be modest for their own sake; men, however, piss me off. Really, I don’t think all men are dogs. I think many men are respectful, particularly in light of how many men support the right of a woman to do whatever the heck she wants. It’s only the mentality of Muslim men that made me think ‘yep. Dogs’. Nonetheless, I agreed to that explanation and kept quiet. Because what could I say? Well today is the day I step up and say that this is fucking bullshit.

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Taking off my hijab?

Sorry, that was kinda clickbait. I wrote this post a couple of weeks ago, and watching Dina Tokio’s video reminded me that I need to post it. Get some popcorn, because this is gonna be long.

No, I’m not taking it off. I admit, though, that it’s just getting harder every single day and I have no Muslim friends to whom I can turn. SO I’m doing what I do best.

In a few months, I will have reached 3 years wearing the hijab. And honestly, no matter what I say to defend it, I don’t enjoy it. I really don’t. I feel like I’ve lost who I am. That is the truth, and I feel so conflicted. Trying to practice and walking around looking very Muslim is so difficult when you have nobody in your life doing the same thing, and especially when how Muslim you look doesn’t match how Muslim you are. I don’t speak to anybody who wears hijab, I don’t speak to anybody who is overtly religious. I’m not overtly religious, either. If I could, I would take it off, and considering I’m still fairly new to it (2.5 years as opposed to the women who have been wearing it since they were pre-teens), I don’t think it’d be that big of a deal – I don’t feel attached to it yet. But of course, I’d be wrong. Because I’d be judged left right and centre – not even by other women who wear it. I’d be judged by men and girls who don’t wear it. Women in hijab are unfairly branded as ambassadors for the religion, so we must uphold the respect whilst men and non-hijab-wearing girls fuck about and do whatever they want. “But nobody knows I’m Muslim”.

I have, however, stopped wearing the abaya. And I have my reasons.

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Review: Pro Supps Mr Hyde

Just a quick review to tell you that this shit GOT ME FUCKED UP. Fucked up. Unless you’re a 200lb powerlifter, just go.

You’ll find this devil here.

Okay it’s not that bad.

Let’s rewind a little. I usually use ON amino energy as my preworkout, and I have been for a few years now. It gives me clean energy, and it is honestly so nice that I use it as a pick me up and even drink it when I’m studying. It’s nice. Compared to Mr Hyde, it’s baby food. No, it’s water. Oh man.

I didn’t take a full serving of it – I literally just used the same (heaped) scoop that comes with amino energy and drank up. 20 minutes later, I felt a really nice buzz and I was ready to GO. I mean GO bitch, GO. I was so alert, buzzing around like a fly. Honestly, I felt like I had just taken cocaine and I just whizzed through my workout. I was so pumped I could rip a bitch’s head off.


An hour in and I started to feel sick AND energetic. Like it provided energy for my brain to spin even faster. Since I was alert, I was very aware of it. I had suddenly acquired tinnitus. An hour after that and I was finished. I started to feel unbelievably nauseous. Now I don’t know if it was the effect of so much caffeine (amino energy isn’t even really a pre-workout), or because my body was working harder than my brain thought it could, but it fucked me UP. I recommend it if you can handle the side effects. Let’s get a little in depth.

At first I was like yeah!!!!! But then I was like no!!!!!!!! It’s so sweet. This literally tastes like someone melted down a jolly rancher. In theory, it’s nice. But there’s nothing to cut through the sweetness and honestly didn’t help my nausea later on. I mean it’s not bad. It’s drinkable. I don’t really care for taste if it delivers. But nausea is a bitch.
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Hey Assbutt: ‘He/she can’t even speak English properly’

Sorry. After a long, long break following my dissertation deadline, I’m back and I’m pissed off.

I must have missed the memo.

Since when was the ability to speak English a marker of intelligence? Since when was it necessary for one to measure themselves against your bullshit standard of superiority in order to be validated? In my opinion, Germans do everything better, and Asians are some of the most driven people I’ve ever come across. So why don’t we measure intelligence based on how well we can speak German, or Korean?

‘Because English is an international language’, I hear you cry. SO????

Say it with me: YOUR ABILITY TO SPEAK ENGLISH SHOWS NOTHING EXCEPT YOUR ABILITY TO SPEAK ENGLISH!!!! LITERALLY JUST THAT!!! Not your intelligence, not your character, not your worth, literally nothing else!!!!! And then say it louder for the uncultured folk at the back.

English is not pre-wired into our brains. You have to learn it. You, a native English speaker, had to learn it. Whilst it may be hard for you to realise, those of you who say ‘lol you can’t even speak English properly’ were pushed out of the vagina screaming and crapping yourself and not being able to speak a damn word of anything until your fed-up mother began cursing around you and your first word was ‘shit’. And then you went on the rest of your life being able to speak English, only English, and you even suck at that. Do you even know how to use a semicolon? Do you know in which situations you should use  ‘who’ and ‘whom’? Sit down.

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Period period period period period

*hears whiny crying in the distance. Slowly but surely, this crying becomes louder and louder with every approaching footstep. Suddenly a wild male appears*

“Sister, please preserve your modesty. Your talk about menstruation is unnatural and dirty and you will go to hell. Do not talk about such things, keep this private. Is that a t-t-t-t–t…..that which cannot be named in your hand? Hide it, nobody needs to know you require such things and it offends me. Unnatural. Dirty. Filth.”

To which I signal for a whole shower of tampons “Go to hell gurl you make me sick.”

Upon contact with said tampon, the male fizzles away and dies. Good.


When I first hit puberty, I was one of the many girls  who hid tampons or pads or anything period-related. I used to ask my mum to buy them for me (well not tampons, because if you use tampons then it means you’re NOT A VIRGIN!!111!), and if I had no choice but to go and get them myself, I always bought something else big enough to sit over it and hide it in the shopping basket. I used to have a supply in my handbag and when my friends used to see it, they’d shove it far back down my bag and say ‘omg people are gonna see it’. I think I remember a story about a guy crying in school because a girl slipped a pad into his pocket and he was embarrassed. My mother says that tampons and pads shouldn’t be kept in the bathroom in case a male enters the bathroom and accidentally sees it. Guys are too embarrassed to buy tampons for their girlfriends as if someone is gonna think they’re for him instead of admiring how much he cares about her. They’ll probably postpone meeting her until her period is over, not just because they get no sex, but because it’s ‘gross’.

I don’t get it

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25 things every girl honestly wants

I mean, I think it’s 25, I didn’t actually count. I’m supposed to be writing my dissertation but I mean…a girl wants a break from that. Just clearing out my drafts, don’t mind me.


For carbs and fat to skip the waistline and go straight to boobs.

A guy who’s going to shut down any girl that tries to make small talk with him, and makes her feel like shit for attempting it.

The same guy to humiliate a girl who flirts with him, and make her cry for being a hoe.

For foundation to go on smooth and poreless the first time round after waking up with gloriously  baby-like skin. So we can look like real life dolls before leaving the house.

To have skin that doesn’t break out upon contact with £2 lotion so we can have great skin and not break the bank

For all of our favourite TV series’ to NEVER END. Thus eradicating the lack of sense of purpose we feel when they do.

For the USA to just disappear off the face of the earth

For the OC to come back on tv.

Someone, partner or friend, who will defend us to the death and fight for us in whatever way possible, who will eradicate anything that hurts us and destroy anyone that causes us distress. Someone who is ready to ruin lives of people who wronged us 10 years ago.

A guy who is a prick to other girls because he doesn’t need or want them to like him. A real life partner in crime, whose entire life, every aspect is shared with us.

Bras that fit perfectly and don’t cost £500

To be able to wear sweatpants and no makeup in public without being called a slob, and to be able to wear makeup and look good without guys thinking we do it for them Continue reading