Today was quite amusing. I learnt of a new drink called, I shit you not ... 'man shaft'. This may not be how its spelt. I think its actually a German drink (probably spelt 'manschaft' and meaning something to do with team sports) and entirely unrelated to the male genitals, but still. It provided hours of hilarious innuendoisms for me and Jems, while Mark woefully insisted that it was actually a very good energy drink, and we shrieked 'Can I have some of your man shaft?!' and 'What is wrong with me? I have no man shaft!' (as well as the classic 'Mmm, a bit of man shaft perks me right up!'). Granted, we were the only ones laughing. But not everyone can have the sophisticated and developed sense of humour that we possess.
In other news, I have taken up a new hobby. You may all find it surprising that this hobby actually doesn't include toffee waffles or the naming of random cows... I have taken up jogging. Even more surprising, I am not doing it as an attempt to punish myself/kill myself/lose weight... i'm doing it because I enjoy it. Call me crazy, but I like the feeling of running fast towards something. I like the screaming inner protest that comes with pushing yourself further each time, forcing yourself to keep going when you feel like collapsing and the exhausted satisfaction you experience afterwards, as well as the feeling that you've been cleansed in some way. I like waking up in the morning feeling stiff (not in that way, you pervs! I have no man shaft!!) and I like discovering the fact that I love something I always thought I'd hate.
Also, I really really like making myself new running playlists on itunes :-D. They are mostly made up of music I dont usually choose to listen to, but that I deem to be 'energetic' enough. Like the black-eyed peas, who are well known for
1. Their very upbeat beats
2. Their very shit lyrics
3. Their general annoyingness
But still. I like making them. And as much as I love Radiohead and Jon Mclaughlin, they are not really bouncy enough to do the job.
And well, that is all for now my friends. I will try to keep you updated.
peace x
Friday, 19 June 2009
Wednesday, 10 June 2009
Marlbro lites and novelty hats
Today Mark gave me a present. It was a giant, novelty union jack hat that he'd bought off a polish woman in London. Its large, tacky and velvet - it is perfect. I'm wearing it now, and enjoying it almost as much as I did embarassing Mark by wearing it everywhere all day. I got some very strange looks in waitrose. They were clearly all jelous.
I went to Jems house after school, where we had chinese food, which is my favourite kind of food in the world. In fact my ambition is too some day move to China (where they just call it food) and grow fat on it, thus lapsing happily into an obese and oriental old age. Although I may have to get the hang of chopsticks first, as I don't want to be fat and rude.
Jems had also found half a packet of cigarettes on the bus this morning, so we washed down the chinese by smoking a couple in the field behind her house, like the cool loser-kids we are... I must say, smoking now seems even more pointless to me than before. Aside from the fact that it stinks like my old science teachers beard (I can still smell it in my hair, my throat now feels like sandpaper and true story about the beard by the way), and a few packs can be bought for the same price of a decent pair of shoes, and it fucks up your lungs and makes your tongue go all furry, and eventually gives you a laugh, that sounds like a cough, that sounds like an under fed goat on crack etc. ........ you are basically just sucking on a small tube filled with tar! Often while standing outside a pub, most likely in the rain, which you have been exiled from on account of having a disgusting habit. And what in the name of arse is so cool about that?!?!??
Point made, I like to think. Mini-rant over.
In other news, check this out!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i5dap5HfPfY
Be warned, though. You have to be in the right mood for it, as it will either make you laugh hysterically or want to stab your computer screen with a blunt instrument. For me it was the former, but my giant novelty hat has put me in an unusually good mood and I am finding quite a few things funny.
Hahahahahaheha. Novelty hat.
byebye x
Tuesday, 9 June 2009
'Take that crime, you shit!'
I thought AS levels were hard... it turns out the A2 syllabus is harder. Much harder. Bloody Shakespeare has a lot to answer for, the swine. I just read the first scene of 'Othello', and I only realised 20 minutes in that the characters were going on about interraicial sex. I had assumed, confusedly, that they were talking about... well i'm not really sure what I assumed.
Gardening sprung to mind.
Billy Shakespeare wasn't really all that big on making much sense, was he? That is all I will say on the matter, because the amount of homework I already have after only two days back is depressing me muchly.
P.S. If you are in any way confused about the title of this post (which unless you are Jems, you will be) check out 'The gay adventures of burnt face man, episode 1' on youtube. Highly amusing shizzdib.
Gardening sprung to mind.
Billy Shakespeare wasn't really all that big on making much sense, was he? That is all I will say on the matter, because the amount of homework I already have after only two days back is depressing me muchly.
On a brighter note, Me, Mark and Jems revisited our cows today. Mark pushed me to their field in a stolen waitrose trolley which was exellent, if a little bizarre. People glared at us. I screamed 'Onward!' and pointed a lot. That probably didn't help.
Anyway, the cows looked fine. Clarences arse even seemed cleaner, although at first we were a little scared he might have eaten Mayhew. But Mayhew was just having a little nap, I think.
Its nearly 11 and I'm very knackered so excuse this post for being short and stupid. I promise a longer, wittier (and possibly even intelligent-er) one soon. And I will try to stop going on about cows so much.
but for now
buhh-bye folks x
P.S. If you are in any way confused about the title of this post (which unless you are Jems, you will be) check out 'The gay adventures of burnt face man, episode 1' on youtube. Highly amusing shizzdib.
Sunday, 7 June 2009
A waitresses war-wounds
So today I went to work.
This may not sound like it is on a par with a death sentence to most people, but I am an underpaid waitress at a very crowded sports bar, and on top of that, I am extremely crap at my job. This is no exagguration. I trip over chairs, I drop things, I always bash my hip on the snooker table, no matter how many times I internally remind myself its there and I forget to put the lid on the smoothie maker before blending, resulting in rasberry-and-banana flavoured carnage.... I generally wander around like a confused and stressed chicken with a tray (but no head), desperately asking everyone in sight if this cappuchino belongs to them. Roxie will confirm this.
Lucky for me though, our scary supervisor Freya was not there today. She had her friend Kara taking her place and acting as her spy, but thankfully Kara was extremely hungover and not in the mood for too much screaming at the minions. Also, my boyfriend Mark came in to see me which was nice, although a little nerve-wracking when I realised that our boss and owner of the bar had decided to pay a rare visit, and Mark was standing in the washing-up room chatting with me and cheerfully criticising the bars supply of tea-bags. Not a very professional look. Also, the boss would be outraged to hear his tea-bags being mocked. I made Mark sneak out and run away as soon as the boss had his back turned, which I now realise made us look rather suspicious to other customers.
Now I'm back home and, as always, feeling knackered and wondering what the point of life is. Wanting to quit, but at the same time trying very hard not to get fired.
In conclusion, waitressing is shit, never do it. Do not fall into the soul-sucking, low-fat latte-making trap. If your tempted, just don't. Go somewhere else. Anywhere else. Stack shelves. Pack boxes. WORK IN A NICE QUIET SHOP, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!! This is all advice I wish I could have given myself five months ago, but its too late for me ... save yourselves!
Bye now. I'm off to make a sandwich.
This may not sound like it is on a par with a death sentence to most people, but I am an underpaid waitress at a very crowded sports bar, and on top of that, I am extremely crap at my job. This is no exagguration. I trip over chairs, I drop things, I always bash my hip on the snooker table, no matter how many times I internally remind myself its there and I forget to put the lid on the smoothie maker before blending, resulting in rasberry-and-banana flavoured carnage.... I generally wander around like a confused and stressed chicken with a tray (but no head), desperately asking everyone in sight if this cappuchino belongs to them. Roxie will confirm this.
Lucky for me though, our scary supervisor Freya was not there today. She had her friend Kara taking her place and acting as her spy, but thankfully Kara was extremely hungover and not in the mood for too much screaming at the minions. Also, my boyfriend Mark came in to see me which was nice, although a little nerve-wracking when I realised that our boss and owner of the bar had decided to pay a rare visit, and Mark was standing in the washing-up room chatting with me and cheerfully criticising the bars supply of tea-bags. Not a very professional look. Also, the boss would be outraged to hear his tea-bags being mocked. I made Mark sneak out and run away as soon as the boss had his back turned, which I now realise made us look rather suspicious to other customers.
Now I'm back home and, as always, feeling knackered and wondering what the point of life is. Wanting to quit, but at the same time trying very hard not to get fired.
In conclusion, waitressing is shit, never do it. Do not fall into the soul-sucking, low-fat latte-making trap. If your tempted, just don't. Go somewhere else. Anywhere else. Stack shelves. Pack boxes. WORK IN A NICE QUIET SHOP, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!! This is all advice I wish I could have given myself five months ago, but its too late for me ... save yourselves!
Bye now. I'm off to make a sandwich.
Thursday, 4 June 2009
Cars, unreasonable anger and bicycles-made-for-one-but-seating-two
I've just got back from a driving practice which, for some reason, involved both of my parents coming along. It was terrifying. Mostly for them, but my dads screaming, swearing and incoherent noises of outrage from the backseat weren't easy on me either.
All was going well until we were a full ten metres from our house, when I stalled. They both groaned and started on at me with two very separate, but very loud, different peices of advice. I stalled again.
'Give it some gas, you need more bloody gas!' my dad helpfully interjected. I ignored him, which is my default response whenever he says something. I stalled again.
'Gas, i said GAS! Listen to me!' - so I started the engine again, floored the accelorator, and sent us shooting off at twice the national limit, mounting the pavement and very narrowly missing a bush.
'Jesus! You nearly fucking KILLED us!!' screeched my dad ... he had a point, but this was not helpful for my concentration in steering away from the badly placed bush. Long story short, by the time we reached the end of our road (a further fifteen metres away) with my dad still shreiking in the back, I yanked up the handbrake, had a miniture breakdown and flatly refused to go any further. My mum tactfully swapped seats, and the rest of the journey passed in a haze of angry muttering and loud sighing.
Despite this adrenaline-fuelled mood-dampener, the rest of today was actually pretty good. I slept in for as long as I could before my mum woke me with the unwelcome news that we have two dogs who cannot (or will not) walk themselves. After that I cycled into town on my mums embarassing bike (it has panniers, ok? I fear she may soon start adding ribbons and knit a saddle-warmer) and met Jems* and my boyfriend Mark*. We ate things and named three cows - Sebastian, Clarence and Mayhew. Please don't ask. After that Mark went back up to school because, unlucky for him, he is extremely clever and does the IB.
Me and Jems, the lesser intellectualites, then cycled back to mine on the bike. And when I say cycled, I mean I cycled and Jems perched awkwardly on the panniers, clung onto my waist and sung a genius new version of 'bicycle made for two' (in which the lyrics were changed to 'on a bicycle made for one-but-seating-two'). Unfortunately for me, this was quite funny, and i almost lurched into several cars, a tractor and a bewildered pensioner.
I fear that I probably should not be allowed on public roads when accompanied by two or more wheels.
All was going well until we were a full ten metres from our house, when I stalled. They both groaned and started on at me with two very separate, but very loud, different peices of advice. I stalled again.
'Give it some gas, you need more bloody gas!' my dad helpfully interjected. I ignored him, which is my default response whenever he says something. I stalled again.
'Gas, i said GAS! Listen to me!' - so I started the engine again, floored the accelorator, and sent us shooting off at twice the national limit, mounting the pavement and very narrowly missing a bush.
'Jesus! You nearly fucking KILLED us!!' screeched my dad ... he had a point, but this was not helpful for my concentration in steering away from the badly placed bush. Long story short, by the time we reached the end of our road (a further fifteen metres away) with my dad still shreiking in the back, I yanked up the handbrake, had a miniture breakdown and flatly refused to go any further. My mum tactfully swapped seats, and the rest of the journey passed in a haze of angry muttering and loud sighing.
Despite this adrenaline-fuelled mood-dampener, the rest of today was actually pretty good. I slept in for as long as I could before my mum woke me with the unwelcome news that we have two dogs who cannot (or will not) walk themselves. After that I cycled into town on my mums embarassing bike (it has panniers, ok? I fear she may soon start adding ribbons and knit a saddle-warmer) and met Jems* and my boyfriend Mark*. We ate things and named three cows - Sebastian, Clarence and Mayhew. Please don't ask. After that Mark went back up to school because, unlucky for him, he is extremely clever and does the IB.
Me and Jems, the lesser intellectualites, then cycled back to mine on the bike. And when I say cycled, I mean I cycled and Jems perched awkwardly on the panniers, clung onto my waist and sung a genius new version of 'bicycle made for two' (in which the lyrics were changed to 'on a bicycle made for one-but-seating-two'). Unfortunately for me, this was quite funny, and i almost lurched into several cars, a tractor and a bewildered pensioner.
I fear that I probably should not be allowed on public roads when accompanied by two or more wheels.
Wednesday, 3 June 2009
Beginnings and bellybuttons
So I have decided to start a blog. Well, not so much decided as been nagged into it by my already-blogging chums, guilt-tripping me about how lonely they are in cyber-space blogosphere without me. So here I am chums. Thing is, I have absolutely no idea how to begin a blog, so lets kick it off with some facts about me shall we children? Not lame facts about my hair colour and star-sign though (just as well, as I’m only completely sure of one out of two). I’ll try and make these as intriguing/unexpected as possible, sooo here we go:
1. I have my bellybutton pierced the wrong way round. I got it done in a dodgy tattoo parlour… the nice lady with the giant needle asked me if I wanted it above or below my bellybutton as if they were equal and interchangeable options, and well… how was I supposed to know?! I was only doing it to piss my parents off. And in the vague hope it would make my stomach look less like a baby white whale. Anyway, she did it below the bellybutton (incidentally the most painful place to be pierced beside the tongue and genitals, while the ‘normal’ kind is the least painful) and that is how I came to be in the 0.6% of the pierced population with a ‘lower bellybutton’ piercing. It looks really shit.
2. I almost lost my virginity at the top of a multi-story car park in the rain. However, just as we were about to, ahem – ‘get down to it’, I looked up and saw a security camera swing round on its metal neck to watch us, like a mechanical hawk. Seriously, it was horrifying. It freaked me out almost as much as the thought of the fat security guard smiling serenely to himself while watching us in his little camera-den, hands wandering in his large pants, so I used my own wandering hands to start pointing and shrieking. Needless to say, I refused to go any further and ended up losing my virginity in my bed like a normal person. Guess that makes me a prude.
3. When drunk, I try to be reasonable. This makes no sense, as I never make any attempt to be reasonable, level-headed or in any way logical when sober, yet the minute you get some bracardi down me I’m all ‘Guys, maybe we should – WHOOPS – ow! Who put put that bottle there?! Wha.. no I didn’t! Mines over there! HAAAW HA you’re drunk! No seriously though, maybe you should stop drinki- who drew a penis on his face? HA! No, not funny.’
4. I could not live without music, but my music taste varies wildly and seems to confuse people. They’ll be in the middle of ripping the shit out of me for owning all of eminems albums when they discover I also have country ballads by a guy in a cowboy hat. And the soundtrack to scrubs. And several songs in hindi. They hand the ipod back in bewildered silence.
5. I have a strong and deep-rooted hatred for the high school musical films and all associated merchandise. Particularly the soundtracks. This is not helped by my sister playing them loudly almost every morning in the room next door. I have tried to scratch the CDs, but, much like the creepy ‘teenage’ (read: twenty-something) cast who are now all launching solo careers, they are indestructible and selfishly refuse to die. Disney has really let itself down. Remember ‘Dumbo’?! I do, and I for one think Zac Effrons attractiveness (and indeed interestingness) could benefit hugely from a large pair of flying ears. Not a role next to a dragged-up John Travolta in an equally crap film
6. The picture of me on my provisional drivers licence makes me look like a serial killer having an exceptionally bad hair-day. I say this not because it is particularly interesting, but because it is lying right next to me (staring up at me) and I’m running out of spontaneous and entertaining facts about myself.
7. I have officially run out of spontaneous and interesting facts about myself (for now). Peace out (for now).
1. I have my bellybutton pierced the wrong way round. I got it done in a dodgy tattoo parlour… the nice lady with the giant needle asked me if I wanted it above or below my bellybutton as if they were equal and interchangeable options, and well… how was I supposed to know?! I was only doing it to piss my parents off. And in the vague hope it would make my stomach look less like a baby white whale. Anyway, she did it below the bellybutton (incidentally the most painful place to be pierced beside the tongue and genitals, while the ‘normal’ kind is the least painful) and that is how I came to be in the 0.6% of the pierced population with a ‘lower bellybutton’ piercing. It looks really shit.
2. I almost lost my virginity at the top of a multi-story car park in the rain. However, just as we were about to, ahem – ‘get down to it’, I looked up and saw a security camera swing round on its metal neck to watch us, like a mechanical hawk. Seriously, it was horrifying. It freaked me out almost as much as the thought of the fat security guard smiling serenely to himself while watching us in his little camera-den, hands wandering in his large pants, so I used my own wandering hands to start pointing and shrieking. Needless to say, I refused to go any further and ended up losing my virginity in my bed like a normal person. Guess that makes me a prude.
3. When drunk, I try to be reasonable. This makes no sense, as I never make any attempt to be reasonable, level-headed or in any way logical when sober, yet the minute you get some bracardi down me I’m all ‘Guys, maybe we should – WHOOPS – ow! Who put put that bottle there?! Wha.. no I didn’t! Mines over there! HAAAW HA you’re drunk! No seriously though, maybe you should stop drinki- who drew a penis on his face? HA! No, not funny.’
4. I could not live without music, but my music taste varies wildly and seems to confuse people. They’ll be in the middle of ripping the shit out of me for owning all of eminems albums when they discover I also have country ballads by a guy in a cowboy hat. And the soundtrack to scrubs. And several songs in hindi. They hand the ipod back in bewildered silence.
5. I have a strong and deep-rooted hatred for the high school musical films and all associated merchandise. Particularly the soundtracks. This is not helped by my sister playing them loudly almost every morning in the room next door. I have tried to scratch the CDs, but, much like the creepy ‘teenage’ (read: twenty-something) cast who are now all launching solo careers, they are indestructible and selfishly refuse to die. Disney has really let itself down. Remember ‘Dumbo’?! I do, and I for one think Zac Effrons attractiveness (and indeed interestingness) could benefit hugely from a large pair of flying ears. Not a role next to a dragged-up John Travolta in an equally crap film
6. The picture of me on my provisional drivers licence makes me look like a serial killer having an exceptionally bad hair-day. I say this not because it is particularly interesting, but because it is lying right next to me (staring up at me) and I’m running out of spontaneous and entertaining facts about myself.
7. I have officially run out of spontaneous and interesting facts about myself (for now). Peace out (for now).
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