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.

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.

Languages

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.

Present

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.

Mistakes

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.

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.

Flattery

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.

Parcel Wars

I ordered a case of wine from nakedwines.com because I got a voucher sent to me, and it seemed like a pretty good deal. Especially since they said that the would definitely deliver it the next day, and if I wasn't in they'd leave it somewhere safe. This seemed like an even better deal because they also mentioned that should it get stolen, they'd replace it for free.

I'm sure I don't need to tell you what my cunning plan was. It was very cunning, but very simple, and in its' simplicity lay its' beauty.

Anyway, I got back and found a card from Parcel Force saying they'd left the wine with a neighbour. The card also said

"(BOX OF WINE) Untouched! NONE BROKE ON DELIVERY."

Now, I don't know if my Parcel Force Guy (PFG) doesn't trust my neighbour, or if he doesn't trust me and thought I might try to run some kind of scam to get more wine (as if!) Or perhaps he's just feeling guilty for smashing a whole case last time he made a delivery, and wants someone to notice his skills are improving.

It could be any of those things. Just in case it's the last one, I'd like to say this:

Thank you PFG. You bring my deliveries on time and in tact. You successfully leave them somewhere safe, and tell me where that somewhere is. You never break any of my things or try to lie to me. For this I truly appreciate you.

Would you be interested in taking part in an epic battle with The Postman? (I assume he is your arch nemesis).

Tweeze

I had a meeting yesterday with the staff student committee. I am the student representative for ExCos, which is a dumbed down version of astronomy. I was not forced to take the post, I volunteered. I did this because I really care about the other students who take it, they can't speak for themselves, most of them are art students, they communicate through clicks and whistles. This would not be understood at the meeting.

I also did it because I'd like to give something back to the University. It has nothing to do with wanting to add stuff to my CV whenever possible.

I sat next to the chairman, I don't know his name, but he seems like a nice enough man. I think he used to be very ginger, there's still some ginger in his beard. After noticing this I realised that he had more facial hair coverage than any other man I've ever seen. I don't mean that he had the biggest beard I've ever seen, I've been to metal gigs, it would be a ridiculous claim. Rather, a greater proportion of his face had hair growing out of it, most of which he presumably shaved off. He had hair growing on his earlobes. Seriously.

It occurred to me that one of the worst things that could happen to a guy would be getting really hairy when you're really old. I mean, shaving must suck as it is, but hair on your ears? Like some kind of rodent? Totally not up for that. You know what though? It'd be easy enough to solve. Maybe I've got the odd OCD-like tendency, but I know where the nearest three pairs of tweezers are, and they're all within reaching distance.

Yes. Three pairs of tweezers is the optimum number. What if you suddenly realised your eyebrows were the wrong shape and there wasn't a pair in your handbag? What if it was dark? Definitely need the ones with the light. What if you needed false eye-lashes? You just going to try to glue them on with your fingers? I know I wouldn't put glue anywhere near my eyes unless I had my needle-nosed tweezers to do it.

The hairy old chairman would look amazing with false eyelashes. At least in that I would be amazed.

Nature vs Nurture

I was thinking about my childhood, and I reckon there's a chance I was groomed for academia. It surprises me, because when I was in high-school I asked my parents if they'd ever had any thoughts on what career they I'd eventually have, or what they'd like me to have, and they said no, and I thought no more about it.

I now have reason to believe that they lied to me. This is not unusual, if you look back on your life you discover that as a child people lied to you constantly. Incidentally they simultaneously try to teach you that lying is wrong. No generation to date has been successful in passing the virtue of unwavering truthfulness onto the next.

Anyway, it was thinking about the differences between my sister and I that lead me to this conclusion. We're a lot a like, both in general personality and appearance, though she's smaller than me and tends to die her hair red these days. Our parents claim to have tried to treat us both the same as they were raising us, and in the respect that they spent equal amounts of money and time on each of us both, they're claim is valid.

However, I'm on my way to becoming a physicist and she's on her way to becoming a photographer. I was always the academic one, and she was always artsy. I reckon its got a lot to do with the season in which we were born. I'm January, she's August. So when it came to birthdays she'd get a swing-set, or a sand pit, or a trampoline. I tended to get microscopes (yes, plural), chemistry sets and electronics sets to play with.

One year Steph got a Barbie and a "Make your own lipgloss kit" for Christmas. The same year there was two dictionaries amongst my gifts. An OED for students and a "Dictionary of Difficult words." No wonder I didn't mix well with my peers. I'd ask for a remote controlled car and get a book called "My First 100 Science Experiments." I didn't even know Fisher Price did such a thing!

And yet, as a child I never noticed. I pointed out the unfairness that I never got anything as cool as a trampoline, and was told I could always use Steph's and that it was only because you couldn't use trampolines in Winter. It made sense. So I absorbed all of it. The interactive encyclopedias, the 1000 piece world map jigsaws, all the books I could get my hands on. Lessons disguised as toys.

When I was home at Christmas last year, my Dad looked at a pile of my notes. He called me over and asked me to explain what they meant. It was some basic stuff on the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle. I did my best, but the conversation ended like this:

Dad: Let me get this straight, not only are you doing maths when you should be doing physics, you're doing it with letters instead of numbers, and the letters are in Greek?
Me: Yes.
Dad. WTF?

Serves him right. I'm still bitter about that trampoline.

Uh-oh

Alright, my last blog apparently left me open for attack. At least judging by the complaints this morning. Martin was the most hurt I think, because I gave him grief for buying an ipod a while ago. Poor ickle Martin.

You might have guessed, this is not an apology. I'm bad at apologies. They always start off well, but they tend to end badly. An example of me apologising might go like this.

"I know I upset you the other day when I called you a fucktard, and I probably shouldn't have. Not that I'm wrong though, you are a fucktard, it's just that I didn't expect you to be sad when I pointed it out. Actually, the fact that it bothered you at all leads me to believe that you're an even worse individual than I at first anticipated. So yeah, sorry. Not for what I said, but that you have to live with that."

See the problem? Frankly it's amazing that I have any friends at all. Perhaps it's because I avoid making friends with fucktards, so that kind of thing doesn't happen often.

Aaaaaanyway. I have a statement to make:

I have never bought an Apple product. The shuffle I own was a free gift. I refuse to use it for anything other than audio books, and I absolutely will never download anything from itunes. I have been debating getting an iphone, but simply because I'd quite like a nice phone that I can get online with, there are alternatives, and considering that I can't afford a new phone at all yet, by the time I can, I will have done my research well enough to choose something better.

Apple is probably evil. Microsoft probably is too. I don't know how to use Linux. I hope this goes some way to absolving me.

(Martin still shouldn't have bought his ipod though. Pretty silly thing to do. What? I'm just saying).

Unconventional

I have another confession to make that might surprise you. I own an ipod shuffle.

I'm not a fan of Apple in general. My shuffle was free when I signed up for an offer for something I actually wanted. I didn't know there was a shuffle in it for me when I signed up, but then they sent me one.

I actually use it. It's only 2Gb(at least that's what it claims), it's nice and small, so it fits even in girly jeans pockets*. It's also kind of cute, in a clinical kind of way. Silver and white is a pretty unoffensive colour scheme so long as it's not on a car.

I do not have it set to "shuffle." It amused me that I could turn that function off, effectively removing what is apparently it's 2nd biggest selling point. Only apple could market a piece of technology as being especially good for doing something that every other piece of similar technology on the market can already do perfectly well.

Nor do I have any music on it. This removes it's 1st biggest selling point. Apple are actually quite good at selling mp3-players, and nobody is really surprised about that anymore. If only because it's old news.

There are five files on my shuffle:
1. Rapid Russian: A course for Beginners
2. Catch 22 (Unabridged)
3. Gulliver's Travels (Unabridged)
4. Labyrinth (Unabridged)
5. The Feynman Lectures on Physics (Volume 1)

These are audio books.

The fact is, I like using things for interesting purposes if I find out that I can. My shuffle holds my audio books. I listen to MP3s with my phone. I connect to my network with my DS, which I also now use as a synthesizer (but rarely play games on, that's the phone again).

One day, I'll be able to do all of those things on one piece of technology. Chances are I can already, if I'm willing to pay the price. The fact is, if ever someone puts synthesizer software on my phone, I'll use it for that. I'll get two cans and a length of string for when I want to call people.

*Guys, you do not appreciate your jeans pockets enough. You can get phone, wallet and keys, possibly also mp3-player in two pockets sometimes, that's incredible. If I've got my phone in my pocket, that pocket is completely full, even now I've got my nice phone back.

Slander

Due to some of my recent actions, my flatmate is trying to convince people that I am an engineering student. It's because he's very bitter that he could never study a real science. Do not believe him, he will tell you that I failed an exam, so I've decided to start again with first year engineering, he'll tell you I'm very embarrassed about this, he might even be convincing.

Do not believe him. Frankly, I'd rather stoop to biology than engineering, hell, I'd rather do Earth science (I wonder how many people I can alienate with one blog post?) God knows that could never happen.

Watch out also for him telling you that he's studying medicine. He isn't, it's nursing. Nothing to be ashamed of, we're not living in the 1950s, if we can have policewomen we can have male nurses (though honestly, I'm not sure what we'd need them for). I suppose it just goes to show that you shouldn't believe everything you hear (or read).

Harry, you may consider yourself owned.

Refuse Collection Individual

Firstly, I've had a complaint. Apparently Fi is not a robot. To this I'd like to say "oh yes she is." Sorry Fi, but it does seem likely.

This morning I awoke early. I've been trying it out every couple of days, I'm not sure if I like it or not yet, but it does help my concentration in lectures if I've already been awake for two hours. Normally I get up forty minutes before my first lecture and stumble about the flat getting ready, but not waking up until I leave the building. This has produced odd situations in the past.

If I'm going to wake up early I have to give myself an incentive. Things like; "You can get some work done before you even get to uni!" don't seem work. It has to be more along the lines of, "just think how many times you can get changed before you finally settle on an outfit, you might not even be bored of it by lunch!"

Today, my incentive was that I'd ordered something cute from asos.com a couple of days ago, so it should be about time it arrived. I don't trust my postman, and I reckon he might knock extra quietly, so I don't hear him and he can leave a "Sorry you were out" form instead of having to carry a parcel upstairs. I planned to catch him if he tried it.

A quiet tap at the door came at around 10am. I dashed to the door to open it before postie could get away, and readied my accusing look. I yanked the door open angrily. Standing there, wearing an expression of surprise and fatigue was what I am now calling a "refuse collection individual," simply because I'm certain that "Bin man" is not PC, and I don't know what is. Also, I feel bad for giving him my accusing glance, it's not his fault my parcel isn't here.

He told me our buzzer isn't working (which I knew, and I've been trying to get our landlord to fix it for some time, but he always fobs me off saying he needs to speak to all the other landlords that own flats in our building). He explained that this was why our bins haven't been collected for some time, and asked for my landlord's number.

This is all very well and good. I'm pleased that the refuse collection individual will call my landlord for me, and that the buzzer will be fixed, and that the rubbish will be taken away. Now I won't have to persuade someone else to take the rubbish downstairs so that I don't get eaten by a giant rat. On the other hand, I was going to use the rats to dispose of the postman's body, and I still don't have my parcel.

Postman... postman... Post delivery personnel? Physical communications manager? Git?

Pink

It was my birthday a couple of weeks ago, and I was very grateful for all of my gifts (even the ferrero rocher from Worby, that I reckon he probably picked up at a service station on the way in. They taste the same wherever you buy them from. They taste good).

I am going home at the weekend, since my parents didn't see me at my birthday, and want to see me now. I don't trust my postman, and its best not to ask why, because the rant's a long one. Anyway, they agreed to give gifts when I came home, though that's actually by the by.

As well as the FR from Worby (bless him) Nick's parents gave me a Thorntons box. I've always felt that being fat wouldn't suit me, my ankles couldn't take it, so I put both boxes of chocolates in the kitchen so my flat mates could have some. They did, though I suspect only out of the goodness of their hearts and concern for my delicate ankles.

I like chocolate. I know some people claim that they don't, but they are lying/robots. I thought I liked all kinds, even that 80% cocoa mass stuff, that people claim is too dark, I think it's perfect. I like white chocolate too, and all the weird flavours green & blacks do, though I've never been brave enough to try the chili one, I have put cocoa in chilies, and it works.

I have one question: What the hell do they put in the pink goo in the centre of the chocolates that are suppose to taste like strawberries? Seriously? They taste like cancer. Gone are the days when I could take a chocolate without looking at the "menu card" on the box, claiming that it doesn't matter because "I like them all". Now I have to carefully try to dodge the nasties, ideally without anyone noticing, the last thing I need is people thinking I'm fussy about chocolate, or they might stop giving me it.

Caffeine

I am a tea drinker. I enjoy coffee, but it makes the buzzing in my head a little too loud. Shortly after a cup of coffee I need a glass of red wine just to even things out.

It also makes me talk too quickly. I already speak too quickly for some people, I put this down to them thinking too slowly, but really, who am I to judge? It seems a fair assumption, but I haven't actually done any tests yet. Either way, it's very inconsiderate of me to drink coffee if there's a chance I'll have to speak with someone who can't keep up in the next hour.

Caffeine pills are even worse. I took a couple last Summer because I was tired and needed to work. I'd had a cup of tea and it had only made me feel warm. I had a coffee (with vanilla in it, can't drink it without) and it had only made me feel warmer. I had a couple of pro-plus. Ten minutes later my heartbeat matched the bass on whichever Chemical Brothers song I chose to play.

Amusing, but also kind of scary. I was too on edge to work and instead cleaned the whole flat and cataloged my DVDs. It's a mistake I won't make again, I prefer my DVDs messy and random, the good ones stand out better that way.

Today I stopped in Starbucks for a mocha. I refuse to use their sizing system, and ordered a "small." The girl said, "you mean tall?" I said, "No."

Fortunately she took the hint, or I would've had to point out that she was being pedantic about a pseudo-Italian sizing system in an ugly Glaswegian accent. That would have been mean. I'm not allowed to be mean to people in Starbucks because of the Incident.

The coffee was good, but after it I couldn't concentrate. I was trying to buy silver shoes, but I couldn't focus. I saw nothing I wanted. At first I was inclined to put this down to some kind of horrible depression, but then I realised it was just the caffeine confusing me.

I'll never drink coffee again.

Interestingly, you apparently need 12 cups of tea before you start hallucinating. I'm up for trying that out, but I need volunteers to make sure I don't try to slice my veins out of my arms, or take flight out of my window. Anyone? Anyone at all?

Motivation

I am an easily entertained person. The sort of person who notices shiny things before anyone else notices (that or no one cares about shiny things as much as I do). I am also easily distracted, though if all possibility of shoe shopping is removed from a situation my attention span can be formidable.

I should point out that a) this has never happened, and b) shoe shopping is the exception that proves the rule. I have to shop alone, no one I know has the stamina.

Naturally this means I have a talent for procrastination. I've mentioned it before, so you know I really mean it. This combined with my limitless creativity means that I can always find something more interesting to do than the task at hand. Even if that task is my maths homework four hours before the tutorial. Actually, that's an easy one, my tutorials are at 10am, the best thing to do at 6am is sleep.

People confuse this with a lack of motivation. I disagree, I have too much motivation, which is why I want to do so many things that aren't my maths homework. Surely this is the kind of wonderful logic that brought me to the sciences in the first place?

I was discussing my lack of work with Euan, and he said that the carrot method doesn't work for me because I can always find a better carrot. This is true, but he's misspelling it. Instead, he thinks someone has to be a bastard to me until I get some work done. He has volunteered, because he's thoughtful like that.

Today however I have found myself full of motivation. You'd think it was because of exam result if you didn't know that I haven't been given them yet. You'd think it's because of my super-intelligent new tutor if you didn't know I actually find her a little intimidating. You'd think it's because I've just turned 20 and I'm afraid of wasting my life if you didn't know... me.

The fact is I've no idea why it's occurred. I think it might have something to do with a certain 2nd-hand book shop, but that's because that's all I can remember from my dreams last night. If I work out what's causing it, I'm going to distill it, bottle it and sell it to large companies. I'll make millions. Watch this space.

It's My Party

And I don't really feel like crying. Suddenly I'm 20, this didn't really sink in until I noticed that it changed automatically on my Last.fm profile. It's alright though, don't feel old yet, I happen to be the youngest of my flatmates, which helps a bit :-)

I've had plenty of birthday facebook messages too, which is nice. They tend to run along the lines of "Happy Birthday Becky! Have a great day! xxx"
But my sister's just says
"You're old."

I love my sister. She can't borrow any money for her Paris trip.

I've been OCD-ishly cleaning the flat. It's delightful, look, I even made a graph:

5 Things I'll Never Understand

1. Footless tights.

You're wearing tights because otherwise your legs will be cold, yet you somehow think that your feet won't be? I only realized you could buy these about three years ago, I couldn't figure out why, but I bought a couple of pairs anyway, just to see if there was something everyone knew and that I didn't. My feet got cold.
I guess maybe they're to attract foot-fetishists without looking too slutty.


2. Bloody Mary's

Generally speaking this is an early morning drink, or a hangover drink. It's got vodka in it. Now, as I've mentioned before, I don't do hangovers, but one the two occasions when I have, the thought of more booze has only made me feel worse. I do do breakfast, and at breakfast time, vodka seems not actually repulsive, but definitely bad. Vodka with your cereal is a bit much really.

Also, if you're going to ignore the above and decide that it's just a cocktail (which I guess is valid) then that's fine. Until you read the ingredients list; vodka, tomato juice, Tabasco sauce, Worcestershire sauce, black pepper, celery stick garnish. Some people will tell you to add horseradish. Could someone please try to explain to me why you'd want to drink that? It's spicy!


3. Wave-particle Duality.

I can relay explanations parrot-fashion. I can take some numbers, put them into the right equations and come out with answers that are somehow "correct." I can not work out how matter/light can technically be described as two things at once, and that it knows which one to be when you're dealing with it in a certain way.


4. International Obsession with Dan Brown Novels.

You'd think the vast majority of people didn't read real books at all. I admit to having read "Deception Point." It was ok. Not amazing, not eye-opening, not worthy of awards, just ok. I guess people never get bored of conspiracy theories. But they should, they really, really should.


5. Crotch-Topiary.

Just... No. There's no words left. Please, for the love of whatever you happen love the most (unless what you love the most is shaping your pubic hair), get a hobby. Or, just don't talk to me about it. Or in fact ever. That'd be great. Thanks.

Daiquiris

There was some very good white rum left in the fridge.

There was four limes in the fruit bowl.

There was a bottle of cointreau I'd opened to add a little to this week's cake, even though I'd sworn not to open any of the party booze until the party.

There was one metric fuckload of ice in the freezer.

Now there are only headaches.

Although, thankfully I am fine as usual*. People keep warning me that this will change, I refuse to believe them. I've had hangovers before. I didn't like the first one, and a few months later I had another, just to be sure. That one wasn't fun either, so these days, I just skip them, in spite of how many people choose to have them on a regular basis. I will not be swayed by popular choice, I will stay hangover free (though not always clear headed, I am after all still going to get very drunk).

My mother seems to deal with drinking in the same way. She's the only women I know who can out-drink me and still feel fine in the morning. Clearly I have inherited her metabolism, allowing me to drink all I want, and with will-power alone feel great the next day.

Perhaps this is evolution in practice. People need to get drunk, but they also need to not get ill. Those who are capable of processing alcohol in such a way as to get drunk cheaply and not get ill are "the fittest" and can pass their genetic material onto the next generation because they'll never choke to death on their own vomit, or end up in hospital having cracked their head on the toilet seat.

Eventually the human race will be able to process all kind of interesting drugs - enjoying the good effects, skipping the bad ones. Maybe it works like bacteria; if you expose a petri-dish of bacteria to penicillin, eventually some of them will learn to process it harmlessly. If you expose heroin addicts to heroin, eventually they'll enjoy it without addiction or harm. Of course, it'll take longer for the heroin addicts, because they're slightly more complex creatures. Many of them will die in horrible ways - but in the name of science, surely it's worth it?

*Daiquiris are delicious. I'll have to buy rum after I've bought everything else, or I'll end up drinking all the party booze with my flat-mates well before I throw the party.

PS. Sorry for not writing for a week, it wasn't out of being too lazy or too busy, it's just that I don't want to write if I have nothing to say. Fortunately though, now I do - the value of what I have to say is, as always, up for debate.