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