I am actually the most disgracefully disloyal member of the blogging world. Ever. I promise myself that I'll write in it every few weeks or so, but then I know that I'll have too much to write so I just avoid it completely, thus escalating the amount I have to write.
I honestly don't know where to start, because I feel that the past few months of my life have perhaps been the most significant months of my life.
Obviously one major difference in my life is that I no longer-well, for at least half the year-live in Northern Ireland. In all honesty, I would never have imagined that I would grow to love Durham so much; to the extent that I now think of it as like a second home. I went home for the weekend there, and though going home made me miss some of my home comforts, as well as all the people I love , part of me was still super-excited about the prospect of going back to my little room in Collingwood. And when I got back, I realised just how settled I feel here.
I am rarely homesick, lonely or bored here and I think that makes all the difference. Having good friends to talk to when you do feel just an inch of homesickness kind of takes it away again.
I think the fact that I always have stuff to do here makes it practically impossible to miss home all the time. Don't get me wrong, there have been times where I've looked at old photos on my wall or saw something that reminded me of home and I've started to get a little teary, but I think that's only natural.
Anyway, I love life here in Durham. Whether I'm having a night in watching a dvd with the girls or I'm out bopping away in love shack, I'm always having a good time, thank flipping goodness. I had been a bit worried that I wouldn't really like Durham and I'd end up having to transfer to Queens or something. Fortunately I'm certain I made the right decision in coming here.
Apart from the fact I have moved to another country, another major change has occured in my life-I broke up with my boyfriend. You may say, 'well that was bound to happen because you moved to another country', but to be quite honest, I didn't all at. You may also think that after a four month relationship, my life wouldnt be that much different. But it is- no matter how hard I try to move on and pretend I am completely content, I know that I am not and that I won't be for a good while. They say that time is a great healer though, and me being away in Durham will make it easier because we won't have to see each other every day.
When you're completely in love with someone, then suddenly your life changes and then everything changes between you both, you always wonder whether things would have been different if that change of lifestyle had not taken place. But that is something which I will probably never know and so I know that there isn't much point in thinking about it- it will probably just eat me up inside forever.
It is still very early days, and so I am at that stage that everyone probably starts at- you look around your room, you listen to your itunes and every item and every song reminds you of that person... you almost feel like you'd have to lock yourself in an empty room to escape that feeling of nostalgia and wanting to go back to how things were before. But this is now, not before, and I need to keep telling myself that. You can't recreate the past.
On the other hand, I know that out of every negative thing, something good will arise. Everything-cheesy as it sounds- happens for a reason, and that's what I keep telling myself right now. Because even though I don't quite understand why things are the way they are currently, there will be a point in my life where I recognise the purpose of this event in my life.
Kanye West( the blasphemous pig...though a good rapper) even said 'can only make me stronger'-right before saying something about a blonde dyke, I know, but he did say it nontheless lol; and it was a very wise thing to say.
So, I know I am inevitably going to be broken hearted for quite some time, but God promises good things to us, and I am just clinging on to that fact. If things could have been different, flip, i would have loved them to be, but rectifying a situation that probably isn't fixable when you're in another country is beyond possiblity, as much as I want to believe it isn't.
Anyway, that is my life at the minute. As you can see, it's a mixture of good and bad things, but all I can do is take the bad things on board and learn from them.
I'm away now to buy a dress for some bop thing tonight- i don't even have the money, but then again, I have nothing to wear, so I'd prefer to spend money than go in my birthday suit.
Until next time....
ciao!
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Sunday, September 07, 2008
New places, new things...
It is monday the 8th of September and I am sitting on my computer without the slightest amount of guilt about not having done my homework for first period this morning. Knowing that I don't have to shuffle awkwardly down Victoria Road, when the clouds are emitting buckets of rain, with an inside-out umbrella fills me with much more contentment than upset.
I was driving by BHS last week on my way to town and I must admit that seeing a flock of navy-blazered, awkward-looking first years, wearing their grey socks up to their knees because they haven't yet realized noone wears them, made me feel slightly nostalgic. But that feeling of wanting to go 'aww' is definitely abrogated by the fact that I have a whole month ahead of me of doing nothing...which brings me to...University.
I was driving by BHS last week on my way to town and I must admit that seeing a flock of navy-blazered, awkward-looking first years, wearing their grey socks up to their knees because they haven't yet realized noone wears them, made me feel slightly nostalgic. But that feeling of wanting to go 'aww' is definitely abrogated by the fact that I have a whole month ahead of me of doing nothing...which brings me to...University.
Okay, so, as always, I underestimated my own intelligence and managed not to come out with any Es or Fs, praise the lord. That, of course, means that I am now a full-fledged student of Durham University. Spiffing, darling. Freshers week begins on the 5th of October, therefore I have almost a whole month of pre-uni preparation. I know for a fact that I am going to forget something majorly important like warm clothes, my ipod or my laptop. Please let me, even if it the only time I ever am in my whole life, be organised this time.
I'm thinking of my going away to Uni as a sort of holiday, as opposed to 'moving out.' If I thought of it as moving out, I'd quite possibly burst into floods of tears and not want to leave. In reality, I'll be in Northern Ireland for as much of the year as I'll be in Durham, so I'll really belong to both places, though Northern Ireland will always be home for me.
It's pretty strange; I thought that when it came to a month before going away, the idea of leaving would practically be consuming me, but it isn't. Don't get me wrong, it isn't that I haven't been thinking about it at all, it's just that it's all a bit surreal and so I haven't stopped, taken a breath and thought 'I'm actually going away. Crap.' I'm pretty excited about what things God has in store for me in Durham though. I've done my research, and plan to go to King's Church to see what it's like. It seems very studenty, so I figure I could make some good christian friends there-something that's pretty essential I think. I don't want to be the only fresher in Collingwood that isn't on a constant barcrawl, isn't taken by the idea that clubbing=life and doesn't want to have a one-night stand every night of the week.
Anyway, I just wanted to update with a quick pre-uni blog, because, most likely, my next post will be a few days before I go. Ahhhhhh. *Terror*.
It is almost half past one, and I am still in my pjs, so I better go.
Ciao!
Thursday, August 07, 2008
"You're a falling star, You're the get away car. You're the line in the sand when I go too far."
Good old Michael Bublé, Sarah's husband, according to the keyring I bought her.
I am shocked, appalled, disgusted, astounded, and any other word that the thesaurus would come up with for that feeling, at the fact that I have not written in this lovely blog since the 12th of July. Though I do deserve mild punishment, the fact that I haven't been spending all my time on the internet is undoubtedly a very good thing.
Since my last epic tale, I've been generally day-tripping around Northern Ireland and visiting, ashamedly for the first time ever,the rinkha in Whitehead- apparently it's a local landmark. I'm not going to make myself feel guilty about it though, because whether it is well known or not, not seeing it will never compare to being a Giant's Causeway virgin for 18 years of my life. Thank goodness I have actually been there now- I'd hate my Uni friends to know more about my country than I do. Speaking of Uni, it is exactly one week to results day. Everytime someone utters the 'r' word, my poor wee heart wants to jump out of my chest.
The thought of not getting in to Durham is just too scary and even though it's likely that i haven't failed every module of every subject, there is still that worry of 'oh crap, what if I majorly messed up?'. Since this current topic of conversation is pushing me towards hyperventilation, I think I'll shut up. *Exhales.*
Anyway, we went to Castlewellan yesterday. Sorry, I should probably elaborate on my vague term 'we'- I am referring to me, Nicki ( who was driving), Heather and Phil. We arrived in Castlewellan at about 4, decided to walk around the lake for a while, then in a very rebellious fashion, very furtively made our way into the Castle for a mauds sans armbands. I know- we could have been arrested. Then, being the cultured people we are, we went to the chippy and sat on a beach eating our fried goods and simultaneously dodging a swarm of wasps. Eugh, wasps.
After that exciting event, we went back to Castlewellan and headed for the evening worship, which turned out to be a bit disastrous- we ended up going to the oldies one instead of the youth one, needless to say it was pretty snoreworthy. We listened to a woman talk about a mission trip,to Toga, which worryingly lacked anything about God, for what seemed like a century and then sang a few songs, which was a bit less 'i want to shoot myself in the head.'
At about 10.30pm, we made a very wise decision to leave Castlewellan and head home. My reason for using the term 'very wise' is due mainly to the fact that the fog was so thick that night, you could barely see ten feet in front of you. The level of sheer blindness was somewhat comparable to when I'm not wearing my glasses and I mistake inanimate objects for dogs and sometimes humans.
In other news, I am no longer single. That's right. You heard me. To be honest, I never really intended on getting a boyfriend right before going to Uni because I didn't think it would be ideal. But now, I think my views on the whole situation have changed. The amount of times I have complained about being single is probably a number I can't even count to( i.e. above ten, haha!) and also I feel like Jonny is just a direct answer to prayer. That I didn't even know him a month ago is the weirdest feeling, because I really do feel like I have known him forever ( bring out the cheese grater, I know.) For me, people and situations like that don't come along too often, and so I've come to the conclusion that not allowing God's will to happen would be like slapping him in the face and saying 'thank you for this amazing person and everything, God, but eh, I don't want your blessing.' Sort of like taking a birthday present back to a shop and refunding it.
I just feel extremely grateful that God has blessed me with such a lovely boyfriend who completely gets me- because, let's face it, I am a rather opinionated soul.
Since I am getting a bit tired, and will probably reach a weird stage of delirium soon, I think I'll go. Before I go, I'll leave you with a wee poem I decided to write last week. I was bored, and I just thought, ' I think I'll write a spiritual poem.' This was the outcome:
You envelop the darkness,
It cannot escape your radiance.
You illuminate the stars in Heaven,
They bow down and dance
Before you.
You are alpha and omega,
The earth is clenched in your hand.
Even the gittering water falls,
Cannot understand
Your splendour.
Your love surpasses reason,
It will never judge nor cease.
The Great I Am, the Three-In-One,
The Prince of Peace
You are.
You designed us in your image,
Our breath is for your glory.
Your death and resurrection is
The greatest story
Ever told.
You are promise, hope and joy,
We rejoice in divine romance.
You illuminate the stars in Heaven,
They bow down and dance
Before you.
I am shocked, appalled, disgusted, astounded, and any other word that the thesaurus would come up with for that feeling, at the fact that I have not written in this lovely blog since the 12th of July. Though I do deserve mild punishment, the fact that I haven't been spending all my time on the internet is undoubtedly a very good thing.
Since my last epic tale, I've been generally day-tripping around Northern Ireland and visiting, ashamedly for the first time ever,the rinkha in Whitehead- apparently it's a local landmark. I'm not going to make myself feel guilty about it though, because whether it is well known or not, not seeing it will never compare to being a Giant's Causeway virgin for 18 years of my life. Thank goodness I have actually been there now- I'd hate my Uni friends to know more about my country than I do. Speaking of Uni, it is exactly one week to results day. Everytime someone utters the 'r' word, my poor wee heart wants to jump out of my chest.
The thought of not getting in to Durham is just too scary and even though it's likely that i haven't failed every module of every subject, there is still that worry of 'oh crap, what if I majorly messed up?'. Since this current topic of conversation is pushing me towards hyperventilation, I think I'll shut up. *Exhales.*
Anyway, we went to Castlewellan yesterday. Sorry, I should probably elaborate on my vague term 'we'- I am referring to me, Nicki ( who was driving), Heather and Phil. We arrived in Castlewellan at about 4, decided to walk around the lake for a while, then in a very rebellious fashion, very furtively made our way into the Castle for a mauds sans armbands. I know- we could have been arrested. Then, being the cultured people we are, we went to the chippy and sat on a beach eating our fried goods and simultaneously dodging a swarm of wasps. Eugh, wasps.
After that exciting event, we went back to Castlewellan and headed for the evening worship, which turned out to be a bit disastrous- we ended up going to the oldies one instead of the youth one, needless to say it was pretty snoreworthy. We listened to a woman talk about a mission trip,to Toga, which worryingly lacked anything about God, for what seemed like a century and then sang a few songs, which was a bit less 'i want to shoot myself in the head.'
At about 10.30pm, we made a very wise decision to leave Castlewellan and head home. My reason for using the term 'very wise' is due mainly to the fact that the fog was so thick that night, you could barely see ten feet in front of you. The level of sheer blindness was somewhat comparable to when I'm not wearing my glasses and I mistake inanimate objects for dogs and sometimes humans.
In other news, I am no longer single. That's right. You heard me. To be honest, I never really intended on getting a boyfriend right before going to Uni because I didn't think it would be ideal. But now, I think my views on the whole situation have changed. The amount of times I have complained about being single is probably a number I can't even count to( i.e. above ten, haha!) and also I feel like Jonny is just a direct answer to prayer. That I didn't even know him a month ago is the weirdest feeling, because I really do feel like I have known him forever ( bring out the cheese grater, I know.) For me, people and situations like that don't come along too often, and so I've come to the conclusion that not allowing God's will to happen would be like slapping him in the face and saying 'thank you for this amazing person and everything, God, but eh, I don't want your blessing.' Sort of like taking a birthday present back to a shop and refunding it.
I just feel extremely grateful that God has blessed me with such a lovely boyfriend who completely gets me- because, let's face it, I am a rather opinionated soul.
Since I am getting a bit tired, and will probably reach a weird stage of delirium soon, I think I'll go. Before I go, I'll leave you with a wee poem I decided to write last week. I was bored, and I just thought, ' I think I'll write a spiritual poem.' This was the outcome:
You envelop the darkness,
It cannot escape your radiance.
You illuminate the stars in Heaven,
They bow down and dance
Before you.
You are alpha and omega,
The earth is clenched in your hand.
Even the gittering water falls,
Cannot understand
Your splendour.
Your love surpasses reason,
It will never judge nor cease.
The Great I Am, the Three-In-One,
The Prince of Peace
You are.
You designed us in your image,
Our breath is for your glory.
Your death and resurrection is
The greatest story
Ever told.
You are promise, hope and joy,
We rejoice in divine romance.
You illuminate the stars in Heaven,
They bow down and dance
Before you.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Every knee will bow and every tongue confess and the voice of one crying in the wilderness Hallelujah.
In the last blog I wrote, I said that I thought summer madness and the formal would go briliantly. I think it's now fair to say that brilliantly was an understated term to use.
The 2008 Formal is a night that I will never forget. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely loved last year's formal- Sarah did, after all, dance with Miss Hayes to 'Dirrty'. That sort of thing doesn't really go out of your mind very quickly, but minus the hilarity of that situation, I can honestly say that this year's Formal kicked last years' ass.
The limo was as fun as ever, if not more so, because we played our favourite ghetto tune, 'the way i are' as we were approaching the Templeton. Unfortunately the idea that people would turn round and see us driving up to the Hotel was shattered when we discovered we were the first people to arrive. Yes, we arrived before the Teachers. Not even Mrs Gormley was as dedicated to BHS as us- we arrived practically a day beforehand. Scundering.
Because it's 11 o clock ( which, I know isn't that late, but it feels it) and because I'm feeling absolutely exhausted, I am going to try my very hardest to make a condensed account of the formal. So, maybe what I'll just do is tell you my highlight. Yes, that's what I'll do.
Well, this is going to sound rather odd on first glance, but I'll try to explain. My highlight of the formal was probably when the band sang 'superstar' by Love inc and when they sang Journey's 'don't stop believing'. I'd need more than two hands to count the times Sarah and I talked about 'superstar' making us feel nostalgic about leaving school and how much we just love the song. When I saw the band we had chosen for the formal, my heart did sink a little bit because they did not strike me as the type of band who would ever lower themselves to sing songs by 'Love inc'. But, I was wrong. As soon as I heard the words ' reach for the skyyyy', I felt like my upper 6th formal was complete. I could relax in the knowledge that the band sang a song that made me feel sad about leaving school, but in a good, memorable way. My reason for choosing 'don't stop believing' as a highlight of my formal is nothing to do with particularly loving the song, but more with the woman shouting, " Belfast High School, this is your anthem." I always did think it was a good song, but now when I listen to it, it'll always take me back to that moment of dancing with my best friends at my high school formal, when, even though I had blistered toes and a very crampy right foot, I was just so so happy to be there.
I didnt really get a chance to recover from the formal, because the next day, I headed off to Summer Madness, which, by the way, is the name of an event, as opposed to actual madness in the summertime. Just like every year, God showed me so many new things. Everytime I go away to christian events, I can't imagine finding out more about God- it's as if, in my mind, there are limits to his character. But then, in a sort of 'you can't be further from the truth' fashion, God always lets me see more of him. And I am so unbelievably glad that he does, because it just reminds me of the fact that I can become so complacent with my current state of christianity and so happy just to shine a little light, when I could be shining so much more.
The 2008 Formal is a night that I will never forget. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely loved last year's formal- Sarah did, after all, dance with Miss Hayes to 'Dirrty'. That sort of thing doesn't really go out of your mind very quickly, but minus the hilarity of that situation, I can honestly say that this year's Formal kicked last years' ass.
The limo was as fun as ever, if not more so, because we played our favourite ghetto tune, 'the way i are' as we were approaching the Templeton. Unfortunately the idea that people would turn round and see us driving up to the Hotel was shattered when we discovered we were the first people to arrive. Yes, we arrived before the Teachers. Not even Mrs Gormley was as dedicated to BHS as us- we arrived practically a day beforehand. Scundering.
Because it's 11 o clock ( which, I know isn't that late, but it feels it) and because I'm feeling absolutely exhausted, I am going to try my very hardest to make a condensed account of the formal. So, maybe what I'll just do is tell you my highlight. Yes, that's what I'll do.
Well, this is going to sound rather odd on first glance, but I'll try to explain. My highlight of the formal was probably when the band sang 'superstar' by Love inc and when they sang Journey's 'don't stop believing'. I'd need more than two hands to count the times Sarah and I talked about 'superstar' making us feel nostalgic about leaving school and how much we just love the song. When I saw the band we had chosen for the formal, my heart did sink a little bit because they did not strike me as the type of band who would ever lower themselves to sing songs by 'Love inc'. But, I was wrong. As soon as I heard the words ' reach for the skyyyy', I felt like my upper 6th formal was complete. I could relax in the knowledge that the band sang a song that made me feel sad about leaving school, but in a good, memorable way. My reason for choosing 'don't stop believing' as a highlight of my formal is nothing to do with particularly loving the song, but more with the woman shouting, " Belfast High School, this is your anthem." I always did think it was a good song, but now when I listen to it, it'll always take me back to that moment of dancing with my best friends at my high school formal, when, even though I had blistered toes and a very crampy right foot, I was just so so happy to be there.
I didnt really get a chance to recover from the formal, because the next day, I headed off to Summer Madness, which, by the way, is the name of an event, as opposed to actual madness in the summertime. Just like every year, God showed me so many new things. Everytime I go away to christian events, I can't imagine finding out more about God- it's as if, in my mind, there are limits to his character. But then, in a sort of 'you can't be further from the truth' fashion, God always lets me see more of him. And I am so unbelievably glad that he does, because it just reminds me of the fact that I can become so complacent with my current state of christianity and so happy just to shine a little light, when I could be shining so much more.
Thoughout the week, as I went to seminars, morning worship, evening worship, sat about in the gazebo, got rained on a lot and ate a lot of junk food, in the midst of it all, God was so clearly with me. I realized probably for the first time what it really means to be a disciple, I saw just how powerful and awesome God is. The latter of those thing may seem like an obvious thing, but when you've been a christian for a while, your spark fades a bit and you latch onto the 'God is like a friend' idea when, in reality, he isn't like a friend. He is God, the creator of the universe, the alpha and omega...okay, so you can see what I'm getting it. He is amazing. And I think that I had forgotten that fact ever so slightly.
Since Summer Madness, a few of us have started getting together every Friday night for an all-nighter prayer thing. I cannot over emphasize the effect it has had on me. Above all, it has made me see the importance of being accountable to each other, that christians aren't in their journey alone, but together, as children of God. I think it has helped me focus on others a lot more, which is something I see as essential in the whole growing process. If anything, it has simply allowed me to see the power of prayer, which sounds quite obvious and simplistic, but that in itself is something exciting. For me, once you acknowledge how powerful prayer is, you can begin ( even if it is only slightly) to understand the mind of God more.
So, right now, I'm in a pretty great and happy state of mind. There is nothing to be particularly sad about- the sun was shining all day today, I went into Carrick with Nikki last night and saw, perhaps for the first time, how beautiful it really is and how lucky I am to live in it.
Due to the fact that my eyelids are on the verge of closing and that my head is splitting because I've been staring at a computer screen for so long, I will bid you farewell, dear blog.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Morning fields of amber grain, weathered faces lined in pain are soothed beneath the artist's loving hands.
It is supposedly the second day of summer and yet, in true northern ireland fashion, the sky is grey, there is a superfluous amount of rain and my toes feel like they are about to fall off. Fan-tas-tic. I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that the sun does decide to get its vast, glowing ass out sometime during the next week, otherwise I'm going to be swimming or, more accurately, drowning in mud at Summer Madness.
I can't believe it's almost time for the Formal and Summer Madness. I feel like I've been so unprepared and last-minute for this year's Formal- I went into town yesterday in a frenzied hunt for silver shoes and, to my relief, managed to get a pair in new look for 20 quid. Score! I did actually see a pair in Quiz that i really liked as well, which was surprising because I only really went in there as a last resort. I half expected to find lots of pink, sequined stilettos with the playboy bunny logo embroidered on them somewhere, but apparently their shoes are not as tackerific as their clothes. Unfortunately the shoes I liked in Quiz squashed my feet so that it looked like I had three toes and they also made me walk like a person who was suffering from chronic constipation. I think the other shoes were a better bet.
Although my exams have been over for what seems like an eternity, I don't really feel like I've been celebrating being off for the summer. Catherine and I spent all of last week back in school lying on Ms Cochrane's floor, painting breton scenes on wooden boards. Not quite what I had in mind for the start of the summer holidays I'll admit, but when Mrs Weir mentioned that they would pay us for helping out, I was hardly going to refuse. Chances are I would have agreed to help out anyway even if there wasn't going to be a reward at the end of it. On Friday, we went to the UUJ to help out with the breton village day with heads covered in berets and red scarves wrapped around our necks. I sincerely hope that the students didn't think we were really eager linguists, and that they did realize it was part of our duty to dress up as french people. It was actually quite a good day as in it was really well planned out, but my throat was a bit sore at the end of the day from having spoken so much french- even though it was literally the same speech every time: " Bonjour et bienvenue a notre petit gallerie d'art.' Despite its repetition, it was apparently quite challenging and, every time we said it, the kids gave us the same what-the-hell-are-you-on-about stares.
Last week, I went to Glasgow for the day with Catherine. We had to get up at 5 in the morning, which wasn't exactly thrilling, but when we got on the boat and I'd had breakfast, I did revive ever so slightly. Our journey was pretty relaxing because we got a good sitting place, so we were able to look out at the sea. It was a good thing that our view was pretty good, because the noise coming from the group of chavs sitting opposite us wasn't quite as pleasant, in fact it made me want to do a van gogh and chop off my ears. I do always think that chavs are endlessly amusing though, in a 'i feel sorry for you' kind of way. The fact that they were drinking glasses of cheap cider at 7 in the morning says it all.
When we got off the boat, we got on a coach which dropped us right off in Glasgow city centre. Our first stop was the big shopping centre that I cannot remember the name of. We went to Boots to put make-up on because we'd been up for so long and were probably not looking our hottest. Catherine made the mistake of putting on some 'lip injector' lipgloss by Two Faced and then proceeded to scream ' my lips are burning, Mel. Ah. Oh. My lips feel different. What is going on?!' I, being a big sceptic, ignored what she was saying and continued to look at the make-up. A few minutes later, I turned round and thought Pete Burns was standing beside me. They really should have some sort of warning on that 'lipgloss', or rename it 'torture in a tube.'
We spent the majority of our day shopping, hottie-searching ( which unfortunately wasn't a great success, quelle surprise!) and sitting about. One of the highlights of the day was going into Accessorize, confidently stating ' I don't get these hippy headband things everyone is wearing', trying them on for the laugh and then saying, ' well, actually, they look quite good. Let's buy them.' Talk about fickle. Even though we impulsively decided to buy what were essentially pieces of silver string, we did not feel confident enough to pull them off and made a bigger deal about how they should sit than was probably necessary. I think i had good reason to stress, however, as my head is actually the size of a pea, and nothing seems to fit it. Sighs. Is there such a thing as head-enlarging surgery?
Visiting Glasgow's House of Fraser was quite an interesting experience. Those glaswegians cannot stop offering to do your make-up, so we felt like we had to say yes. I ended up sitting down to get my makeup done at The Urban Decay counter because the girl was really gorgeous( not in a lesbian way, but more in a ' i can appreciate your beauty' way) and had good make-up, so I figured, what is there to lose? Well, actually, the colour of my skin was the answer to that question. She started putting on glitter eyeliner on me, which was fine, though slightly worrying as I didn't know what colour it was. So I'm sitting there, thinking to myself, ' oooh, I wonder what make-up she's putting on me..', and then suddenly I feel something sweep across my face that feels like it could be a fricking cloth brush. I tried to comfort myself by imagining she was putting powder on my face, but when I opened my eyes I realized that it wasn't so much powder as tangerine BRONZER. On my face. Me, the girl with skin so pale that the nurse asks if I'm sick everytime I pass her in the corridor. So if you want to look like a bottle of iron brew, go to the counter at Urban Decay. The girl there is really good at that look.
Well, the Formal's this Thursday- I keep having to remind myself of this fact, because I'm worried I'm going to wake up and think ' CRAP. I haven't shaved my legs/ done my fake tan/ anything yet.' I don't think I've really come to terms with this being the last time I'm going to see some people in a long time, or perhaps ever. Instead, I go from day to day thinking, " am I going to look over-dressed? Are my eyeshadows going to bring out the colour of my dress and the colour of my eyes? Are my 'Broadway natural false nails' going to stay on all night?" That made me sound slightly Elle Woods-esque, but really I'm not losing sleep over it or anything. These are all just minor worries fortunately. The real worry is: do I wear a bra or not? Given that my dress doesn't allow any oxygen into my lungs, I figure I should be okay boobs-wise, but there is still that fear that one minute you're dancing away, without a care in the world, and certainly no worries about what the boobs are doing, and the next minute the boobs are out and you don't really know where to put them. I can't face that trauma, and so I very cowardly am going to buy one of those ' stick-on' bras. But then I worry that it will fall off or fall down and then it will look like I have four boobs, which is never, under any circumstances whatsoever, a good look. That reminds me a bit of Chandler and his three nipples. HA.
What else have I being doing except boob-stressing? Um. Well, we didn't manage to get out to Box, so I ended up staying over at Sarah's, drinking Bacardi and mourning single life. I was too mortified to carry the alcohol from the off license to Sarah's car, so I made her do it, so that if Mrs Gormley or someone had have been there, I could have just said, " she's the one with the blue bag, not me." Nicki had a barbecue( you know, with burgers and sausages etc. I thought I'd reinforce what it was because I don't think I can spell the word) on Friday night, which was great banter, though I discovered that syllabically is the adverb from syllable, not 'syllabililalically' as I seemed to think.
That's all for now. I'll let you know how summer madness and the formal go. I imagine brilliantly.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
"My heavy heart sinks deep down under you and your twisted words, your help just hurts."
The sun is shining, temperatures have finally reached double figures and, most importantly, my A levels are over forever. Though I'm obviously ecstatic about the latter fact, I can't help but feel that they went in a bit too quickly. When I got my exam timetable ( which, by the way, I lost after two weeks) a week between two exams seemed like forever. Let me tell you something: it flipping well wasn't. I had barely started revising and then it was like, oh right, I have an exam tomorrow. Brilliant.
I know that you aren't meant to reflect on how you think your exams have went once they're over but let's be honest, who doesn't? I'll give you a brief summary of how I felt they went:
Spanish- Pretty well as in none of the papers made me want to shoot myself. The AS oral resit was really amusing though, because I kept talking for about five minutes after the man had ended the tape. Eventually, after presumably sitting there in silence out of meer politeness and pity for the weirdo sitting in front of him, he was just like 'the oral is actually over now. You can leave.'
French- The prose wasn't exactly a hoot considering I couldn't remember the word for market, sailor or any other word on the paper for that matter. And the oral was, well, not really an oral at all. After successfully making it through the stimulus, I confidently started my presentation, reached the end of the first paragraph, and froze. And when I say froze, I mean I literally did not flinch a muscle. In the painful silence, the only thing I could think of was how the examiner was going to think I was verbally challenged and also that when I'd finished my presentation, I was probably going to be grey and wrinkly. I realize that I'm not making it sound like french went too promisingly, but generally it was alright. Let's just hope the examiner who conducted my oral doesn't see my immigration essay, which states that there are 44 million immigrants in France instead of 4.4. million. She may wonder how I ever made it to grammar school. Or any school at all really.
English Lit- You'd think that having had a teacher who thinks that humans are made of pork, that Arthur Miller was a rebel for wearing a bandana and who is honestly convinced she can predict an individual's fate would mean that I had no hope for this exam. Surprisingly, it wasn't awful, apart from Chaucer where I wrote an embarrassing pile of nonsense.
Now, I'm focusing solely on enjoying the summer- it actually feels fantastic to have four months of complete freedom in front of me and then, providing I get to University, I have the fun of being a fresher to look forward to.
It's slightly depressing that it's such a beautiful night and that I'm stuck inside because all my friends' exams still have not yet finished. To celebrate the end of Catherine's exams tomorrow night, we are being really cool and watching two episodes of lost on a Friday night. I am quite sadly looking forward to it. We are also going out to Box on June 6th with Saz, because she is pretending that her exams end that day when, in reality, they don't end until the 18th.
Bring on the beats and strobe lights.
I know that you aren't meant to reflect on how you think your exams have went once they're over but let's be honest, who doesn't? I'll give you a brief summary of how I felt they went:
Spanish- Pretty well as in none of the papers made me want to shoot myself. The AS oral resit was really amusing though, because I kept talking for about five minutes after the man had ended the tape. Eventually, after presumably sitting there in silence out of meer politeness and pity for the weirdo sitting in front of him, he was just like 'the oral is actually over now. You can leave.'
French- The prose wasn't exactly a hoot considering I couldn't remember the word for market, sailor or any other word on the paper for that matter. And the oral was, well, not really an oral at all. After successfully making it through the stimulus, I confidently started my presentation, reached the end of the first paragraph, and froze. And when I say froze, I mean I literally did not flinch a muscle. In the painful silence, the only thing I could think of was how the examiner was going to think I was verbally challenged and also that when I'd finished my presentation, I was probably going to be grey and wrinkly. I realize that I'm not making it sound like french went too promisingly, but generally it was alright. Let's just hope the examiner who conducted my oral doesn't see my immigration essay, which states that there are 44 million immigrants in France instead of 4.4. million. She may wonder how I ever made it to grammar school. Or any school at all really.
English Lit- You'd think that having had a teacher who thinks that humans are made of pork, that Arthur Miller was a rebel for wearing a bandana and who is honestly convinced she can predict an individual's fate would mean that I had no hope for this exam. Surprisingly, it wasn't awful, apart from Chaucer where I wrote an embarrassing pile of nonsense.
Now, I'm focusing solely on enjoying the summer- it actually feels fantastic to have four months of complete freedom in front of me and then, providing I get to University, I have the fun of being a fresher to look forward to.
It's slightly depressing that it's such a beautiful night and that I'm stuck inside because all my friends' exams still have not yet finished. To celebrate the end of Catherine's exams tomorrow night, we are being really cool and watching two episodes of lost on a Friday night. I am quite sadly looking forward to it. We are also going out to Box on June 6th with Saz, because she is pretending that her exams end that day when, in reality, they don't end until the 18th.
Bring on the beats and strobe lights.
Friday, May 09, 2008
"Reach for the sky, and hold your head up high for tonight, and every night, you're a superstar."
Yo.
I figured that a month is probably far too long to be going without a blog, but don't hate me, I'm back baby.
Where do I start? Well, I guess I could start by saying that I have now officially left Belfast High School. At no point in my life will I sit in a classroom again and be taught by a teacher, have lunchtime banter with all the azzas, be a recycling warrior, talk about wanting to bang Brody, or stress about not having done my homework. Those days are gone. Forever. Even though I obviously know that I am no longer a proper pupil at Belfast High, I don't think the actual reality of it all has hit me yet. Saying that, I did have a wee cry when I read Caters' comment on the back of my shirt, talking about all our wee memories and how she's going to come visit me in Durham.
I can't honestly believe I am going to be living in England, though I shouldn't speak too soon- I haven't even done my A levels yet and, at this rate, I doubt whether even Biffy will accept me.
*Stress*. But if I do manage to scrape decent results and get to go to Durham, it is going to change my life loads. I don't think I've properly contemplated not living in Carrick anymore and not seeing my friends every day. But, I guess, a new chapter of my life is beginning, and all I can really do is look forward to the new changes in my life. Change can be a good thing. I think I just get a bit freaked out by it sometimes.
Muck-up day went in so much quicker than I thought it would have. One minute we were signing shirts, eating at the BBQ, then we were throwing tomato sauce over each other and squirting coke and shampoo in each other's eyes and then, suddenly, school had ended and we were home again, no longer pupils of Belfast High School.
It still was a good laugh though and everything turned out well despite my fear that the party king guys would never get the boucny slides up.
Catherine and I nearly had a heart attack when we first met them and realized they were about five-years-old, had no experience in putting up bouncy castles and were ridiculous enough to tell us on the actual day " sorry, but your slide ripped. Is that okay?" Yeah, that's amazing. What more could we ask for? Not only did they look like they hadn't had a shower for a good few years, but one of them had a huge bogey bobbing up and down his nose like an upside down jack-in-the-box. *Horrification*.
My plan was to go home after muck-up day and revise, but considering I didn't have to go in to school the next day, I last-minutely decided I was, in fact, going to go out to Box with sarah, elise, ciara and linzi etc. I didn't have quite as much fun as I had done the first time I went there, and I can only put it down to the fact that there weren't quite enough strobe lights for me this time. They are quite clearly the key ingredient to a good night out.
Tomorrow is Catherine's unofficial birthday, yay. We're all going to Belfast in a minibus to get a photo shoot and then we're going out for lunch. I am really quite excited, though partly worried giving that they are going to be 'natural shots'. Chances are, then, that I am going to be quasimodo-esque in the majority of them. Great.
After that, I am going to have to start revision, otherwise I AM FAILING.
good times.
I figured that a month is probably far too long to be going without a blog, but don't hate me, I'm back baby.
Where do I start? Well, I guess I could start by saying that I have now officially left Belfast High School. At no point in my life will I sit in a classroom again and be taught by a teacher, have lunchtime banter with all the azzas, be a recycling warrior, talk about wanting to bang Brody, or stress about not having done my homework. Those days are gone. Forever. Even though I obviously know that I am no longer a proper pupil at Belfast High, I don't think the actual reality of it all has hit me yet. Saying that, I did have a wee cry when I read Caters' comment on the back of my shirt, talking about all our wee memories and how she's going to come visit me in Durham.
I can't honestly believe I am going to be living in England, though I shouldn't speak too soon- I haven't even done my A levels yet and, at this rate, I doubt whether even Biffy will accept me.
*Stress*. But if I do manage to scrape decent results and get to go to Durham, it is going to change my life loads. I don't think I've properly contemplated not living in Carrick anymore and not seeing my friends every day. But, I guess, a new chapter of my life is beginning, and all I can really do is look forward to the new changes in my life. Change can be a good thing. I think I just get a bit freaked out by it sometimes.
Muck-up day went in so much quicker than I thought it would have. One minute we were signing shirts, eating at the BBQ, then we were throwing tomato sauce over each other and squirting coke and shampoo in each other's eyes and then, suddenly, school had ended and we were home again, no longer pupils of Belfast High School.
It still was a good laugh though and everything turned out well despite my fear that the party king guys would never get the boucny slides up.
Catherine and I nearly had a heart attack when we first met them and realized they were about five-years-old, had no experience in putting up bouncy castles and were ridiculous enough to tell us on the actual day " sorry, but your slide ripped. Is that okay?" Yeah, that's amazing. What more could we ask for? Not only did they look like they hadn't had a shower for a good few years, but one of them had a huge bogey bobbing up and down his nose like an upside down jack-in-the-box. *Horrification*.
My plan was to go home after muck-up day and revise, but considering I didn't have to go in to school the next day, I last-minutely decided I was, in fact, going to go out to Box with sarah, elise, ciara and linzi etc. I didn't have quite as much fun as I had done the first time I went there, and I can only put it down to the fact that there weren't quite enough strobe lights for me this time. They are quite clearly the key ingredient to a good night out.
Tomorrow is Catherine's unofficial birthday, yay. We're all going to Belfast in a minibus to get a photo shoot and then we're going out for lunch. I am really quite excited, though partly worried giving that they are going to be 'natural shots'. Chances are, then, that I am going to be quasimodo-esque in the majority of them. Great.
After that, I am going to have to start revision, otherwise I AM FAILING.
good times.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
"There is a darkness deep in you. A frightening magic I cling to."
I am now writing to you as an adult. You have no idea how weird it feels to say that
What is even weirder and undoubtedly scarier is that I am leaving Belfast High School in a month. I was looking at the "Former Pupils" section on the school website today and could not believe how many comments there were saying " the best years of my life were at Belfast High". Reading them almost had me in tears, which, I know, may sound a bit ridiculous to anyone who's like "why would you ever get emotional about leaving school?", but I am honestly majorly nostalgic about it.
I just keep thinking about the inevitable moment where I'm going to be seeing some people quite possibly for the very last time ever. What will I say? " Hope you have a nice life"? " " Maybe I'll see you at the reunion in 20 years time?" I mean I know that I can't say that I like every single person in my year, but there are some people, for whatever reason, that I'd miss seeing all the time. It'll take a lot of getting used to. I just can't imagine wakening up and not having to get ready for school, walk down the road to get the bus or listen to cheesy songs with Caters every morning. When it's winter, I think I'll maybe appreciate the fact that I don't have to walk down prince andrew way in my school uniform, getting tossed about in the wind and rained upon until my shirt turns transparent. Those days were crap and even when I'm older and looking back, I'm pretty sure that I'll still think of them as crap. For one, school uniforms are never sexy, no matter how hard you try to make them be. And the girls who pull their skirts up round their asses, because they think it makes them look hot, are even less sexy, especially when their knickers are on full display. Yum.
Ooops- I only intended on briefly mentioning school, but that nonsense up there could be called 'Ode to BHS' so I'm going to move on before you start thinking 'she has no life'.
I celebrated my 18th last week in a pink karaoke limo. I now affectionately refer to it as the 'chavmobile' because it was the kind of limo that, 5 months ago, I would have seen and thought: I bet people called 'Jamie-lee' and 'wee Steeky' hire that for a night out. The good thing about limos, of course, is that the windows are blacked out, so we were able to look out at the world and laugh but the world was not able to look back, meaning that we were able to maintain some dignity. The 'karaoke' turned out to be a really good laugh. I say karaoke with a hint of sarcasm, because the limo's actual machine seemed to have been created so that you can't actually use it. Everytime we attempted to get the words of a song up on the screen, the language flicked to chinese and, being not-so-fluent in chinese, we had to think of a plan B.
Our plan B was to put in our own Now cds and sing along to them. It's worrying that most of us knew all the lyrics to the Vengaboys' classic, "we're going to Ibiza". Cultured.
After about an hour of limo fun, we were dropped off at Bourbon, where we spent a good few hours eating and, oddly, admiring the prettiness of the toilets. I also can now officially say, thanks to Sarah's generous nature, that I've tried a 'red aftershock' shot, slang for: this-will-make-your-stomach-want-to-explode-and-your-nose-feel-like-combusting-for-about-a week -shot. After Bourbon, the plan was to go to Irene and Nan's, which is literally just round the corner from Bourbon. That was the plan, not the reality unfortunately. We went to the door, feeling brave and like we could conquer the world only to be told: " we need to see ID from everyone." Hmm, slightly problematic when two of us aren't 18. So what to we do? We go to the Grand Opera House and sit at the bar there for most of the night. We didn't think there was anything abnormal about that unil a lady asked us: "so are you not going to see the show?" to which we replied, "no, we're just relaxing. Do people not normally come here unless they're going to see the show? Is it weird?" After a considerable period of hesitation, she told us: " No, not weird, just eh...noone does it. Cool." Though she said 'cool', you could tell she really meant to say " these people are the biggest weirdos i have ever come across." When we looked round and saw that we were the only people on two floors of the bar,we realised she was probably right.
Given that the night of my birthday ended with a woman implying we were losers, I felt like I needed cheering up. Saz and I, therefore, decided to go out clubbing for the first time in an attempt to de-geekify ourselves. We got to the Odyssey at about 8.30pm and realised that that time is probably hours too early. We headed immediately to the Streat café to pass some time.
As we were sitting, contemplating when we should head over to Box, Sarah shouted: " Oh, there's Amy outside. Hold on..." and ran off to find Amy. Through the huge glass window of the streat, I watched Sarah run out, shouting "Amy" at the top of her lungs and wave her arms about frantically. And then the girl turned round, looked at Sarah liked she'd just seen an alien and walked off. It wasn't Amy. *Scunderment*.
After facing the embarrassment of having a stranger think she was an obsessive stalker, Sarah ran back in to the Streat and told me ( and the rest of Northern Ireland for that matter) that " IT WASN'T AMY." Hmm, I noticed that.
That was embarrassing incident number one of the night. The second was trying to leave the café through the wrong door and the third was trying to get into the bottom floor part of Box before it had even opened and the bouncer coldly telling us " closed."
Despite the fact that we clearly screamed " this is our first time", we managed to have a really really good night- partly due to there being so many hotties there and also because chav dancing under strobe lights never gets old.
On Friday night and last night, I went to the 'Celebration of Hope' in the Odyssey where the speaker, Franklin Graham was speaking. I have to admit, I was feeling majorly sceptical about going, given that a) he is an american and b) it is in the Odyssey and so it's like 'let's convert thousands of people in a big building' evangelism. To my surprise, it wasn't that cheesy, apart from Franklin's desire to say something and then say, in a cheesy voice, "yes, really" afterwards.
On the Friday night, his sermon didn't convince me. Well, I mean, it wouldn't have convinced me if I was going as a non-christian. I kind of thought that it lacked content, though apparently hundreds of other people didn't, so I guess that is more important.
The Saturday night was marginally better, probably because it was completely overflowing with people and because the bands and the sermon were all better.
I'd really like to go tonight again, except I have to annotate all of Oedipus, which, by the way, is not happening since it took me 2.5 hours to do 5 pages. There are 42 in total.
Besides that, I have to do all the rest of my homeworks and still make room for YF tonight somehow.
Yuss.
What is even weirder and undoubtedly scarier is that I am leaving Belfast High School in a month. I was looking at the "Former Pupils" section on the school website today and could not believe how many comments there were saying " the best years of my life were at Belfast High". Reading them almost had me in tears, which, I know, may sound a bit ridiculous to anyone who's like "why would you ever get emotional about leaving school?", but I am honestly majorly nostalgic about it.
I just keep thinking about the inevitable moment where I'm going to be seeing some people quite possibly for the very last time ever. What will I say? " Hope you have a nice life"? " " Maybe I'll see you at the reunion in 20 years time?" I mean I know that I can't say that I like every single person in my year, but there are some people, for whatever reason, that I'd miss seeing all the time. It'll take a lot of getting used to. I just can't imagine wakening up and not having to get ready for school, walk down the road to get the bus or listen to cheesy songs with Caters every morning. When it's winter, I think I'll maybe appreciate the fact that I don't have to walk down prince andrew way in my school uniform, getting tossed about in the wind and rained upon until my shirt turns transparent. Those days were crap and even when I'm older and looking back, I'm pretty sure that I'll still think of them as crap. For one, school uniforms are never sexy, no matter how hard you try to make them be. And the girls who pull their skirts up round their asses, because they think it makes them look hot, are even less sexy, especially when their knickers are on full display. Yum.
Ooops- I only intended on briefly mentioning school, but that nonsense up there could be called 'Ode to BHS' so I'm going to move on before you start thinking 'she has no life'.
I celebrated my 18th last week in a pink karaoke limo. I now affectionately refer to it as the 'chavmobile' because it was the kind of limo that, 5 months ago, I would have seen and thought: I bet people called 'Jamie-lee' and 'wee Steeky' hire that for a night out. The good thing about limos, of course, is that the windows are blacked out, so we were able to look out at the world and laugh but the world was not able to look back, meaning that we were able to maintain some dignity. The 'karaoke' turned out to be a really good laugh. I say karaoke with a hint of sarcasm, because the limo's actual machine seemed to have been created so that you can't actually use it. Everytime we attempted to get the words of a song up on the screen, the language flicked to chinese and, being not-so-fluent in chinese, we had to think of a plan B.
Our plan B was to put in our own Now cds and sing along to them. It's worrying that most of us knew all the lyrics to the Vengaboys' classic, "we're going to Ibiza". Cultured.
After about an hour of limo fun, we were dropped off at Bourbon, where we spent a good few hours eating and, oddly, admiring the prettiness of the toilets. I also can now officially say, thanks to Sarah's generous nature, that I've tried a 'red aftershock' shot, slang for: this-will-make-your-stomach-want-to-explode-and-your-nose-feel-like-combusting-for-about-a week -shot. After Bourbon, the plan was to go to Irene and Nan's, which is literally just round the corner from Bourbon. That was the plan, not the reality unfortunately. We went to the door, feeling brave and like we could conquer the world only to be told: " we need to see ID from everyone." Hmm, slightly problematic when two of us aren't 18. So what to we do? We go to the Grand Opera House and sit at the bar there for most of the night. We didn't think there was anything abnormal about that unil a lady asked us: "so are you not going to see the show?" to which we replied, "no, we're just relaxing. Do people not normally come here unless they're going to see the show? Is it weird?" After a considerable period of hesitation, she told us: " No, not weird, just eh...noone does it. Cool." Though she said 'cool', you could tell she really meant to say " these people are the biggest weirdos i have ever come across." When we looked round and saw that we were the only people on two floors of the bar,we realised she was probably right.
Given that the night of my birthday ended with a woman implying we were losers, I felt like I needed cheering up. Saz and I, therefore, decided to go out clubbing for the first time in an attempt to de-geekify ourselves. We got to the Odyssey at about 8.30pm and realised that that time is probably hours too early. We headed immediately to the Streat café to pass some time.
As we were sitting, contemplating when we should head over to Box, Sarah shouted: " Oh, there's Amy outside. Hold on..." and ran off to find Amy. Through the huge glass window of the streat, I watched Sarah run out, shouting "Amy" at the top of her lungs and wave her arms about frantically. And then the girl turned round, looked at Sarah liked she'd just seen an alien and walked off. It wasn't Amy. *Scunderment*.
After facing the embarrassment of having a stranger think she was an obsessive stalker, Sarah ran back in to the Streat and told me ( and the rest of Northern Ireland for that matter) that " IT WASN'T AMY." Hmm, I noticed that.
That was embarrassing incident number one of the night. The second was trying to leave the café through the wrong door and the third was trying to get into the bottom floor part of Box before it had even opened and the bouncer coldly telling us " closed."
Despite the fact that we clearly screamed " this is our first time", we managed to have a really really good night- partly due to there being so many hotties there and also because chav dancing under strobe lights never gets old.
On Friday night and last night, I went to the 'Celebration of Hope' in the Odyssey where the speaker, Franklin Graham was speaking. I have to admit, I was feeling majorly sceptical about going, given that a) he is an american and b) it is in the Odyssey and so it's like 'let's convert thousands of people in a big building' evangelism. To my surprise, it wasn't that cheesy, apart from Franklin's desire to say something and then say, in a cheesy voice, "yes, really" afterwards.
On the Friday night, his sermon didn't convince me. Well, I mean, it wouldn't have convinced me if I was going as a non-christian. I kind of thought that it lacked content, though apparently hundreds of other people didn't, so I guess that is more important.
The Saturday night was marginally better, probably because it was completely overflowing with people and because the bands and the sermon were all better.
I'd really like to go tonight again, except I have to annotate all of Oedipus, which, by the way, is not happening since it took me 2.5 hours to do 5 pages. There are 42 in total.
Besides that, I have to do all the rest of my homeworks and still make room for YF tonight somehow.
Yuss.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
"I promise you, I'm always there when your heart is filled with sorrow and despair"
We've almost been off school for a week and have I done anything productive? Of course not.
It's all well and good saying that I'll sit and do two gide essays, a nada essay and chaucer revision in my free time, but actually doing them is slightly more challenging.
Today, what I've done doesn't even come close to productive. I woke up at about 9.30, which was more impressive than yesterday when I crawled out of bed at about 11, then I went downstairs, had breakfast, turned on the TV and listened to some ghetto beats for literally hours. I think I'm actually becoming a chav. I try to kid myself that I only like dance music when I'm out somewhere, but to be quite honest, I thoroughly enjoyed them whilst sitting on my sofa at 10 in the morning. Don't get me wrong, I'm not chav enough to claim that "Taio Cruz" are lyrical genuises. "You wanna take a bite? Come whet my appetite, But put me in, do your thang, make my head spin" isn't exactly the most eloquent piece of writing I've ever come across, but my inner chav secretly loves it. *Shame.*
I returned from my trip to Durham the day before yesterday. You'd think that, by the state of my hair and face when I came back home, I'd been living on the streets of Durham for a night or two. In actual fact, I had stayed in a nice little, civilised room in Collingwood College and still managed to look like a tramp. The reason for my sweaty betty look was because, being the tit that I am, I decided to bring only casual clothes, in other words: jeans and plainish tops. When I discovered that there was going to be a disco on the monday night, my heart really did sink a bit, especially considering that the only shoes I'd brought were my uggy ones. Fan-tas-tic. I must have looked like a freak on that dance floor. People were like flipping sardines when they were dancing and so the room was basically a vessel of body heat. Then there's me, dressed like I'm about to go play in a bloody snowstorm in -50 degree weather. I'm sure I must have been the epitome of sexy.
Speaking of sexy, I have come to a realisation that Northern Ireland should change its title to Ugly Land. It would be more appropriate. My jaw was practically on the floor when I discovered that english boys, unlike northern irish ones, can be attractive. Not only were several of them attractive, they were really rather gorgeous. YUSS. Hopefully that means that when I go to Durham, there will be a slight chance of me getting a boyfriend who has a good personality and is also attractive. Crazy times, I know.
Obviously the fact that there's good looking people there isn't the only reason why I decided to pick Durham as my first choice. There is also the fact that it's incredibly pretty and right beside Newcastle, meaning that I can do all my shopping there. Newcastle is also meant to be fantastic for nights out, though apparently most people just go to Durham, even though one of its nightclubs was voted the 2nd worst in Europe. In Europe. The reason for that is because they supposedly play the cheesiest music you can think of. To be quite honest, cheesy music doesn't constitute a bad night out for me. There's nothing better than a bit of cheese, I say.
I need to go straighten my hair now, and have lunch because I'm so hungry right now that even the computer screen looks rather appetising.
Also: I am 18 in exactly a week...
WOOHOO.
That is all.
It's all well and good saying that I'll sit and do two gide essays, a nada essay and chaucer revision in my free time, but actually doing them is slightly more challenging.
Today, what I've done doesn't even come close to productive. I woke up at about 9.30, which was more impressive than yesterday when I crawled out of bed at about 11, then I went downstairs, had breakfast, turned on the TV and listened to some ghetto beats for literally hours. I think I'm actually becoming a chav. I try to kid myself that I only like dance music when I'm out somewhere, but to be quite honest, I thoroughly enjoyed them whilst sitting on my sofa at 10 in the morning. Don't get me wrong, I'm not chav enough to claim that "Taio Cruz" are lyrical genuises. "You wanna take a bite? Come whet my appetite, But put me in, do your thang, make my head spin" isn't exactly the most eloquent piece of writing I've ever come across, but my inner chav secretly loves it. *Shame.*
I returned from my trip to Durham the day before yesterday. You'd think that, by the state of my hair and face when I came back home, I'd been living on the streets of Durham for a night or two. In actual fact, I had stayed in a nice little, civilised room in Collingwood College and still managed to look like a tramp. The reason for my sweaty betty look was because, being the tit that I am, I decided to bring only casual clothes, in other words: jeans and plainish tops. When I discovered that there was going to be a disco on the monday night, my heart really did sink a bit, especially considering that the only shoes I'd brought were my uggy ones. Fan-tas-tic. I must have looked like a freak on that dance floor. People were like flipping sardines when they were dancing and so the room was basically a vessel of body heat. Then there's me, dressed like I'm about to go play in a bloody snowstorm in -50 degree weather. I'm sure I must have been the epitome of sexy.
Speaking of sexy, I have come to a realisation that Northern Ireland should change its title to Ugly Land. It would be more appropriate. My jaw was practically on the floor when I discovered that english boys, unlike northern irish ones, can be attractive. Not only were several of them attractive, they were really rather gorgeous. YUSS. Hopefully that means that when I go to Durham, there will be a slight chance of me getting a boyfriend who has a good personality and is also attractive. Crazy times, I know.
Obviously the fact that there's good looking people there isn't the only reason why I decided to pick Durham as my first choice. There is also the fact that it's incredibly pretty and right beside Newcastle, meaning that I can do all my shopping there. Newcastle is also meant to be fantastic for nights out, though apparently most people just go to Durham, even though one of its nightclubs was voted the 2nd worst in Europe. In Europe. The reason for that is because they supposedly play the cheesiest music you can think of. To be quite honest, cheesy music doesn't constitute a bad night out for me. There's nothing better than a bit of cheese, I say.
I need to go straighten my hair now, and have lunch because I'm so hungry right now that even the computer screen looks rather appetising.
Also: I am 18 in exactly a week...
WOOHOO.
That is all.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
'She's like a cat in the dark, and then she is the darkness. She rules her life like a fine skylark and when the sky is starless."
It is the second of March. Time seems to pass so quickly these days. In just under a month ( well, 26 days to be precise), I will officially be an adult. Me. An adult.
When you're 10, the age eighteen seems unattainable. You cannot actually imagine being that old. You watch american teen movies, like Grease, where the 18-year-olds are tall, curvy and big-boobed. When you are older, however, you realise that those "18 year olds" could have practically been grannies( okay, so very young and slutty grannies, but grannies nontheless.) All those movies really do is make you feel a wee bit disappointed when you are nearly 18 and don't look remotely like what Olivia Newton John did.
I also wonder if 18-year-old boys nowadays mature later. I reckon that some of the guys in our year are still waiting for puberty to kick in. When I was in first year the Upper 6th guys were men. There was no question about it. Not only were they about twice my height, but if you looked at one of them from behind, you were able to tell if you were looking at a boy or a girl. With the guys in our year, working out their sex can sometimes be a challenge. Let's just say, they aren't exactly body builders...
* * *
Anyway, Elise and Heather's 18th was on Friday night. I wore a really cute dress that I recently bought in RiverIsland. I now realise that it should have been labelled " not suitable for dancing", since it was so tight that you could barely move your arms. I still did anyway. Unfortunately I probably looked like a robot for doing so. But oh well, you have to sacrifice some things sometimes. In this case, I sacrificed every inch of credibility that I once had.
Oh, the stripper. How could I forget the stripper? As part of Heather's birthday present, her friends hired her a stripper. It was absolutely hilarious. Hilarious as in a ' this is really funny to watch' way, but not hilarious enough that I would ever want one myself. I think I would probably die if my friends ever decided to get me a stripper, not that they ever would. They're much too clean for that sort of thing. Thank flipping goodness.
In other news: I just finished reading a book called 'Yes Man' by Danny Wallace, which Catherine lent me a ridiculous number of months ago. I am convinced that it is one of the best books I have ever read. Here's a synopsis of what it's about:
" 'I, Danny Wallace, being of sound mind and body, do hereby write this manifesto for my life. I swear I will be more open to opportunity. I swear I will live my life taking every available chance. I will say Yes to every favour, request, suggestion and invitation. I Will Swear To Say Yes Where Once I Would Say No.' Danny Wallace had been staying in. Far too much. Having been dumped by his girlfriend, he really wasn't doing the young, free and single thing very well. Instead he was avoiding people. Texting them Instead of calling them. Calling them Instead of meeting them. That is until that one fateful date when a mystery man on a late-night bus told him to 'Say Yes more'. These three simple words changed Danny's life forever. Yes Man is the story of what happened when Danny decided to say Yes to everything, in order to make his life more interesting. And boy, did it get more interesting. "
I don't think I've ever laughed as much at a book or, for that matter, felt so inspired at the end of it. It left me feeling rather philosophical and thinking: " I should say yes more."
I really ought to go and start my heap ( heap being a complete understatement) of homework which is due in tomorrow. The only good thing about Caters, Suzie and Sarah going to Berlin is that I might manage to do some productive work during my frees. Let's hope. I'll not have anythign more exciting to do anyway, let's be honest.
Well, I'll leave you here, my friends.
Until next time...
When you're 10, the age eighteen seems unattainable. You cannot actually imagine being that old. You watch american teen movies, like Grease, where the 18-year-olds are tall, curvy and big-boobed. When you are older, however, you realise that those "18 year olds" could have practically been grannies( okay, so very young and slutty grannies, but grannies nontheless.) All those movies really do is make you feel a wee bit disappointed when you are nearly 18 and don't look remotely like what Olivia Newton John did.
I also wonder if 18-year-old boys nowadays mature later. I reckon that some of the guys in our year are still waiting for puberty to kick in. When I was in first year the Upper 6th guys were men. There was no question about it. Not only were they about twice my height, but if you looked at one of them from behind, you were able to tell if you were looking at a boy or a girl. With the guys in our year, working out their sex can sometimes be a challenge. Let's just say, they aren't exactly body builders...
* * *
Anyway, Elise and Heather's 18th was on Friday night. I wore a really cute dress that I recently bought in RiverIsland. I now realise that it should have been labelled " not suitable for dancing", since it was so tight that you could barely move your arms. I still did anyway. Unfortunately I probably looked like a robot for doing so. But oh well, you have to sacrifice some things sometimes. In this case, I sacrificed every inch of credibility that I once had.
Oh, the stripper. How could I forget the stripper? As part of Heather's birthday present, her friends hired her a stripper. It was absolutely hilarious. Hilarious as in a ' this is really funny to watch' way, but not hilarious enough that I would ever want one myself. I think I would probably die if my friends ever decided to get me a stripper, not that they ever would. They're much too clean for that sort of thing. Thank flipping goodness.
In other news: I just finished reading a book called 'Yes Man' by Danny Wallace, which Catherine lent me a ridiculous number of months ago. I am convinced that it is one of the best books I have ever read. Here's a synopsis of what it's about:
" 'I, Danny Wallace, being of sound mind and body, do hereby write this manifesto for my life. I swear I will be more open to opportunity. I swear I will live my life taking every available chance. I will say Yes to every favour, request, suggestion and invitation. I Will Swear To Say Yes Where Once I Would Say No.' Danny Wallace had been staying in. Far too much. Having been dumped by his girlfriend, he really wasn't doing the young, free and single thing very well. Instead he was avoiding people. Texting them Instead of calling them. Calling them Instead of meeting them. That is until that one fateful date when a mystery man on a late-night bus told him to 'Say Yes more'. These three simple words changed Danny's life forever. Yes Man is the story of what happened when Danny decided to say Yes to everything, in order to make his life more interesting. And boy, did it get more interesting. "
I don't think I've ever laughed as much at a book or, for that matter, felt so inspired at the end of it. It left me feeling rather philosophical and thinking: " I should say yes more."
I really ought to go and start my heap ( heap being a complete understatement) of homework which is due in tomorrow. The only good thing about Caters, Suzie and Sarah going to Berlin is that I might manage to do some productive work during my frees. Let's hope. I'll not have anythign more exciting to do anyway, let's be honest.
Well, I'll leave you here, my friends.
Until next time...
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Love is in the air...apparently.
Happy Valentine's day or, in other words, only-fun-for-couples day. I'm sorry but what kind of sadistic idiot would create a day that makes all singletons want to hang themselves? He is most likely dead, however if any of his relatives are still out there, on behalf of all the single people in the world: screw you. "Love is all around", you say- well it isn't for us, okay? And seeing other people in love does not, contrary to your belief, bring us any amount of joy whatsoever. It is, in fact, complete and utter misery.
So, instead of being out somewhere celebrating Valentine's Day with my non-existant boyfriend, I'm stuck inside, deliberating whether to bebo-stalk or mourn my single life for a while longer. There is nothing fun about being single, I can assure you. ( Cue violin music).
I think I'm going to go for lunch in Pizza Hut with Caters tomorrow and consume a pizza that probably contains about 50 million calories. But why should I care? I can get fat all I want, because it's not as if anyone is ever going to fancy me. I mean I might even have a more successful love life as a fatty, even if it does mean that I'll have to go out with someone's who's equally obese.
Why doesn't Brody Jenner go to Belfast High? I'll tell you why: because you need to be considerably below average in the looks department to go to Belfast High. Oh, and it's probably advisable to have no personality whatsoever as well. That may be a bit harsh as I can't say that's true for every single male in the whole school. Unfortunately for our year, lower sixth stole all the hotties. Buggers. I guess it doesn't matter all that much that the guys in our year are all ugos, since they all want to have sex with each other and become professional wrestlers when they leave school. And they wonder why we're not falling head over heels for them...
I am so so glad to be off for half-term, even if it is a measly two days. Hopefully I'll manage to get at least one homework done tomorrow or Saturday. If not, oh well, there's always Monday night.
So, instead of being out somewhere celebrating Valentine's Day with my non-existant boyfriend, I'm stuck inside, deliberating whether to bebo-stalk or mourn my single life for a while longer. There is nothing fun about being single, I can assure you. ( Cue violin music).
I think I'm going to go for lunch in Pizza Hut with Caters tomorrow and consume a pizza that probably contains about 50 million calories. But why should I care? I can get fat all I want, because it's not as if anyone is ever going to fancy me. I mean I might even have a more successful love life as a fatty, even if it does mean that I'll have to go out with someone's who's equally obese.
Why doesn't Brody Jenner go to Belfast High? I'll tell you why: because you need to be considerably below average in the looks department to go to Belfast High. Oh, and it's probably advisable to have no personality whatsoever as well. That may be a bit harsh as I can't say that's true for every single male in the whole school. Unfortunately for our year, lower sixth stole all the hotties. Buggers. I guess it doesn't matter all that much that the guys in our year are all ugos, since they all want to have sex with each other and become professional wrestlers when they leave school. And they wonder why we're not falling head over heels for them...
I am so so glad to be off for half-term, even if it is a measly two days. Hopefully I'll manage to get at least one homework done tomorrow or Saturday. If not, oh well, there's always Monday night.
Friday, February 08, 2008
"Pain throws your heart to the ground, Love turns the whole thing around"
Okay, I am officially the worst and least loyal blogger that the blogging world has ever seen.
In my defence, I have been completely inundated with homework these past few weeks. Ironically, they've mostly been for English Lit. Yes, you did indeed hear me correctly: English Lit- in other words, the subject which I've got about two homeworks for over the past two years.
Chances are that I didn't even do those two homeworks.
Miss Miller has been off "sick" for the last week, which, I imagine, is code for hiding from the wrath of Mrs McKeown. To be fair to Miss Miller, I would never want to return to school again if I knew I had to face confronting that psychopathic hairsniffer. In Miss Miller's place, we now have a teacher called "Miss Doherty". She's actually quite a nice woman, if you try to look past the fact that if you stuck a pointed hat on her, she'd look like a 21st century witch. She may be making me a bit less remedial at Chaucer, but I'm still undecided as to whether that makes up for the fact that she is probably performing some sort of voodoo spell on me under her silent mumbles.
French class has become slightly less stressful, since we now have a full time teacher. He may ressemble a sloth and have the most unfortunate surname ever possible ( purvy), but he knows his stuff, and will help me get an A. That's what's important at the end of the day.
*
I've recently been attempting to come up with some sort of structured idea for my 18th, which doesnt involve having a party i.e. having to invite people that I know would only be coming to get completely wasted and have sex in the toilets. So, I have finally come up with a plan: hire a limo for an hour and a bit, go to a nice restaurant for dinner, then go to beach club the following night. I particularly like the idea of the limo, since it'll make us pretend that we actually do have a bit of class, despite our unavoidable desire to bellow "huoooge" every time mr butterskinned potnoodle-drinker walks past, as well as our multiple attempts to learn "bad touch" word-perfect.
Tomorrow, I plan to go into town with Caters, possibly do some homework tomorrow night, then watch lost on Sunday. Life gets no more exciting than this.
In my defence, I have been completely inundated with homework these past few weeks. Ironically, they've mostly been for English Lit. Yes, you did indeed hear me correctly: English Lit- in other words, the subject which I've got about two homeworks for over the past two years.
Chances are that I didn't even do those two homeworks.
Miss Miller has been off "sick" for the last week, which, I imagine, is code for hiding from the wrath of Mrs McKeown. To be fair to Miss Miller, I would never want to return to school again if I knew I had to face confronting that psychopathic hairsniffer. In Miss Miller's place, we now have a teacher called "Miss Doherty". She's actually quite a nice woman, if you try to look past the fact that if you stuck a pointed hat on her, she'd look like a 21st century witch. She may be making me a bit less remedial at Chaucer, but I'm still undecided as to whether that makes up for the fact that she is probably performing some sort of voodoo spell on me under her silent mumbles.
French class has become slightly less stressful, since we now have a full time teacher. He may ressemble a sloth and have the most unfortunate surname ever possible ( purvy), but he knows his stuff, and will help me get an A. That's what's important at the end of the day.
*
I've recently been attempting to come up with some sort of structured idea for my 18th, which doesnt involve having a party i.e. having to invite people that I know would only be coming to get completely wasted and have sex in the toilets. So, I have finally come up with a plan: hire a limo for an hour and a bit, go to a nice restaurant for dinner, then go to beach club the following night. I particularly like the idea of the limo, since it'll make us pretend that we actually do have a bit of class, despite our unavoidable desire to bellow "huoooge" every time mr butterskinned potnoodle-drinker walks past, as well as our multiple attempts to learn "bad touch" word-perfect.
Tomorrow, I plan to go into town with Caters, possibly do some homework tomorrow night, then watch lost on Sunday. Life gets no more exciting than this.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
"Les saisons passent mais de grâce faisons semblant qu'elles nous ressemblent..."
For some reason, I seem to be writing in this blog less and less frequently. It's not so much to do with the fact that my life is particularly busy at the minute, but rather because I simply cannot be bothered. I really am going to have to try to use it more often, because when I write in it now, because I haven't written in it for such a long time, my blogs end up looking like novels.
Since I sounded like a major depresso in my last blog, I'm using this one to redeem myself and prove that I am not, in fact, wrist-slitting and wallowing in self pity every night of my life. That last blog was a one-off ( with regards to wallowing in self pity, of course, not wrist-slitting. I wasn't quite that bad.)
The past couple of weeks have been rather enjoyable. School hasn't been as stressful now that I've got my resit over and done with, and all the extra-curricular crap has died down a bit, meaning that I now have more than five minutes to eat my lunch, thank flipping goodness.
It stresses me out that it's almost February, which means that we've only got about 12 weeks of school left. It's quite a bizarre feeling, knowing that you're coming to a 7-year era, which has made a huge contribution in shaping your personality and life in general. *Scariness*.
In a few weeks, I'm going to bring my camera into school so that i can take lots of reminiscent photos, like at my old locker and the science corridor where Mr McKillen called us bullies etc.
Last week, I had my first experience of being in a car with Sarah driving, needless to say it was unforgettable. The journey was going quite well until Sarah discovered that her wing mirror had been moved, and she couldn't see into it. Sarah being Sarah dealt with the situation with such calmness( note the sarcasm) and screamed " Mel, I can't bloody see. Oh my god, fix it, fix it! This is so dangerous, I'm gonna crash." The height of reassurance. While Sarah sat in an increasing state of hyperventilation, I struggled with the wing mirror, only making matters worse ever time I changed its position. Once that ordeal was sorted, we drove up to the Abbeycentre, looking for a parking space.
Everything would have been completely fine if we'd have been aware of the one-way system parking at the Abbeycentre. As this was not the case, we drove on, like two oblivious idiots and managed to narrowly escape a collision with a car driving towards us. When this trauma occured, Sarah's instinctive action was to slam down hard on the brakes, and mouth " I am so sorry" to the long line of drivers in front of us. What else could we do, after all? Thank goodness the drivers seemed to find the whole thing humourous.
After Sarah had palpitated for a considerable number of minutes, we reversed out and drove off calmly ( over the footpath mind you, but more calmly than we'd been before.)
Friday was Ashleigh's birthday, so a bunch of us headed round to hers to celebrate it.
We spent the majority of our time talking about hot people, but we did make a wonderful discovery; Choeun thinks Jake Gyllenhall is hot. She didn't actually voice this, but the fact that she nodded to the question " Do you think he is hot?" connotes the same thing and, for Choeun having said she fancies any man at all is a very very big deal, my friends.
I spent yesterday in Ballymena, shopping and then at Terry and Norma's for dinner.
I bought a really pretty dress in RiverIsland and even though I probably don't need it, I don't feel the slightest bit guilty about buying it, because it's gorge and we're all allowed gorge things from time to time.
News Flash: I have learnt to play the Wii. Properly. Anytime I've ever played it before, I've sucked so much that I'm out after the first round in any game. Well, I can now say that I have officially won a game- even the tennis game. Yes, you heard me: tennis, which, incase you didn't know, is a sport. It may be a virtual sport, but the methods are still the same and so I consider it a sport.
Well, that's all the exciting news in my equally exciting life. I promise to update you soon.
Since I sounded like a major depresso in my last blog, I'm using this one to redeem myself and prove that I am not, in fact, wrist-slitting and wallowing in self pity every night of my life. That last blog was a one-off ( with regards to wallowing in self pity, of course, not wrist-slitting. I wasn't quite that bad.)
The past couple of weeks have been rather enjoyable. School hasn't been as stressful now that I've got my resit over and done with, and all the extra-curricular crap has died down a bit, meaning that I now have more than five minutes to eat my lunch, thank flipping goodness.
It stresses me out that it's almost February, which means that we've only got about 12 weeks of school left. It's quite a bizarre feeling, knowing that you're coming to a 7-year era, which has made a huge contribution in shaping your personality and life in general. *Scariness*.
In a few weeks, I'm going to bring my camera into school so that i can take lots of reminiscent photos, like at my old locker and the science corridor where Mr McKillen called us bullies etc.
Last week, I had my first experience of being in a car with Sarah driving, needless to say it was unforgettable. The journey was going quite well until Sarah discovered that her wing mirror had been moved, and she couldn't see into it. Sarah being Sarah dealt with the situation with such calmness( note the sarcasm) and screamed " Mel, I can't bloody see. Oh my god, fix it, fix it! This is so dangerous, I'm gonna crash." The height of reassurance. While Sarah sat in an increasing state of hyperventilation, I struggled with the wing mirror, only making matters worse ever time I changed its position. Once that ordeal was sorted, we drove up to the Abbeycentre, looking for a parking space.
Everything would have been completely fine if we'd have been aware of the one-way system parking at the Abbeycentre. As this was not the case, we drove on, like two oblivious idiots and managed to narrowly escape a collision with a car driving towards us. When this trauma occured, Sarah's instinctive action was to slam down hard on the brakes, and mouth " I am so sorry" to the long line of drivers in front of us. What else could we do, after all? Thank goodness the drivers seemed to find the whole thing humourous.
After Sarah had palpitated for a considerable number of minutes, we reversed out and drove off calmly ( over the footpath mind you, but more calmly than we'd been before.)
Friday was Ashleigh's birthday, so a bunch of us headed round to hers to celebrate it.
We spent the majority of our time talking about hot people, but we did make a wonderful discovery; Choeun thinks Jake Gyllenhall is hot. She didn't actually voice this, but the fact that she nodded to the question " Do you think he is hot?" connotes the same thing and, for Choeun having said she fancies any man at all is a very very big deal, my friends.
I spent yesterday in Ballymena, shopping and then at Terry and Norma's for dinner.
I bought a really pretty dress in RiverIsland and even though I probably don't need it, I don't feel the slightest bit guilty about buying it, because it's gorge and we're all allowed gorge things from time to time.
News Flash: I have learnt to play the Wii. Properly. Anytime I've ever played it before, I've sucked so much that I'm out after the first round in any game. Well, I can now say that I have officially won a game- even the tennis game. Yes, you heard me: tennis, which, incase you didn't know, is a sport. It may be a virtual sport, but the methods are still the same and so I consider it a sport.
Well, that's all the exciting news in my equally exciting life. I promise to update you soon.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
"Lift up your gaze, be lifted up, tell everyone how great the love..."
*Depression*
Okay, so that was a slight exaggeration, but when your eyes are bright red and puffy and you bear a striking resemblance to those satanic-looking rats with eyes that scream ' I'm going to kill you', things are never good. Not only is this tragic affair preoccupying my very soul, but I'm also having to deal with the trauma that is trying to conceal the fact that my nose has turned a glow-in-the-dark shade of red. If Rudolph were to stand beside me, he'd probably look relatively normal. When you look in the mirror and see such a pitiful looking figure standing there in front of you, you just think " crap, I have nothing going for me." No amount of make-up could conceal the sad reality that I look like death and will do for the next couple of days.
To try to make myself feel a little bit better, I've even been gulping down Tescos' 'cold capsules' every two and a half fricking hours. They kindly forgot to mention that they make you look virtually inhuman afterwards. Thanks, Tescos.
My cold( which seems like an understated term for this horrific illness ) better be gone by Friday for my English Lit resit otherwise, like in my GCSE latin exam, my ten-in-a-row sneeze fits and continuous noseblowing might start to grate on people's nerves a bit; quite understandably.
Besides the physical suffering of course, 2008 has so far been very good to me.
Linzi's party was on Friday night, which gave me a nice excuse to dress up, look nice ( this was pre-cold, obviously) and put on fake-tan to make myself look a little less like casper the friendly ghost. I sort of wonder, though, whether wearing heels with my dress was such a good idea since it only meant that the already sluterific dress became a good three inches shorter. I almost died when everyone decided to do get in a conga line and the not-so-sober woman behind me kept on pulling up my dress. Probably a lezzer who wanted a wee peek at my underwear, I'd say.
It turned out to be quite a fun night despite the hassle of having to move to get a better view of hotties, who shall remain anonymous.
Anyway, I've decided it's best to keep this blog short as I have two homeworks to do- one which was due in today- not to mention my english lit resit that I'm really going to "struggle with."
Since I am quite clearly incapable of getting 25 marks out of 60, I really should go revise instead of having to face my bleak fate of failuredom.
Later,
x.
Okay, so that was a slight exaggeration, but when your eyes are bright red and puffy and you bear a striking resemblance to those satanic-looking rats with eyes that scream ' I'm going to kill you', things are never good. Not only is this tragic affair preoccupying my very soul, but I'm also having to deal with the trauma that is trying to conceal the fact that my nose has turned a glow-in-the-dark shade of red. If Rudolph were to stand beside me, he'd probably look relatively normal. When you look in the mirror and see such a pitiful looking figure standing there in front of you, you just think " crap, I have nothing going for me." No amount of make-up could conceal the sad reality that I look like death and will do for the next couple of days.
To try to make myself feel a little bit better, I've even been gulping down Tescos' 'cold capsules' every two and a half fricking hours. They kindly forgot to mention that they make you look virtually inhuman afterwards. Thanks, Tescos.
My cold( which seems like an understated term for this horrific illness ) better be gone by Friday for my English Lit resit otherwise, like in my GCSE latin exam, my ten-in-a-row sneeze fits and continuous noseblowing might start to grate on people's nerves a bit; quite understandably.
Besides the physical suffering of course, 2008 has so far been very good to me.
Linzi's party was on Friday night, which gave me a nice excuse to dress up, look nice ( this was pre-cold, obviously) and put on fake-tan to make myself look a little less like casper the friendly ghost. I sort of wonder, though, whether wearing heels with my dress was such a good idea since it only meant that the already sluterific dress became a good three inches shorter. I almost died when everyone decided to do get in a conga line and the not-so-sober woman behind me kept on pulling up my dress. Probably a lezzer who wanted a wee peek at my underwear, I'd say.
It turned out to be quite a fun night despite the hassle of having to move to get a better view of hotties, who shall remain anonymous.
Anyway, I've decided it's best to keep this blog short as I have two homeworks to do- one which was due in today- not to mention my english lit resit that I'm really going to "struggle with."
Since I am quite clearly incapable of getting 25 marks out of 60, I really should go revise instead of having to face my bleak fate of failuredom.
Later,
x.
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