Doing it in iStyle

I must say I was quite slow to the whole Apple iPhone fanatic but then I realised everyone had one, so now I HAD to have one.

It's not entirely the same as having children but I can't tell you how many hours I laboured to get this baby out of my sister - and by her, I meant her bank account.

That would be so wrong though if it was from her...in that way. Ew. Ew, ew, ew damnit.

Swiftly moving on, here it is.

Well the thing is, I can't post a picture because I'm using the iPhone right now to write the blog. See how I put this out so well? I'm well proud of myself right now...

That's right! It's a multiple use freak of a gadget and I'm falling in love with it more and more every day, more than my BB.

I feel as I've had my time with the Curve and for it to come back to me alive and well from when I last saw one in my possession (last year when it drowned in pitiful washing machine water), it hasn't rubbed it's magic on me like the first time.

It is sadly second loved. My friends who bundled their money together to get me it, they've noted my negligence to their gift and I know they're not happy. But I vow to use it sometime! ..when my iPhone decides to die on me too, I'll consider it.

Anyway, this isn't a war against BBs and iPhones and which is better, but rather who uses them. I have noted with my special journal eye that mostly Black people have a BB. Scary statistics as I edge the picket fence on that. Random but true.

Hmm, actually scratch that final point. But it seems I can't do this on here.... If I don't put out another entry in the next two weeks, it's cause my iPhone has got me killed by the Blacks.

I haven't recommended a song in a while! Ok how about Baby Please Don't Go by AC/DC, I freaking love this anywhere I go with a rearing start. Good for listening to whilst smashing out a few HTCs or ugly Nokias probably.

Oh what is up with Nokia these days? If I ever go to Finland to their HQs and I find they don't have like a giant snake game on a screen in the reception, I will "slither in" and blow them up Wizard style bwoi!

Falsetto Teef and Bum Gums

I think I got the wisdom teeth trying to come out. Because the pain in my jaw is oh-so-so-excruciating, it even hurts to wince, to pull a tiny mouth muscle at the least. Ouch!

I heard from someone the trick is to get them taken out as soon as possible, that way you don't have to wait for the next decade for it to fully grow out and have a painful spazz attack in the back of your jaw for that long ting period.

Also I'm grinding my chatters a lot now, and so they make me face look so sexy when I smoulder. Ooh. Imagine that (!)

My teeth have changed shapes and ways of their sprout since my brace-face Ugly Betty era, but this causes a bit of struggling fight with my retainers. They don't know what to retain - bucking teeth, half-healthy gums and stuck foodie-bits.

The rattle with my teeth grinding, my retainers, and the wisdom teeth perk intensifies the pain when they are all combined together. There isn't a party in my mouth as much as there a massacre of shredded nerves and thin blood poured between the flashy gnashers.

Just as I hope for the pain to go away, I got assignments. Lots of them for different platforms and modules, and it makes me grind my expensive orthodontic work to the pits and pools of black cavities and shaky wibbly nerves.

I guess I best load up on Colin Farrell movies to ease away the pain...*drool*

Eid is Cool For the Kids - It's Curry Grease For Me

Eid Mubarak to all the Muslims around the world to all of our spiritual bruddas and sistas!
Remember all of those less fortunate than you and give Qurbani (sacrificial animal for meat) generously and remember them in your prayers, Ameen.
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Now for all of you who are girls over 13 and like to dress up all nice and peng or buff and that at 9 in the morning and put your pictures up on Facebook as soon so you can prove to your friends you don't look fat in the outfit they said you wouldn't look fat in anyway - JOG ON. I hate you freaks. You make me sick.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to cook at least 4 different dishes on one cooker whilst harbouring all 4 layers of grease in your hair, hmm? NOT EASY.

It's uncomfortable to move your hand to your head, you're lathering in double helpings of oil if you attempt to scratch.
And it's even worse being in the kitchen whilst dolled up in pop colours and sparkly embroidery and with your hair all whipped up nicely - if the curry smell fiend detects a clean person in the room, they attack and stay put on your clothes first, then make their sleazy way with the rest of your outfit.

In the first 3 seconds of entering the kitchen whilst a curry is in making progress, you will be perfumed by the ethnic stink for hours. No amount of deodorant or perfume can spray away that tamarind burnt spices smell.

But for the rest of  the day, you'll be glad you're not the brunt of curry jokes. You're just fortunate that all of the girls just as primped and prim looking as you are come to meet and greet you with the smell of different dishes like chicken korma, lamb karahi and the pitifully easy-to-make but most evident food odour, samosa and pakora oil.

It's a sad way to explain my Eid, but crap, it's true. But there's an upside to it of course! The Eid money. Yeah, brap brap.

Well, no that's not even good for me. Because I've grown up, I don't feckin' get any. Apparently you're meant to be a particular age and height and there's a balance of adorable and want, and then you're eligible.
Or that I've been lied to by my evil Jewish uncle.

It was fun doing Eid as kid. I felt like a baby-drug dealer/loan shark, and the money I demanded (I didn't bully them, they just got the jist of my open outstretched hand and the words 'Eidi' forming on my mouth) from my uncles and aunties and neighbours used to amount up to at least £300 each Eid*. Imagine being a 11-year old kid who earns £600 a year for just looking cool? I didn't imagine, I became it...once upon a time ago. Damnit.

Now it's all about slaving away in the kitchen, what a bore. Some girls get it lucky; they have sister-in-laws masterly skilled in the kitchen criteria so they're super efficient. That's one good reason to get them over on the banana boat...err, but that's about it.

I have nothing else to say, other than badman wannabe boys get it easy way too many times on these special occasions. I mean, it's a religious holiday; you don't go to the mosque, to the house of God and give your holy salaam to your molvi homies to then go out to populate Edgeware Road with Pakistani/Kashmiri country flags wavin frantically out of your tinted window Black Corsa and putting the system up on full to twatti pendu Bhangra. It is so freaking dumb and in so many ways, ridiculously embarrassing.

So, this is Rosie's Official Twice Yearly Eid Rant. Enjoy it, it'll only come around twice, so it's a rare treat of  blog entry, ha!

Before I finish, take this down. Do a few things to make everybody's next Eid a little nicer than usual.

Be nice to your mother and every sister you have whilst they slave away in the kitchen, ask if they want help. You may be no good with the food making process but they'll consider it a miracle if you help with the dishes.

Try to put aside family disputes during the day. You might get infuriated with someone, but if you don't resolve it calmly with a simple apology whether you made the mistake or not, it will most definitely change the course of the day for the worst.

Yes, family and friends are important but friends over family shouldn't be the case. Friends who like to spend time with friends on the during the whole of Eid normally means they very abusive towards the idea of quality family time. Don't try to be like them. It's best you do what you must with family, and even if you don't enjoy it, have patience. You can meet with friends later and you'll have more to talk about when they ask you about your day.
The more distant you be from your family on this auspicious jouful day, imagine how you'll feel when your children do the same to you in a decades time. Times change, attitudes and bad habits like this will live on through you.

And for goodness sake, you're Muslim not a Jew. It doesn't cost you to smile whilst you eat laboured food, or indeed open up your pockets and let slip a few pound notes, Uncle. Haha, joke. Well, not really. Oh, like he's really gonna read this...hope not. Eeps.

Heh, I can say stuff like this, like, cause like, I'm bad like that.
Peace, troll Troggs! Until next time...

*The first - Eid-Ul-Fitr, is just after fasting 30 days in the month of Ramadan. The second is Eid-ul-Ahda, which celebrates the completion on pilgrimage [Hajj] in Mecca.

Hand in Your 'Teen' Tag - Welcome to The Twenty-Something Club

It's so easy and forgiveable to be a 19-year old brat. You're considered an adult but with the kiddie effects of the 'teen' at the end of that snazzy number, you get away with adorable murder.

I'm very happy being 19. It's the best number my life has amounted for.

But from Friday onwards, I lose my final innocence tag as a teenage tearaway. I become one of the TWENTY-SOMETHINGS, as my friend Jamie says.

The twenty-something world is ghastly. In my mind's little cinema, my brain is like popcorn; it's bouncing off the walls of my head and it's messy to clean up. In fact, it'll take years.
When the clutter in the head begins to fill up the nooks and crannies and you're doing nothing but crying into your pillow every night and soaking it wet and black with your pissy mascara, you will know you're experiencing a mid-life crisis.
When you get sorted with your dream job and salary and you get pregnant and gotta leave it to birth a brat, your life is feckety-fecked. (Unless the baby is the dream, carry on as you are. EHH).

I'm afraid to acknowledge what my shoes are sunken into - student debts, an invisible mortgage and a gruelling word on a board afixed to a spring coil and makes that comical noise - BOING! - Marriage.

The last springer is the dinger. That rhymes, but with cruel conviction.
It means it's a good thing for parents, not always a good thing for you. I'll just stick myself on 'repeat' when I claim the other elder brother and sister still haven't been sorted, and how will me getting me married whilst I'm swagging with the paparazzi gonna help my rep? AH GAWSH, it's hard being Asian and a Gangsta...

But this year has been surprisingly different. I don't celebrate my birthday ever, and I have good reasons.
I tend to fight with everyone who was born in October. Don't question my precarious explanation.

Everybody I know is a October baby, so therefore my monthly bank balance is severely violently throttled down past the £100 overdraft. It's also the month of Halloween, so everybody freaks out over how-to-look-like-a-scary-slut parties and scare dares e.g eggs, flour and toilet roll that I personally would appreciate to USE MYSELF.

By this end of October, unfortunately but precisely on Halloween, the money I had or have left is almost non-existent.

It's different this year because something miraculously beautiful happened. I became unusually unaware of my birthday, and great things started to happen when I didn't think about that looming '20' rubber stamp due to be slammed on my forehead.

Firstly, the M.I.A gig. What a treat to myself! - I'd be partying at midnight into my birth date with the Sri Lankan songstress tantalising my ears. Then it got better.

I come come yesterday eager to meet my school friends who had come back home from university during the holiday break.
Now, when your friends sister tells you there's a fault in the electricity in the sitting room and that the mess in there is from her brother's birthday party last week, the little person in your head should switch on the 'OH I KNOW WHAT THIS IS' button to know there's a bunch of eager friends hissing laughter on the other side of the door with party poppers and a waxy cake.

I didn't quite take in anything - I had had such a long day at university, I was ultimately washed out and drained of energy to recognise the signs, but the life had been shocked into me by the sheer noise and excitement in their beaming faces; I was glad to be shook.

The present they'd all chipped in to get was another delightful twist. A Blackberry Curve 8520 on the O2 network! It was thoughtful on the part that I had previously moaned about the death-by-drown of my first BB via washing machine, and the other was that I was on Orange, thus not as accessible as they'd wanted me to be. For instance, free texts or free minutes to chat - O2 to O2.

The night then carried on as it originally would whenever we met - double apple sheesha, takeaway and some good doses of girl chat. It ended on a slightly odd note, when my sister drove off without me in the car when I requested a pick-up. She sheepishly returned, but it was the strangest best way to end a great night.

What really scares me of the TWENTY-SOMETHING realm is growing up. Best make the most of these last two days, then...