Horrrrifying weekend

I am not exaggurating. I am still a little shellshocked.

I may blog about it when I feel less distressed.

Then again, I may compress it into the farthest corner of my mind and forget it for evermore.

I will keep you posted.


Or not

Party pooping portaloos

Riiiight... slight change of plan on the party front owing to the fact the universe is stacked against me and the campsite i was planning on booking is bloody expensive and wants you to bring your own portaloo...

Yes. Your own portaloo.



Do any of you own a portaloo?



I thought not.




So new plan: we go out for eating and drinking in marlborugh, then we camp in my back garden for more drinking. Yes, its a bit shitter than the woods, but at least there will be toilets. Also, a nearby trampoline can replace my dreams of a bouncy castle in the middle of a dark forest. Not quite as awesome of course. But still bouncy.

Also, can you all bring lots of torches? Cos its quite dark at night this time of year.
Who knew?


P.S. And tents.

Birthday and braindeadnesinjsgylafueygdfb

Its my 18th Birthday tomorrow. I feel oddly underwhelmed, and also skull-crushingly tired.. I should really shop going to bed at half twelve on school nights, because Family Guy, although the most hilarious thing from America since the speeches of George Bush, is just not worth it. My party is next Saturday.. Jems has already covered that pretty adequately on her blog. Bring booze and lots of blankets. And tents and space heaters and large bouncy castles if you have them. And giant inflatable penises, because you can't have a party without one of them, and I misplaced the one I found at the mop :(

Now I had a large archive of witty anecdotes and hilarious stories (in my mind) to share in this post, seeing as I haven't posted in a month (:O) ....... but i'm too durrn tired for it right now, I would never do them justice. So 'til next time children.






P.S Should I do a Jems and demand Happy Birthday messages from you all to make me look popular? Is it worth it? Abandoning all my dignity and self-worth so close to the anniversary of my entrance into this world?









P.P.S Yes.

What else is Facebook good for?

:D

Tiredness and weekend rampages, or something.

I am tired.

I say tired, actually I feel like I have been turned into a human sponge, filled with water, wrung out repeatedly and then sentenced to a weeks hard labour in a juvenile sponge camp. And just so you know, that means i'm very very tired.

The reason for this tiredness possibly stems from my ridiculously busy weekend which went something along the lines of this:
get up at seven on Saturday for my waitrose induction day, iron everything and make breakfast, burn breakfast, make toast, do hair, do make up, quickly check waitrose letter to check the exact time I have to be there, realise I don't have to be there til half ten, realise I could have had two hours longer in bed, fling pillow across room in frustration, watch X factor reruns in frustration, go into waitrose for proper time, watch a million ridiculous training dvds and answer multiple choice questions about fire safety, leave waitrose, go to carnival, get monumentally pissed, engage in various stupid activities such as falling off a wall, riding in a drunkenly driven car, ill-advised snogging and tripping off every pavement I was stupid enough to set foot on, go back to friends house, go to bed at around 2, get up at seven, go into work at the bar with a hangover to end all hangovers, work like a sloth on slow pills (I dont think anyone noticed the difference), drive myself home, stall at a roundabout, get home, have some dinner, watch X factor, go to bed.

Now if you felt faint exhaution and/or nausea while reading that, imagine how it felt living it. My inability to go to bed at a sensible time on school nights has not helped this, and for that I blame Family Guy. I could be at a party tonight, and I should be on a school trip, but..... my bed is for once looking surprisingly attractive. At least, it will do once I clear it of uni prospectuses and empty pom-bear packets.

So on that note I bid you all good night. You, my faithful seven followers. For now, i'm going to ignore the fact that one of the seven is me. I'm not actually sure how that happened. But I luff you all. I do.






*nods wisely*

The haunted playground and other tales

Friday night was, as they say in France, a proper larf (or 'un rire approprié', according to babelfish. This translates back as 'a suitable laughter'. But you get the point). My friends BJ and Ewan (see any posts about drunken antics, as I don't know how to do the clever linksies thing) came down to stay, as well as Jems and my friend Cadi from swindon who I havent seen in forever. We all went out on the town, but could not get completely shitfaced because a) I had been on medication all day and apparently this does not mix well with alcohol and b) everyone else was broke. So we all got double vodka and cokes and made them last a few hours under the watchful eye of the pervy head waiter, who gives many underage girls free roses out of the kindness of his heart (read: trousersnake). Of course, this is as long as they give him a kiss in return, as we found out the friday before when we were in the same place for a friends 18th. I assume that a bunch of them would cost at least a blowjob, but although I like roses, I am not willing to find out, so alas I went home roseless..

Anyways, afterwards we all made our merry way off to the kiddies park (because we are too cool for clubs, alright?) where we indulged in some chav-baiting by pushing the swings until they swung jerkily by themselves, spinning the roundabout into a slow, creaking orbit and making the bouncing horse rock spookily on its spring before standing outside the park gates in awestruck/frightened silence (which was ocassionally broken up by some pretendy terrified shivering, stifled giggling or 'videoing' the sight on a mobile phone) until our prey, a single tracksuited chav taking a moonlit stroll ambled along and stood beside us looking confused.
'Look mate. They're all moving by themselves. Thats wired isn't it? Creepy.' promted Ewan. Trackiebums mumbled an incoherent response, probably something along the lines of 'innit', before fleeing to the public loos nearby to snort coke or rock himself to sleep, or whatever it is chavs do these days. Cruel maybe, but it bought us much amusement.

At around midnight we went back to mine, made ourselves a nice little mountain of junk food and watched 'Donkey Punch'. Jems has already adequately covered the utter shitness of this movie in her blog (http://reckoner97.blogspot.com/2009/09/donkey-fudging.html), so I don't feel I need to go into too many details. What I will say however, is if your a quite thick, fake tanned slaggy type, who cannot even shave your armpit without bleeding half to death (see first five minutes of movie), what makes you think you will survive a night on a boat with four creepy posh guys hell-bent on killing you with dodgy sex-acts/ rusty chainsaws they happen to have lying around on their million-quid yacht? That is the moral of the story. Armpits first, single-handedly tackling four killer-perverts later, but not all in the same film because that is bordering on ridiculous. And i'm really not sure weather i'm aiming this at the director, the quite thick slaggy type or you guys, or weather i'm in fact making any sense at all, but listen to me because I am wise.

On a less rambling note, I went to work today and finally handed in my notice, as i'm starting at waitrose next weekend. I'm not really sure weather i'm actually allowed to quit though, because when I told the boss about my plans to run away and never come back I was met with a vaugue respone and something about coming in for a 'staff meeting'. What?! I am a part time waitress. I am not 'staff'. But anyway, they sent me home early because all our customers had mysteriously disappeared for several hours, which was nice. I should probably be disappointed that I lost £12 pay through this and no one had given me lunch, but honestly I couldn't give a flying fuck. I have lost all interest in that job, and I think the only reason I really show up anymore is for the constant supply of free milkshakes and the amusement of pissing around in the pot room with Annie and Roxie. Our mini-waterfights have so far gone unnoticed, I think.

Plus I went and got a better lunch at Waitrose after I left. Waitrose is the future. The End.

Dreams of the not-so-distant-future

Today is the last day of August. Therefore if I do not blog today, I will only have blogged twice in the whole month, and that, even for me, is truly shameful. So join me on this quest to fill my small allotment in cyberspace with more of my useless nonsense and bewildering anecdotes.

Which reminds me.

I had a dream the other night. And it sticks in my mind because, unlike most of my dreams, it was shockingly normal. It almost could have happened in real life. Basically, in my dream, I was sat in Costa (See? Costa! Not a siberian brothel, or the inside of an elephants anus. Utterly, bizarrely normal) talking to a friend who is about to bugger off to uni for the best years of his life. He wasn't very exited though. In fact, he said he was really nervous about making friends, and asked me for a few good conversation starters to use at freshers week. After rejecting my best ones ('Fancy a shag? Go oon, it won't take long' and the ever sucessful 'Like me, please like me, oh god why won't you like me?!') I lost my patience and asked him what the hell he was so nervous about. He looked at me like I was a twat in a furry cowboy hat. Which, to be fair, was half right.

'I'm going to UNI. I know nobody. No one knows me. No one knows each other. I've reached the top of grownupiness, yeah? But basically, we're all a bunch of clueless teenagers who are gunna be stuck together in a bunch of rooms sharing a kitchen and all trying to pretend we're grown up, when actually we all really really miss having our mums wash our socks. And more to the point, what if we don't like each other? Theres no going back now. I spent ages filling out that bloody UCAS form. And my mum would kill me if I backed out now, kill me like a bug. And then refuse to wash my socks.'

I looked at him blankly for a second, then told him (in what I like to think was a sympathetic manner) to stop being such a pussy and pack his socks. Shortly after, I woke up, marvelled at the normalness of my dream, and fell back to sleep only to have a nightmare involving train-jacking carrots.

The dream did get me thinking though. In one year, if all goes well in the results and financial departments, I too will be buggering off to uni. I have looked forward to this ever since I understood the concept of uni (the concept being there are no parents and no one really gives a shit if you skip lectures). It is, to all teenagers who managed to scrape the results for sixth form, the shimmering dream on the horizon of shite that gets us through A levels, parental screaming, teachers nagging and the all round annoyance of not being quite 18. University is freedom.
But!
What if you get to freedom and it turns out to actually be a little bit wank? What if you have to share a bathroom with a posh girl who moans about missing her cat, and it rains all the time, and you have no money for booze? What if you start your course and realise it actually isnt what you want to do with your life? What if run out of money for accomodation half way through your second year and have to give up and go home?

Of course, I don't really expect any of this to happen. In my mind, university will be fucking great no matter what because i'll be truly doing my own thing for the first time ever. And if I have to share a bathroom with an upper-class cat-lover and take out loans i'll need to leave the country to escape then so be it. But nevertheless, the dream has made me start looking at university a bit more realistically (i.e. not as a giant 3 year party/solver of all my problems) which I suppose can only be a good thing.

Plus, I have to get in there first. Hmmm.

Results and Robots. And Waitrose.

I have been offered a job at Waitrose. This surprises me a bit, partly because it is neither the position nor hours that I applied for, and partly because the group interview I was made to attend was one of the single most baffling experiences of my life, and I was fairly sure I had exposed myself as a bumbling incoherent nincompoop in said interview. I mean, I was made to 'sell' a pot of spanish saffron to my interviewer and the rest of the group. It went something like 'Er, well this saffron is Spanish *long pause* And its made in Spain! So really Spanish, you know, not anything from um.. China. Or Taiwan. These days you get a lot of artificial... overseas... and um, mass produced. Or something *second long pause* Also its recycleable!'

Well ok, it was a bit better than that, because I threw some posh words around. But you get the idea. I also had to give a presentation on myself, and we had to do a bunch of 'team exercises' which involved making posters and getting in line according to date of birth etc. and watch an extremely happy (bordering on brainwashingesque) Waitrose promotional dvd, starring a fat man with the scary enthusiasm of a cult leader and the bald shiny head of a skin-coloured bowling ball. And the attractive too-small green shirt of the waitrose corporation.

But anyway, i'm happy I got the job even if the hours are a bit shitty. It means I can FINALLY leave waitressing! FOREVER! And soon hopefully, before they realise that they keep accidentally paying me for one hour more than i'm owed, or discover CCTV footage of me secretly eating their biscuits behind the shelf in the pot room. Or more to the point, actually notice how phenomenally shit I am everything waitress-inspired, fire me, and call every shop in town to warn them about me.

In other news, I got my AS level results a couple of days ago. All Bs. I was actually thrilled with this - the voice of doom in my head had been telling me for a long time that I had definately failed psychology, and i'd been having some quite disturbing dreams about recieving my results. These dreams ranged from your simple get-to-school-and-find-out-you've-failed-everything dream, to one in which I got all As, but a large hamster in a beret (that was for some reason my brothers new pet) ate my results and no one would believe I'd passed. Consequently I had to sit my exams again under the supervision of large chrome robots who kept stealing my pen and laughing at me. Robots can be very cruel. Then I was sent to work at the new sainsburys that had opened up next door to school, because all the distractions had ruined my career prospects and rendered me incapable of doing anything other than bagging groceries in a shell-shocked manner.




But everyone has wired dreams like that right??