Monday, March 30, 2009

Study Leave

I know I've not written a post for a few days, so it's a little poor of me to be writing this one now, but, well... tough.

Unless anything particularly exciting/alarming/interesting/hilarious occurs I'm going to avoid posting here for a while. I've got exams to pass and this is just a giant encouragement of procrastination.

No idea how long I'll manage to go without writing anything, but I'll definitely be back when all my exams are done, if not before.

Feel free to talk among yourselves.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Supermarket Retard

You know those people who don't seem to be able to cope with grocery shopping? They're perpetually surprised, incapable of finding anything, doomed to be the one to drop the eggs.

Today, and only Today, I have sympathy for them. Today, I joined their ranks for one evening only.

I ran to the Tesco across the road to pick up a couple of extra ingredients for dinner. Due to being a giant food snob and refusing to do things like buy ready meals or jar/packet sauces or frozen pizza, I often have to run across the road for tomato puree, or oregano.

Off I went. I ran into three people I knew and was surprised surprised to see each of them. I'd possibly go so far as to say I was "taken aback." I then walked straight into two people I didn't know. I was incapable of finding anything I wanted, with the exception of tights (I can leave the house in a skirt again!)

I don't trust automated check-outs at the best of times. They've managed to short change me before, and they're stealing jobs from our chavs and students. It's just not on. Even so, I decided that the queue for being served by a real person was too long, and I thought since I was forewarned, I'd be able to check my change carefully.

The machine hated me. It just didn't work. Nothing would scan, it couldn't tell when I'd put the items in the bags (which took me a good minute each to open). It kept repeating itself, as if I was a retard. I started to realize that it had a point.

Eventually I left, paying with card without checking the price. No way it can short change me now, right? Right? Aw sh*t.

Having made dinner I decided I needed to bake a tasty treat. Started off OK before discovering we were ought of strong white flour. Had to go back to Tesco. They were out too, I asked some one to go see if there was any left, the guy found some right at the back of the shelf. Again I felt like a moron, but not as much as when I dropped it. Or as much as when I saw him standing in the queue, turns out he wasn't working, just a guy in a blue shirt.

I can never go back there. But at least I've got every potential item of shopping related embarrassment out of the way for at least six months or so. Maybe I'll just stick to shoe shopping, I am more than adept at shoe shopping.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Domesticated Violence

I am exceptionally handy around the flat. I can change all the light bulbs I can reach (read: the one in my desk lamp). I can get things from high shelves if I stand on a chair. I know how to clog up a drain. I do most of the washing up out of the goodness of my heart, OCD and having found beetles in the past has nothing to do with it.

I cannot wear a skirt again until the giant bruise on my knee heals. Unless I go out and buy more dark tights. All my dark tights got holes in them, I don't know how his happened, but I suspect that drinking more rum would help make sure it never happened again. I hear these things cancel out.

I finally got my bravery back after the last kitchen fiasco. I had cleaned the curtain, dried it, and folded it up neatly in one of the cupboards. But it bothered me, it needed to be back in its proper place.

I knew the step ladder was not safe for people who weigh more than the average seven-year-old, but I'd skipped breakfast and lunch. I figured it was worth the risk. In hindsight I should probably not have tried it with heels, but they're so slimming.

I got to the fourth step before the ladders started to slip. I froze. It stopped. I took a deep breath and slowly started to move back down. Our windows are huge and the curtains are long. It caught round my heel and I missed the step completely. I twisted like a cat (only much more elegantly) and attempted to jump forwards off the ladder. My ankle caught the last rung. I landed on my knees.

Two seconds later, the ladders landed on me. I doubt my knee is the only thing that's bruised. But at least I didn't break a heel.

You'd think one of the guys would be a gentleman and fix this for me, but only if you'd never met them.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Moving Out

A couple of weeks ago Amy (one of my flat mates) announced that she would be living with either her boyfriend or her parents next year, she has a really close family wants to be closer to home so she can be with them and help them out.

No really, it's got nothing to do with her hating us. I'm quite certain. We're all delightful people, I'm sure the only reason she hasn't been crying about it is because she doesn't want us to take the piss see how sad she is to leave.

This means that we need a flat for three, as it'll just be me Harry and Gav next year. Now, I thought maybe we could be sensible about this. We'd work out our price range, have a look at a few flats near the uni, visit them, and decide which was best.

For the first ten minutes of browsing online, I was right. We bookmarked a couple that looked quite good, that we could afford, and that were within walking distance of everything we would need.

Sadly though, the same data bases that hold stuff for student-style flats, apparently hold stuff for penthouses in the Merchant City. Trust me when I tell you that I have now seen more than enough beautiful penthouses that I absolutely cannot afford the rent on, even if I don't pay bills, or eat.

It didn't stop there. Here's a link to what the boys are now considering our ideal property for next year: most ridiculous suggestion ever. It's not even for sale! It's in Germany! Now they're bitching because I haven't won the lottery!

Perhaps Amy had the right plan, maybe I should get out now before the boys ruin me completely.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Good Morning

Lately I have been waking up earlier than usual*. I think it must be because I'm having extra exciting dreams (not like that! pervert!) So I need to return to normality early before I tire myself out.

Like last night I dreamed I was in a knife fight (told you it wasn't like that) and the winner got to keep the knives. I won. This is not the first time I've won knives, though it is the first time I've dreamed about it.

A few of years ago I entered a competition in a magazine. The first prize was a TV and DVD player, they looked cute and I thought they'd go well with Sam (my elderly CD player). It was a cross-word, I knew the answers. I cut it out of the magazine and found an envelope. Then I noticed the website address that you were supposed to send the answer to. I logged on, entered the competition and immediately forgot about it all.

Two months later there was a knock at the door. It was a parcel for me. I love getting post, even if it's just a bill. Parcels are amazing fun to receive, even if I ordered them myself. This one was a mystery. I signed for it and then googled "How to tell if a parcel is a bomb."

Once satisfied, I opened it. It was a set of kitchen knives. Apparently that was second prize. It at least explains why my postman looked so surprised that a kid signed for them, and may go some way to explaining my life-long difficulties with postmen ever since.

I have to say, it's much more fun to win them this way than to win them in a knife fight. This way they were a surprise, and I didn't need to clean them up when the competition was over.

*I look angelic in the morning, really I do. Brings a smile to my face. The angles my hair can stand at before 9am occasionally defy Euclidean geometry.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Wassup G?

When I was around 13, I went through a period having gangsta friends. This was a surprise to me, since I'd always been the quiet kid everyone picked on (at least until a couple of years later, when I learned the art of ganging up on a gang of people all by yourself - worth mastering if you can manage it).

It happened simply enough. One of the gansta girls who got my bus home from school was shouting about needing a muthaf*ckin' tissue before the bus arrived. My mother had bought a bunch of special edition mini-packs of Kelvin Klein Kleenex (best phrase this week so far). They were to raise money for charity. They were also hideous. Even then I had enough sense of style to be ashamed of having them in my bag. I mean, leopard print Kleenex? Seriously? I respect Mr Klein, but he had lost it.

I gave the whole pack to the gansta chick, they matched her handbag, and she recognised the designer. I was an instant hit. She and her friends made other people get out of my way so I could sit at the back of the bus.

I was taught the language. The music was shared and explained. I got respect and they miraculously started getting A's in all their homework assignments. We were excellent influences on each other.

Then, the rest of the popular people started noticing. The balked at first, and pointed out that I was a nerd. But the gangstas did not care, they stuck by me through everything. We were homies, no muthaf*ucka could stop us, biatch. 'Cept some chick's ex-boyfriend who she was still into. Damnit, but I was terrified of that guy, not interested - he was twice my size! Word got around that he liked me. I left the group before I was forced to.

Popularity dropped again. I was banned from using the words "homie", "bled" and "shizzle." Frankly, it's probably for the best, I always sounded ridiculous. I couldn't get whiter if I was caught in an avalanche.

But in a weird way I miss it. I understand gangsta rap, even if I never actually liked it, and can even explain why some rappers are better than others. Why everyone in hiphop actually hates soulja boi. What I can't explain is why anyone in hiphop is... well... in hiphop.

But then, I listen to a combination of death metal and French electro, what do I know?

P.S. My spell checker went mental on this post. I've left it as is, but there's no way I'm adding "shizzle" to it's dictionary. It'd just be a bit too far.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009


A couple of months ago, I picked up an audio book. The title was "Rapid Russian." My plan was to learn Russian, Rapidly.

I have listened to it maybe four times, but not at all for a couple of months, so I've forgotten quite a lot of things. I already knew how to say "yes" and "no," so I have to admit that those don't really count.

Because I have my priorities right, I also know how to say;
-"I would like a small measure of vodka."
-"I have lost my keys." and,
-"A bottle of red wine, please."

I would fit into Moscow perfectly and would definitely not get mugged. Nor would I find myself in a situation I wasn't fully equipped to handle.

My German has always been better, presumably because I studied it properly for two years. Among other things, I still remember how to say:

- "Yes, I would like another beer."
- "Oh look, a guinea-pig!"
- "I'm sorry, is this your boyfriend?"

And the ever helpful phrase:

- "I think that women is an evil witch."

I've been toying with taking up Spanish next year. It's easier than Russian, and Harry speaks it fluently, so he would enjoy being a true hindrance to my learning. I'd hate to deprive him of that.

The main reason is that I'd like to get drunk in Spain, and so far I don't know any Spanish phrases that would get me slapped or mugged. Once I am drunk I'm likely to start reeling off everything I know. This means that the study must be very careful and specific, because I tend to remember things better a) if there's only very few situations in which they could be appropriate, and b) if they sound hilarious.

Perhaps I should just speak very slowly and loudly in English regardless of the country I find myself drinking in.

Sunday, March 15, 2009


My friends' visit this weekend went off with only one hitch, and it wasn't my fault. They got on the wrong train and showed up two hours late. It should really have been expected. Nice girls, but not to be trusted in navigation.

On Friday before they showed up I got a call from my mother. Having updated me on stuff going on at home she told me that she had a present for me that she was going to send up with Jenny and Hannah. She refused to say what it was, hinting only that it wasn't pink or fluffy. Though she also said that she was quite excited about sending it and that she thought I'd like it.

By the time the girls showed up I had forgotten all about this, terrified that they'd get it wrong again and end up in Northern Scotland. A place in which they surely could never have survived. We got back to the flat, they had a wander round, enjoying the opportunity to be nosy. We drank hot chocolate and gossiped and shared rumors that were only occasionally true, but which we will now spread as indisputable fact.

Then Jenny remembered and said, "Oh, your mum wanted me to give you something. I think it's a lump of meat."

Turned out to be a pork joint. Admittedly not pink and fluffy. Admittedly I liked it (roast dinner for the win). However, even with those clues, I would never have guessed.

The fact that this is not a normal thing to do is completely lost on my mother. This women brought me up. My continued ability to function semi-well is one of society's great unsolved mysteries.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009


I've made a lot of mistakes. Cutting my hair to an ultra-short bob was a mistake. Blue eyeliner was a mistake. Lots of my ex boyfriends were mistakes. Thinking my best friend couldn't get me drunk on three shots was a mistake.

It seems I have not learned from my mistakes.

I've made two new ones recently.

1. I've told my father he should blog. While I was home a while back he showed me an email he apparently sent to a couple of friends at work. Apparently it developed into a chain email because it's full of in-jokes about the job, which were naturally lost on me.

He got into trouble for it, but wants to write more stuff. I have no idea if he'll go through with the blog, but I told him it'd probably be a better plan then sending more emails.

It has now occurred to me that he had a hand in raising me. He knew me as a child, and as a teenager. He has access to photos of me... pre-braces. I'm sure he'll remember that I was always a delightful kid, and never did a single thing wrong. That I was never stroppy or bitchy or difficult, because I understand how hard parenting must be.

2. I've invited my two best friends Jenny and Hannah (whom I'll be referring to as Jennizzle and Hannelore) to join me for a night out in Glasgow on Saturday. Do not expect me to remember any text messages I might send you. In fact, don't expect me to remember if I bumped into you in person.

Jennizzle can get me hammered on three shots. I might as well give up the fight right now.

Saturday, March 07, 2009

Nice and Clean

OCD comes in bursts. I'm not generally obsessive compulsive, apart from the odd tendency, the most obvious example being that I have to eat my food in the right order. It's impossible to know what that order will be until I am presented with the food, but it's very important anyway.

Today I spent five hours cleaning my kitchen. This may seem like typical OCD behaviour, but it's actually much more complicated than that. I do not often spend more than half an hour cleaning anything. This was sparked by an experience that I might never truly recover from.

About a month ago, my flatmate Gav accidentally pulled down one of the curtains in the kitchen. We tend not to close them anyway, so it wasn't a big deal. Today though, I decided it was about time someone put it back up. It had been left on the floor, and I picked it up to work out how I could do this. It was a little damp, but I figured there was no reason why it shouldn't be clean, and that it would dry when it was hanging in front of the window again.

I went to get the step ladders. I put them up. I gave them a push, and instantly decided that I was far to important to actually put any weight on them, and that I would wait until one of the boys came home. I decided to wash the curtain, just in case.

At this point I noticed that the floor where the curtain had been was a bit dusty-looking and could probably use cleaning. I moved the table out of the way to get a closer look. At this point the worst thing that's happened to me all week occurred.

I found an exoskeleton.

From some kind of bug.

With lots of legs.

I wretched. Then I cleaned for five hours. Muttering "nothing crawls in my kitchen," under my breath.

Wednesday, March 04, 2009


Don't have much time for a post, supposed to be studying for physics tomorrow, decided to take the day off to do so, and as such I can't really justify wasting too much time blogging.

Oh, and I've just caught myself half-way through making a cup of tea. Supposed to have given it up for lent, seems I am on auto-pilot. At least it's only the first time I've slipped up... as far as I know.

OK, that's a bit too weird. On with the mini update:
- I've unwittingly been making tea.
- Insomnia seems to be just about gone, but somehow I'm still very tired, must be because I'm working so hard.
- When looking through some note last night, I noticed that I'd managed to spell "therefore" as "theirfore." I set the notes on fire. No one will ever find out (except anyone who reads this).
- I am definitely not loosing it, not even a little bit.

Oh, and a couple of my friends have started writing blogs too. I have to assume I inspired them, that or they realised that if I was already writing one, I couldn't take the piss out of them for doing so. If I was mean I'd say they were just copying me, but because I am lovely, I have put links to their blogs in the new link section (scroll down, it's on the right somewhere). Imitation is the greatest form of flattery, and flattery will get you everywhere.*

If you write a blog and you suspect that a) It's not an entirely awful read, and b) I don't hate you, let me know and if you're right I'll link it. Of course, if I don't link it, you'll have to spend the rest of your life wondering which reason it is. Up to you to decide if it's really worth the risk.

*Unless you try to flatter me by buying the same shoes/clothes/bags. In which case it won't get you anywhere you actually want to be.