I love the first day of september.

For me the year begins now. I think it’s down to having lived most of my life within the frame of education. Summer is over, although I haven’t been on holiday yet (I’m going away next week for two weeks…*smiles*), scarves and woolly hats are making their way back into the shops and every year, around about this time, I make a new start with everything.

Whether it’s work – *SUPERSUPER <3*, men – *this just can’t be summer looove, you’ll see*, or even my plight to go down 2 dress sizes – *I look forward to my 2 weeks in the sun where I replace food with watermelon* - it’s all about kickstarting a new vibe for everything right now.

Ok so technically it’s the final third of the year, not the beginning. All those resolutions we made 8 months ago have either been longed off, or are longstanding. But whether you’re getting ready to finish off your year, or if like me your year is just beginning never forget this one piece of advice from aunty Loukia,

Calling in sick when you just fancy a day off, is not big and it’s not clever. Except it is big, and it is clever.

Happy new year yo!

1. We just are.

2. We think about things to a disturbing extent. To the point where we think everything has a meaning or purpose. Sometimes it doesn’t. It just is. Sentimental morons.

3. Like seriously, if you’re a girl reading this, stop thinking. I know you’re still thinking.

4. We fall in love with men that are bad for us, moan about wanting “a nice guy” but then we par off every nice guy for being “too nice” and stick to our unhealthy fantasies (or realities) involving unhealthy men.

5. We  get cellulite. This makes us HUGE morons.

6. We get stressed out when men do weird things. HELLO! It’s probably our fault for being such weirdos in the first place.

7.  Meow.

8. We are indecisive and insatiable.

9. We wear shoes that rape our feet because they look beautiful. Why do we do this to ourselves? *looks down at the heels she is wearing before bed*

10. We are just morons.

Dear men,

I salute you for putting up with our species.

Love,

Loukia x

before I was a baller,

before I had a house with a pool and a sauna

(assonance is the best)

I wanted to be a teacher.

Then a singer.

Then an actress.

Then a writer.

Now that I’m a little bit taller,

and I am a baller,

and I have a house with a pool and a sauna,

(I wish)

I’m think I’m regressing.

Also… I’m gonna do a video blog very soon.

Keep your eyes peeled and your nose clean.

Nobody likes bogies.

I was just filled with an overwhelming feeling of gratitude and thought I’d blog about something other than my plight to have an arse like a table and how much I love bashment. After all I am a scholar and a descendent of the likes of Plato and Aristotle.

Dreams are normally better than reality, but the best thing is when your dreams and your reality are one. I think I’m there, or at least on my way there. I’m not sure if I ever want to fully reach that point, because I like being excited about where my life might take me. I’m definitely close by though. I live in two worlds. My dream world and my real world. In terms of making your dreams become your reality, it’s not as hard as we think. You just have to care about something enough, that you don’t mind sacrificing other things for it, because that is enough in itself, so you can live without whatever it is you’re sacrificing. Especially if you’re giving up something corrupting, trivial or that might compromise your integrity. My dream world is pretty fucking awesome and it’s the one that everyone sees within my virtual existence, my working life and parts of my social life. (My real world is even better but that’s a restricted zone). Nothing is perfect but the good things definitely outweigh the bad things and even the bad things serve their purpose.

Anyway I have been so busy in both my worlds over the past month that I have barely even had time to eat let alone blog. Well that’s a lie, I’m Greek and eating is a hobby, but you know what I mean. My life has pretty much consisted solely of writing and editing, writing some more, seeing people I love as often as I can, falling in and out of love (you know me) and all the other things I can’t be bothered/am not allowed to write on here.

I feel like I’m the luckiest girl in the world. I really do. My life is far from perfect but I’ve learned that the low points in life are very neccessary in order to appreciate the high points and to realise how high I actually am, when I am up on cloud 9,999. And it’s higher than that Pepsi Max rollercoaster on Blackpool Pleasure Beach. In life we often have to do things we don’t want to do but again, those things are neccessary so that when we’re doing something we do love we can savour every moment because nothing is guaranteed in life.

I’m not going to go on one of those philosophical rants where I pretend to be more profound than I actually am (I realise it might be too late for me to be saying that now). I just feel like whatever we might believe in and whatever our thoughts on life are, we’re always fast to ask for things, hope for things and then celebrate when we get them but a lot of the time we are always too involved in that, to take a moment and give thanks to whatever and whoever has helped us to attain these things.

I guess what I’m trying to say, in the most long winded way ever is that you can achieve your dreams, be whatever you want to be and do whatever you want to do just make sure when you do, you don’t forget to say thank you. However hard you might have worked, how ever much effort you’ve put into getting to wherever you are in your life, whether you know it or not, either obviously or discreetly someone (maybe a friend, a family member, an external force or all of the above), has helped you reach that point. And every time you feel down and out, every time you feel that the universe is turning against you, draw up a list of the good and the bad and I can guarantee that in most cases, the things you have to be thankful for, outnumber the things that make you feel sad by millions. There’s so much to be grateful for and so much to hope for… Life isn’t so bad after all

So there you have it. The first blog post in ages that isn’t about bums. Feels weird TBH.

This is amazing. I am a pervert. My arse is quite ample but I still want one.

BUFF.

Black men with contact lenses and straightened hair. WHY?

White men with dreadlocks. WHY?

This is my uncle Zeno of Citium:

Go forth and learn about his philosophies.

I’m immersed in writings on Stoic philosophy right now. I have been for a while. I’m not gonna lie – to begin with it was my sly way of avoiding the “self-help” section of Amazon – I mean come on it’s 2010, I’m practically living my dream so inevitably there are hurdles everywhere, things trying to pull me off track, you get on top of someone and then life gets on top of you – it’s only natural for a writer to seek solace in words. Now though, tings nah run me, me run dem! And I don’t know if it’s down to this (or down to my utter infatuation with love) but it’s very interesting.

In fact I’m even thinking of reading about it Ancient Greek (gyalabadgyal), just so that I can feel extra gassed about the level of my intellect which, I hide so very well :/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stoicism – start here then go learn something.

Getting your bikini waxed is the definition of pain for pleasure. Cos let’s face it smooth sailing always feels nicer.

Men are so lucky they don’t have to go through any of this shit. I mean, it’s bad enough we have our fucking periods, we have to bear children, many of us are on a life-long diet where we never actually reach skinnyville and on top of it we have to wax as well? But whatever we say, however much it hurts and however much you feel to punch your waxing lady, it is necessary in order to maintain a beautiful and tasty special place.

Most commoly, we get the following waxes:

Well, I went for a bikini wax the other day and whilst I normally get a Hollywood (bon apetit babes), I was tempted to get it waxed into somekind of shape. Anyway I asked my lady if she could wax it into a detailed map of the London Underground (imagine how useful that would be – if you get lost you’d just pop your pum pum out at away you go), but she couldn’t do it so I just had to go for my usual clean as a whistle look, but it really got me thinking.

If barbers can do all those weird shapes in men’s hair, then they’d probably be able to clip the tube map into it quick time. So ladies, next time we’re due a trim, I say we go to a barber shop, preferably in Brixton, and get them to style that shit. At least I know what Kartel means when he calls himself “the vagina specialist” now…right?

Baaaaabessssss! This is what I’m going to wear when I get married. I’m gonna be the fittest bride slut EVER.

PS. Haifa Wehbe is the hottest woman alive. No homo. Ok…a bit homo.