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