The Common Cold

Is ridiculous. I am so busy right now, and I've fallen ill. I am bed ridden. I am craving chicken soup. I nearly blew my own head off last night with a bowl of Vicks Vapour Rub.
I hate being ill. Its so so inconvienient.
I'll hopefully be back on form soon though. Hopefully. Provided I don't OD on Vicks and Cold and Flu tablets and send my self loopy and start talking to ants in the garden.

Love x

Why Is the Wine Always Gone?

'Why is the wine always gone? Why isn't adam levine/matthew mcconaughey/tom meighan (any of them) my boyfriend? Why do I have work to do? WHY IS THE WINE ALWAYS GONE!??!?!?!?!?'

The above is a direct quote from my best friend. She is my best friend for a reason. Aside from her uncanny likeness to me in everything from penchants in online detective games to finding the sick amusing, she states the unfortunate truth.
The wine is ALWAYS gone. It is November, it is cold, it is droll, and my workload is gigantic. Its not because I'm behind. I'm never bloody behind, I'm just sprinting to catch up with my work load, which, quite frankly, moves as quick as Linford Christie on fucking steriods.
I used to think listening to the Beach Boys would solve most of my problems, and while that still stands, there is also my terrible terrible reality. I know what you're thinking. That I'm a student that goes out and has fun and makes silly videos whilst living off Doritos. You can shove that idea directly up your arse. Honestly.

I love my friends, I love my course, but jesus christ I need some epitome of fun. My idea of fun is a large house party, at which I am wearing the best clothes, have the best hair, and am drinking gin and tonic out of a glass made from the hooves of unicorns whilst listening to pop punk.

Here's the reality. Tommorow night we're going to our freinds birthday. The theme is musicals. Instead of doing something sexy like Moulin Rouge, we're doing Annie, because we're as skint as skint voles. So, theoretically, we're dressing in rags. I have said we could suggestively rip said rags around the bresticle area, but there's no such thing as slutty orphans.

I can't wait for Christmas Break, simply because it means I won't have to look at Land Law for a while. I'll find a solution to this horrid boredom, even if it means making orange squash with vodka in it and cartwheeling up to the bloody cathedral.

In other news, my housemate Natasha literally is the worst Countdown contestant in history.

The anagram was

'PETDRAGON'

Tasha's response to this was 'Well thats easy. Pet dragon'. I have never laughed so hard. Not since my friend Amy got chopsticks stuck up her nose in a chinese buffet.

Oh, hold on, aforementioned best friend has just come in with a proposal:

'Hello'
'Hello'
'We're going to get drunk'
'And how are we doing that?'
'We're going to get a bottle of one quid cider and down it while spinning round in the garden'
'Right..'


Its tuesday tommorow. 9am start. Hurrar. There's no use in complainin' when you got a job to do. I think thats how the lyric goes. And we've got cider gardening to do.

Keep as fresh as the salmon the counter in Morrisons.
xxxx

"Sort Your Life Out, Levi"

One of my freinds actually said that to me today. I get where he's coming from. I mean, I've been doing so well, doing all my work and what not. Last night though, I got absolutely destroyed and have spent my day lolling around on the sofa, watching Sally Jessy Raphael, eating Rustler's burgers and putting off tidying my room to look for my I-Pod, which to my disgust has disappeared.

Its terrible, because we have these awful healthy neighbours. I saw one of them take some flour of their cupboards. What in the name of Curly Watts do they need flour for? Do they bake? I bet they bake oatcakes that have 1 calorie in them, and make your metabolism super fast, which they eat before they jog to trampolining.

I've not even had a shower, so the tattoo I drew on myself when I was dressed as a pirate last night is still on my inner wrist. I look like a crackhead. A crackhead in baggy pajama's sporting a terrible haircut.
I do intend on sorting my life out, and tidying my room, and maybe even showering... after I've watched more pointless T.V.
'Don't Tell The Bride' should be sufficiently depressing.


x

My Body Is A Temple

No matter how run down, or crumbling it may be, it most definitely is. My Uni house is also my castle. I am the temple within the castle. This is the view I've been taking on not allowing boys to use me. One boy in particular has been getting under my skin this week, and I've decided to firmly banish him, as I'm pretty sure I know what his game is.
Men think they're so clever and inconspicuous, when in reality they're about as inconspicuous as genital herpes. Glamourous comparison, I know.

I'm the wrong girl to pick to try and use. I'm unforgiveably sharp with it, terribly suspicious, very cynical, and a complete pessimist. Its a no hoper from day one, basically. I figure it out and bag it off.

SPEAKING OF TRUE LOVE (har har) I'm at a wedding tommorow. Big congratulations to Sharon and John :)

This is unfortunately only a quick blog, because my parents are picking me up from Uni today to take me home and take me out for some Thai food on the seafront. Good times.
How lovely to be in a nice, safe, secure environment when Fresher's hath ravaged my body so. That said, however, my parents do drink a hell of alot of wine :(

Peace x

The Dawning of the Freshers

Here it comes, the inevitable tide of colds, hangovers, and embarrassing memories. Freshers week. For those of you who don't know what Freshers Week involves at University, which I think will be a highly minute number, Freshers Week is a week of constant drinking and partying and general horseplay, before the classes start. Pretty much every Uni has one, apart from about, like, three, and they're all probably in the highlands or in underground caves where real people don't live.

I'm a bit annoyed at myself coz I misjudged Freshers and thought it started LAST week, but it doesn't. So I've probably wasted alot of money living here before Freshers that could and should have been used ON freshers. No point crying over spilt milk, though, so grind down, get on with it, buy the nastiest alcohol based product available and get pissed all week for forty quid.

You're probably thinking this: 'Well don't go out then. Save your money, and avoid general illness'.

The answer to that is 'Don't be so ridiculous'

If you miss your uni's freshers, you might as well go and set up your room in the library, eat fair trade nuts for breakfast, lunch and dinner and become universitally (see what I did there?) known as an inbred social recluse. That's not a bloody exaggeration either. To be fair, though, I've got to leave on Thursday to go to my best Friend's mum's wedding, so I'm missing a little bit of Fresher's week. Its probably for the best. I can't count the amount of days I was ill last year.

In other news, I've dyed my hair red. Twice for maximum effect, actually. What with me having very dark hair, I needed two dyes so I didn't look merely like someone was shining a red light on my hair. Here's a drunk picture of me and Tasha so you get the idea

Excuse the flower in my hair, I stole it from a nice flower trough near the Brayford walking back from a takeaway.

Here cometh Freshers, to strip you of your money, health, and dignity.

Unfortunately, we wouldn't have it any other way.

I am a Detective

Hey there


We went out last night. God it was an abusive night. My freind Sam came down, and he got abused as the only boy out with us. My house mate hid his car keys in the oven this morning. It didn't confuse him much, he just looked like he wanted to throw up as he tried to think.






We got nicely drunk on some Lambrini; which as you all probably know is dirty.


The second part of abuse came in the queue. We had some pushers. Some posh bastards who thought they could muscle in because they were born with silver spoons in thier mouths and sticks up thier arses. Abby called them 'cock sucking motherfuckers'. I'm not joking.


The third portion of abuse came because we were dancing near some proper geeky guys for a laugh. And Abby asked them if they 'liked girls'. Thier answer was that they did, but they 'didn't like to pay for them'. Abby's answer to THAT, was a swift one to the face.



The fourth came because we stole some flowers, and a passer by said 'why have you ruined those flowers?'. The reply 'why have you ruined your hair'. We were probably asking for it really.



Sam eventually came home, fell up the stairs, and scared the life out of me.



My two funny things this blog. One isn't that funny. Someone has mashed up Michael Jackson and Patrick Swayze to come up with a track called 'Beat the Wind'. Laugh if you want, its okay.


http://hypem.com/track/907066/



Second funny thing, I was walking past my local fish and chip shop the other day, and I noticed a poster for a missing cat in it's window. This missing cat had a fantastically ironic name. Wait for it..




















Scampi.


You don't believe me do you? I knew you wouldn't. It's fine, I brought proof:

There you have it sports fans. I'm pretty sure I know where the cat is. Lathered in salt and vinger and being eaten by the Lincoln equivalent of Jack and Vera Duckworth.

I'm off to spend my day, parked on the sofa, dying quietly, pretending I'm a detective by playing Sleuth online, and eating frazzles.

Peace x

That Game

Hello!

So, we're all moved into our new house in Lincoln, me and my three lovely housemates. Last night we had some wine and lasange and watched Ace Ventura and Dumb and Dumber (you guessed it, Jim Carey marathon).
One of the magical things about being at University is the games you invent to pass the time. Now, last year, when I was in halls, I WAS the game. My two male housemates made thier way through the first year barricading me in my room with chairs, putting leaves through my window to make 'a garden' and putting my game boy in the fridge to convince me I was going loopy. Oddly enough I still love those boys.

The game we've come up with is thus: we stick a condom on the fridge, and the first housemate to use it in sexual activity wins. The losers have to do a forfeit, which will probably end up being expensive and humiliating on my part. Me and one of my housemates also play another game, which has both made us cry with laughter and realise that we are probably pretty bad people at times.

Me and the housemate in question are both from the same place, and hang out at home, and mutually know a boy who happens to be unfortunate looking (however the thinks otherwise) and have invented a game revolving around this person. For the sake of identity, we'll call him James. The game is 'James Or..', in which me and my housemate present eachother with scenarios. For example, one went:

'James or Chlamidia?'
'...Chlamidia... you can get rid of that.. can't really get rid of James'

I know, its pretty terrible to say the least. We've come up with all sorts of agonizing scenarios. James or David Dickinson (Dickinson triumphed), James or Josef Fritzl, etc.

Trust me, its amusing when you're as sick as us and spend time treating yourself to crutons and flavoured lipgloss.

Tommorow we're going to head off to the Fresher's Fayre to steal many a wooden spatula and tinned foodstuffs.

I know, the stereotypical student lives. Viva la Cuppa Soup.

x

A New House, And A Few Home Truths

I have a brilliant quote for you guys today.

'Friendship? Loyalty? They're just old fusty words to you, aren't they? Like sixpence or codpiece' - Mark Corrigan, Peep Show.

These words will set the tone for today's blog. I've been very busy recently. On Tuesday I moved into my new house in Lincoln, ready for a fun filled freshers week and my next stage of academic career.

On arriving back at Uni I recieved the unpleasant fact that a supposed freind of mine had been keeping her mouth busy round my ex boyfreind. Now, the first thing to say is that I'm not a bunny boiler. I can understand when shit is over, and I don't beg, plead, or dwell publicly. I keep shtum, and I move the fuck on. I don't mind what my ex does, but I would appreciate it if he had the curtosey and discretion to keep it out of my circle of freinds, and off my fucking front door.

I went to a party when I got back, which was great. It was good to see everyone again, bar my said 'freind'. Given a few G'n T's I decided I had better bloody confront her, or else sit there and simmer casting occasional dark looks about, as she clearly didn't have the balls to tell me herself.

Unfortunately, what with me being the occasionally drunk and blunt person that I am, my opening line to our big chat was: 'So, I understand you sucked off my ex?'. Brilliant ice breaker, I'd say. Or ice creator, I'm not entirely sure; either way it gets things going doesn't it?

Now I'm not sure about you guys, but I've been told by multitudinous people that the way I have dealt with this from here on out is admirable. I have kept my hands in my pockets, and my attitude to a minimum. I've not been able to stop the sarcasm, unfortunately. Despite the many apologies I recieved from this person, the fact still remained that a line was crossed, and its pretty irrevokable. Loyalty to me is bloody important. Its a big part of who I am. I don't face life with the naivety that I once did, thinking of people as generally decent, and generally good, despite everything; but I still do expect a little bit of respect to come my way once in a while, when I am decent to people myself.

That's my rant over; and let it just suffice to say I'm going to move on from this, and keep dropping my occasional sarcastic comment to keep myself amused/satisfied. My favourite so far has been 'Hey ____ I think you left your concience in the living room :)'.

So I left my job, obviously to get back to Uni. My boss said 'So, what have you learned from this?' What have I learned? Just so you know, I worked in a mobile phone shop for the summer. This mobile phone shop happened to be placed in a town which is populated by considerable old people. So what did I learn.. I learnt there are some severally strange people in the older generation. Most of them were nothing extraordinary. The same line, all the time usually

'I dont want anything fancy, m'duck. None of this yellowtooth or whatever it is, no satellite T.V built in. I just want to make calls, and I dont want to send texters'

The little shit head inside of me is screaming this the whole time: 'Its bluetooth, no phones have TV's in them, and there really is no need for you to raise your voice, Vera'.

But then there's been some real weirdo's. One bloke came in, and he was dressed like this:

He called me 'darlin'', for starters, which is never good when you're speaking to me, but I had to find this guy hilarious. Because, I kid you not, his phone rang, okay, and it was this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hxIuIxqo2So

At that point I cracked and had to pretend I was going to sneeze so I could run in the back and shake uncontrollably with laughter. He probably thought my face was spazaming. On leaving he said 'See ya later darlin', go home, make a BBQ and get drunk, in that order' and then he winked, and walked off, leaving me completely astounded at the amazing array of people that actually exist even though you think they cannot possibly be real.

So what did I learn? I learnt that The Doors had it right. People ARE strange.

Peace x

Je suis QUITE TERRIBLE

Oh hello :)

Look, I'm sorry for not writing for ages. I'm not saying this because I have any followers (aside from you two little chappies - hang in there, bredrin); but because I was disappointed in myself. I have a fruitfully boring life and should share it with the majority. Sorry, Sorry.

Anyways, back to business.

What's new with me? I answer this question in the only way I know how: BULLET POINTS! :D

:-

• I got dumped. Yeah.
• I went to France. Yeah.
• I came back and went back to work and as we speak I'm trying to be a social panther, keeping myself busy with my beautiful, sexy freinds.

I'll elaborate best I can on these bullet points. As with the first, its pretty straight forward. I got dumped. No shouting, no drama, it really is that simple. Here's the thing: because it was SO simple, it made it the most confusing break up I've ever been through. I'm sure part of me WANTS the screaming. At least I can look back and saying 'What a fucking doucher'. Not this time. I've not been granted that pleasure, and through tight lips must just suck it up and get on with shit.

As for france, then. France. You ever been to France? Its okay. I mean, its pretty, most of the time. It sells nice stuff, and the restaurants are wicked. The wines always good, no matter how little you pay, you simply don't get the piss vinegar you buy in a box here (if you aren't a student or on the dole, you won't get the last statement).

The only thing is, I got stick of speaking French. Everytime someone French speaks it sounds like they're going to be sick. There's also the whole thing about French people disliking us. I'm telling you, I nearly snapped at Calais. My dad was infront of me buying us a cheeseburger, and accidentily pulled a £20 note out to pay with. She sighed, gave him a patronising look, and said, in french 'Here, sir, this is STILL France'. I was so mad I couldn't come up with a come back, and repeated what she said, in a silly voice, which was very mature of me. Then I walked into the drinks machine, just to prove i'm on a cock on a physical level, as well as mental. One last thing about France - smells a bit like feet. But whatever. It was nice to lie on a beach and bodyboard, away from Blighty and work.

The only thing was, I needed my freinds. Its been good to get back and hang out. One person in particular has done me serious good.

I go back to University next month (YEAH) so you'll be getting blogs with much richer, drunker, better content. Me and my four freinds will be moving into our new house on Derwent, which will be very exciting.

I wanted to go back to the House tommorow, to use it as a gathering venue. My two brilliant housemates have locked my quilt in one room, and the pillows in another. They also didn't rid the fridge of its contents before they left (a bowl of angel delight, an onion, some milk, and some bread - I think its safe to say it may smell of regurgitated cheese and church fust now). I was on the phone to one of my housemates today, and she said 'You've got alot of cleaning to do'.

Exsqueese me? I knew this would happen. If I didn't like them so much I'd write 'YOU'RE DEAD' in the mould (with a fork). So I think I'm fruitlessly trying to organise a party here. God knows. I have a large bottle of vodka, and a large bottle of gin. I won't be held responsible for my actions if I don't do the right thing with those.

Just like I can't be expected to be responsible around the helium canister at work. I've already used it to call my ex-flat mate Andy who was so high it took him a good ten minutes to realise something was wrong with my voice, by which time my lungs had nearly combusted.

Anyway, I'll wrap it up for today, until tommorow, or the day after, when something more interesting may have happened. You never know. Tommorow might not be a total disaster.

Peace and biscuits.

What Little Boys Are Made Of

So babysitting last night went well. I got £20 for sitting there and doing literally nothing apart from reading my new book and half watching Stallone's shite acting in Cliffhanger.
I was initially a bit nervous. I mean - i've never babysat for these kids before, so I was hoping it wouldn't be a complete disaster and they wouldn't spend thier time sat in a corner, rocking backwards and forewards calling for thier parents like a scene from a Childline advert. It wasn't, though. They were honestly really good kids. I've never babysat for boys, before, either, and here were two, one five, one seven.

I did realise one thing though. Boys are utterly gross. And they're not choosey about who they gross out, complete stranger or not. As soon as I went in, they were both really friendly and sweet, and as soon as the rents left, the youngest felt he needed to confide something in me, with a massive grin on his face:

'I did a really big poo earlier.'
'Did you really?'
'Yes. I do big poo's. They leave brown lines in the toilet sometimes'

All I could do was sit there and nod. He clearly decided I knew enough and buggered off.
Later on, the oldest gave me a run down on what a DS was, even though I knew. I humoured him though, as you do with children. I dug in my bag and produced an old gameboy color. 'Bet you don't know what this is, do you?'

Seriously, it was as if I'd shown them Jesus's eyes or something. They thought it was amazing. Like some sort of artefact. Then, when they noticed that I had a Pokemon game in there (I know you're laughing), they proceeded to ask me about which ones I knew about. It was like Pokemon Play Your Cards Right. I had literally no idea what they were talking about most of the time, but I made out I did. You don't want to go being the uncool babysitting who knows jack about the new 6027 pokemon invented since you were 10.

I've definately decided though - little boys are more fun. They may measure thier genitals and find excrement generally hilarious but they're amusing and quite sweet at times. Girls can claw your eyes out.

I'm off to my Nanaa's for sunday dinner today. Nice one ;)

I'll be off then. Still no news on the talking turtle, no?

A Blog For Tasha

I wasn't going to blog today because I've been quite busy, but my friend Tasha got on my case on MSN and asked where today's blog was, so I thought I'd better get on with it.



When I say I've been busy, I've not been doing anything interesting. When people say they've been busy, either difficult or exciting things pop into my head. E.g. essays (they come under the category of difficult, not exciting. I'm not a complete knob head), or fun stuff like going to Pleasure Island, eating six cream eggs and throwing up on the terror rack.



Today I put all my new clothes away, and cleaned out my makeup bag. Then I started my essay, because I desperately want to get it out of the way so I can start revising. Then Mum came and interupted and asked me if I wanted to go out for dinner. I got quite excited at this stage, until she said we were going to Morrisons cafe. I went anyway, and had a pretty nice lasange.



I started my new book yesterday. I was trying to read it in the kitchen. Big mistake. My Dad can be really irritating at times. And I mean really irritating. He was tormenting my little sister, who was screaming her head off, but not just normal screaming, really whiney oh-my-god-thats-going-right-through-me screaming.



'DAAAAAAA-ADDDD STORRRRRRRRRRRRP EEEEEEEEEEEEETTTTT!!!!'



I was sat there with a face like this

Eventually I got really annoyed and went upstairs. My new book, for anyone that actually cares about books, which I understand is a limited few these days, is called the Book Thief, and is completely narrated by the Grim Reaper/Death (LOL AT MY MUMS FACE WHEN I TOLD HER THIS. I think she thinks I'm some sort of satanist now), and set in Nazi Germany. Its pretty cool so far, but i'll blog a little review when I've finished it.

I've come to two conclusions today.

I want a little turtle. I've just been watching Finding Nemo and the baby sea turtle is probably the cutest thing ever. I have another request concerning the turtle, if anyone wants to buy me one, but it has to be able to say 'Dude' and 'Sweet' like the one in the film, or it will not be allowed to live in my room.

My second conclusion - ... oh shit, I've lost it. No seriously I dont know what my second conclusion is.

I watched Pirates of the Carribean last night with the family before I went to bed, and before I went to bed I had a nice text off my boyfriend, whom is currently in France and being missed very much by me, so thats nice.

I've also got to mention this because I'm buzzing for her. NICE ONE TO MY FRIEND MAGI FOR FINALLY GETTING WITH PAUL. We've all been waiting for this to happen and it finally has so HUZZAH for her and Paul.

I'm babysitting tonight, so I better get a move on really and wrap this up.

Remember - talking turtle, if you love me...

I Need A Hair Cut

Well, I do.

I couldn't think of a title for the blog, so I thought a little home truth would suffice.
I am insanely BORED. Yesterdays meal was pretty good, had some nice Carbonara, and got a bit pissed with the family and the best mate (Abby). We went back to mine and classically played Trivial Pursuit, which is the longest, most brain numbing game in the world. The only thing with the meal was, because it was my birthday, on the presentation of my I.D, I got my meal for free. This wasn't the problem, but because they knew it was my birthday, they bought my desert out with a sparkler in it, and put a really cheesy rendition of HAPPY BIRTHDAY on on the soundsystem. I sat there, mortified, with everyone looking at me. The waitress stood next to me, and clapped in time to the music for about 5 seconds, then realised that everyone was a bit too shocked to join in and stopped. Abby loved it, and even started doing a little dance next to me. I attempted to hiss 'stop it' out of the corner of my mouth. All in all, that was pretty weird. I was so embaressed and confused I attempted to blow the sparkler out. I must have looked really special.

I went to town today though, with a nice hangover, to spend my birthday money. I got loads. Sooo much, and still had fifty quid left over. I'm proper impressed with myself, because usually, I spend money here and there on stuff that doesnt match, or has no place in my wardrobe. E.g: 'I really fancy a pair of navy blue braces'.

wtf.

But yeah, I did well today.

I don't have much interesting to say, sorry. I had a horrible dream last night where I was swimming the River Thames (this would never occur, as I'm mortally afraid of whats in water), and the big bridge collapsed on me. Sorry for the use of the term 'Big Bridge' but the name of it escapes me right now and my geography is piss poor anyway. I was really excited last night when I got a blue geography cheese in Trivial Pursuit. In all fairness, the question was 'What is the color of the cross on the Swedish flag?'.
I think it was Swedish, anyway. My memory is horrific today. Probably because of the massive wine consumption last night.

I dont know if I mentioned, but I hurt my ankle the other day when I was running. I've not got a clue what I've done to it, but its killing me. I spent today in town, limping around like someone who limps.
I even didn't use the upstairs toilets at McDonalds because I thought it was too much of a task. Before you know it i'll be applying for a parking space.

Nineteen, Catherine and Dean.

Way Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyy!!!

Birthday time. I can't believe how ridiculously early it is. My mum and dad go to work early, so mum came into my room this morning, bearing gifts, and gave me a cuddle, which is always nice, no matter what age you are (bar about 40, obviously, because thats just a bit weird).

Last night I went and got in the bath, and I found a magazine on the side of my Mums. It was Closer, which, incase you don't know, is filled with loads of stuff you don't want to know about Jordan (whom we have to call Katie Price now, because it makes her alot classier, and makes everyone forget she used to get her tits out), Kerry Katona, and such like. I also found a really interesting true story, about a Teen Mum.

Now, I always think people give teen mums quite a hard time. My mum turned 17 in the March, and had me in the April. I can't even comprehend how weird and hard that must have been, but she managed okay, and I've always had quite alot of respect for young mothers. This was before benefits kicked in, though. And the 14 year old in this article is a little benefit leaching ho bag, with an extremely interesting life thus far.

I couldn't help it, although this article pissed me off about the current state of the world, I was also in absolute hysterics about some of the quotes in it. I'll write some up on here, for your benefit ('scuse the pun):

'The former builder already has five children under 18 by three different partners, but doesn't pay child maintenance because he's been unable to work since suffering a groin injury' - Is this groin injury from the copious shagging he's been doing over the years? The man is 40, and claims to have slept with over 200 women. Well, if that doesn't get you going what will.

'They've already been evicted from one flat for not paying thier rent and claim that thier "human rights have been breached"' - All I can say to this is, 'fuck off'.

Now this is my second to favourite bit. Before Super Mum started her relationship with Dodgy 14 year old Dean, she was seeing a 29 year old at the age of thirteen. I'm not sure about you, but I'm pretty positive that qualifies as paedophilic.

This 29 year old though, that she was seeing, well I can see why she fell for the bloke, here we go:

'I met him when he was by the train station, where he was selling The Big Issue. He started talking to me and we had sex within weeks, despite his age. He refused to use contraception and I never questioned it as I didn't know better'

Are you thinking the same as me? I thought the Big Issue was, as one of the Big Issue sellers in Lincoln told me before I came home, 'the only magazine to help homeless people', and i'm pretty sure only homeless people sell it, to help themselves get back on thier feet. Did this girl just go and approach some homeless person? Seriously though - what the hell? 'Big issue? Is that a hint, love ;)' No. No NO no.

I'll wrap up my rant about Dean and Catherine now, but first, I have to put in this little bit, which proves that romance is not dead, so long as these two are together:

'We like spoiling each other - he takes me to the Beefeater restaurant and I've bought him a gold ring that spells out "Dean". We'll be together forever'

Well thats that then. Next time your fresh out of ideas for Valentines, lads, get yourself down to Beefeaters with your girlfreind, and if you're lucky, you may just be presented with four Fanta can bottoms stuck together, spelling out either your whole name, your initials, or simply the first four letters of your name, to remember her by. Next step, marriage and twins ;)

I'm really indecided on whether to go back to bed or not. It seems a bit pointless. I've already had my birthday breakfast. I was a bit unsure, when I was making it, as I put a bagel in the toaster, and realised we nothing to put on it but Paté. I thought 'Are people allowed to eat Paté in the morning? Is that PC?' Then I just threw caution to the wind and ate it anyway. Its my birthday. Lets go fucking mental.

I've got a cake and everything!! :)

Happy Blog Day To Me.

Hey there.

Jesus Christ. This is my first ever blog. I've always thought to myself, I am never ever going to start one of those stupid things, unless I'm insanely bored/successful/famous. I'm neither of the latter two, unfortunately.
I've always thought that I'm not interesting enough to write a blog, but its the Easter holidays, and I've reached the epitamy of boredom. I used to keep a diary, but they always fizzle out, when I reach my mid-year crisis, which usually involves dilemma's such as an immediate need to start exercising, exams, or the general 'I've got sod all to write about anyway' principle.

So, write about something I shall. That's the point, after all.

Its my birthday tomorrow. I'll be turning nineteen.
The Kerry Katona of ages. No one cares about it, it isn't special at all, but it still happens, never the less.
I'm not doing anything special, to be honest. I had a party thrown for me by my nice friends in the last week of Uni, and that was good. I got extremely wasted, was sick on my best friends foot, and danced to Blink 182 like a retard in the kitchen.
And then it was back home, back to my annoying village where nothing interesting ever happens and no one interesting lives. I know this blog sounds really morbid, but the thing is, I am in such a pessimistic mood recently. Its because I'm missing people, and the quitting smoking and looming exams don't help either.

I'm getting mad about everything recently. Hey there, exam period. I was literally just sat here, and my dog scratched at the door, wanting to be let in, and I found myself getting proper pissed off because she doesn't have any hands to open it herself.

I also got mad a minute ago, because the new Mr. Muscle advert came on the TV, and I just sat there and got infuriated by the fact that Mr. Muscle is no longer one of the Chuckle Brothers, but a computer generated out of sync cock. See. That's how annoyed at everything I am. I am actually calling Mr. Muscle, a cock.

Here's something else interesting that happened today. I decided to start my new fitness regime. Which involved me eating well for the whole day, and then going for a three mile jog. I did all of that, and felt pretty bloody chuffed with myself, and then Mum asked me if I wanted to go to Tesco's with her. So I went, in my running gear, hair all over the place, plastered sideways into a sexy Backstreet boys type coif, quite happily. I was genuinely pleased until, when I was perusing the bagels, I get noticed by my ex's parents. I don't know if this has ever happened to you, but its never good. Especially when they're nice to you, and your secretly thinking in your head 'I hate your son, I hate your son, I hate your son' - (just for the record, I don't hate all of my ex's - just this one). Although they were being nice to me I could tell they were thrilled I looked such a state. They probably thought that my one year at Uni had ripped me at the seams, and that I'm now some poor bastard who has to wear over sized fred perry track tops, wash my hair in my own tears, and live off nothing but bagels. I don't particularly care what they think, but it was a pretty weird end to my productive day non the less, and quite comical to my mother. I was zooming around Tesco's with a basket on my arm, telling her we needed to get the fuck out. She just found the whole thing really funny, and kept saying things like 'Fancy that!'. No. I didn't 'fancy that' at all. If I had, Id've dressed up like Alan Sugar's mistress and bragged about how awesome uni is, whilst lying through my teeth about how much I enjoy writing my essays.

Speaking of essays, this is actually becoming one.

I promise that the next blog I do will be nice. And not pessimistic. And more interesting.

xx