Blog Titles Are Getting Tricky

Well, reader, I know I said I was pissing off for the weekend, and I am, but now it's Friday and I can't find my History homework and Film Studies is dull and English is slowly killing me.
So I'm blogging to procrastinate.
Ex read yesterday's blog. We'd started emailing again because we need to sort out the gig for Monday night (going to feel good to have a social life back!) and we'd just sort of started chatting, which was nice, because he is lovely.  But then he read the blog.  And now he's pretty messed up because I only really want to be friends.
I'm impressed by the frequency that I turn out looking like a total bitch at the end of relationships. Think there has only been one (of SIX) where I didn't, because he was a lying knobhead who led me on for five months.
But that's for another post.
I hate how I keep messing him up.  I really do, but I'm not sure there's any way I can stop messing him up.  Because we want completely different things.  I pretty much want to move on with my life and get him back as a friend, but he wants our relationship back.
I'm not sure if that's even possible.  It's never going to be the same because we keep messing each other about, not intentionally but just with everything.  God knows what'll happen after or even at the gig on Monday.  We're going to end up hugging, but that's kind of okay with me.  Beats me what I'll do if he goes any further though.  I don't particularly want to kick him in the balls (anymore).
The weather is ridiculously good today.  Little bit chilly, but not enough to not warrant the complete removal of body hair and the reintroduction of skirts.  AND MY FLIP FLOPS :D
Really love my flip flops.  Even though they are basically in pieces.  Will just have to glue them back together.
The library is now baking-ly hot.  Which I LOVE, because I am sat directly next to a fan.  The fan has a sort of reflective middle.  My hair appears to be drying itself into a poof again.  I can live with that.
Doesn't tie up properly. Whch is hilarious when I don't need to tie it up, and so fucking frustrating when I do that it's ridiculous.
Lots of knots in it still.  Vaguely annoyed by that.  Keep combing my fingers through.
Still have some of my flu bug left.  Snizzing up a storm.  Tempting to put my ipod in and listen to something, but I can't think what to listen to.
Have ended up having to put the ipod in.  Bloody annoying chavs.
Wonder if they know they're the scourge of my existence?
Bet they do and they're playing up to it.
Arseholes.  Right, ten minutes to do my film studies, then I'll be back.

Stuff the homework. Ex texting, saying he intends on coming round mine tonight, and that his phone and internet are being cut off.
I have absolutely no idea what to do with myself or him anymore.
The coming round thing would be a problem if I wasn't leaving for Norwich the minute college ends.
This is getting silly.
I am tired and annoyed and I have NO FUCKING CLUE WHAT TO DO ABOUT ANY OF IT.
Ugh!!
Really wish he could be happy.
I do.
Not for selfish reasons either.
He deserves to be happy, it's just tricky to get there.
Ugh.  I need chocolate.
Right, homework.

I'm probably going to leave this here, finish off my film homework and go hide in the humanities area, see if there's someone I can hug up there.

Darlings

Despite the fact that I only posted to you yesterday, I already feel like I'm neglecting you.  It's a bit awful.
I unblocked the ex from FB, but then did nothing else.  He has sent me a non-stalky email, an improvement, and a friend request.
I'm not sure about the friend request.
Because I do want to be friends.  I miss his sense of humour and how he actually gets my jokes.
But I think that is all I want to be.  Friends.
Yes, I do love him.  But I think now in the way where he could just be my best mate and that would be okay.
I'm not sure how much that would work for him.
A hug would actually be amazing right now.
I discussed me and him getting back together with Tom last night, who was at first reluctant to give me his opinion.
I'm actually really glad he did.
Think I needed the logic and the pointing out about my self-respect.
I dunno.
Got quite annoyed in Socio.
People seem to think that playing Rod Stewart is hilarious.
It's not.
Apparently I got quite pink.
If you don't already know why Rod Stewart is a problem, you don't need to.
I'm actually gonna finish off here, I'm in a bit of a weird mood.  Off for the weekend tomorrow, so this will probably be the last blog post til about Tuesday :O
Have good weekends, all.
LURVE XXXXXXXXX

Good News!

Can now play Smelly Cat.
That is all.

Pros And Cons

Harry, if you make ONE reference to this in any of the emails you seem intent on sending me, then not even God will be able to help you.  While you're at it, GTFO my blog!!!  It would actually be better for you if you stopped RIGHT NOW and moved away. Genuinely. This is not going to be good for you.

I am going to write a completely honest blog.  I do that normally, but it's more of a mind-explosion of what I'm actually feeling.
I might still be a bit in love with him.
Although when I say a bit, it's a bit of an understatement.
And I think I agree with everyone who's been saying I must be a complete idiot. I do.
I think I am.
This is NOT due to his harassing me over the last couple of weeks.
HELL NO.
45 calls in one 8.5 hour period is not remotely attractive.
It's annoying, and creepy.
And yet somehow I find myself missing the complete idiot.
And how he smells.
That was a damn good smell.
Think I'm a very smell oriented person.
Which brings me on to how I also miss Anna.
But back to idiot exboyfriend again.
He would like me to meet him, potentially tonight, to just talk it through.
I do not have time tonight, I have a huge essay that needs to be an A grade and a 200 word piece that was due Monday to do.
But I kind of want to.
I hate how miserable he is making himself with this, and the desire to hug him and make it all better is ridiculous.
I also want to give him a massive kick in the shins.
Which I will probably do regardless of what happens.
Preferably in my ball-busting boots. (AKA the stripper boots, but don't feel stripping is appropriate in such a situation)
Or maybe borrow Luli's steel toe caps.
It's not a "I hate you so much right now" sort of thing.
It's more of a "I love you so fucking much and you hurt me so bad that I am going to kick you in the shins and then run away so I can't forget myself and kiss you" sort of issue.
I do want to leave a substantial bruise though.
He's lucky it's not going to be in the nuts, actually.
Still feel a sort of in-grained protective feeling for those.
This is making me sound like a ridiculously weak person.
But I'll be honest here.
I have spent the whole time since the end of August MISERABLE.
Because fuck it, reader, I do love him.
And I can see this, as I imagine you can, turning into one of those relationships where we fight and break up and then make up all over again and basically turn into the plotline of Katy Perry's Hot N Cold.
I am SO not impressed by the dumping over another girl style thing as well.
"Emotional cheating" is a load of bullshit, at least in my case.
Crushes HAPPEN.  I'm okay about crushes.
Crushes are not something to break up over.
Love is something to break up over.
Not crushes.
Crushes are stupid amounts of hormones charging round your head all at once when you see someone who is pretty damn fine, but ya know what?
Love is very very different.
And yet despite all the love that's going on, I don't know if it would work if we got back together.
We're a mess, let's be honest.
I've already started flirting with other people, he's been on a couple dates.
My friends mostly hate him.
And, ofc, it's a stupid idea.
It was a stupid idea when we got back together the second time.
And yet, something in me says he's right.
He's sent me a shitload of emails.  Most of them about how much he still loves me, and how he still has the dream of us getting back together and getting married and babies and old people.
I sort of paraphrased that last bit.  It's not a proper sentence, but I don't really care.
I'd kind of like that, really.
My family are going to give him shit, though.
An awful lot of shit.
Woe betide him if he ever meets my cousins.
He's also said he's glad I have moved on so quickly.
What a load of old bullshit.
I can't recover that quickly.
Since I know you're still reading this, McMurtry:
- Yes, Giordan IS stupid for encouraging you.
- I call you stupid ex because you ARE stupid, and you ARE an ex.
- France is NOT that bad. It's just Paris that smells awful. Numpty.
- You're right, I am amazing.
I'm going to quit that now.
Don't call me. Don't message me don't ANYTHING.
I will call you when/if I am ready.
Talking over FB will be VERY difficult, unless you can figure out a way to unblock people...
I'm going to stop blogging now.  Essays to do.

Ex

Starting to resent the fact that you read my blog. 
I want to put stuff on here that I don't really want you knowing.
I'm going to carry on not replying to your attempts at contact (a total yesterday of three emails, five texts and FORTY FIVE CALLS.) because I told you I wasn't going to.  And I meant it.
Unfortunately, I don't have a fucking clue where the venue is for Subways.
Would appreciate a text/email on that subject.
PURELY that subject.
Call me at 12:30 in the morning again and I'm taking a mallet to whichever bit of you I can reach first, and if that's your testicles then all the better.

My Question Is...

How in the HELL am I supposed to trust him back in a relationship?
To begin with, the first time he told me he was quite clearly breaking up with me because we weren't going to have enough time for each other next year.
Uh, lie.
Second break up involves rainbow coloured tiny woman who is, damnit, skinnier.
So, if he has dumped me for another woman (sort of) already, why does he think I will willingly get back with him when I KNOW he likes her???
You can't see me, but I have my frustrated face on.
Seven (ish) emails last night, 31 calls today, two texts.
Most of them wanting me back, I presume.  Didn't answer any of the calls.
Don't get me wrong, it's not that I wouldn't like what we had back, or what I thought we had anyway.  I had crushes while we were going out, and I got over them.  Admittedly, one of them came back, but only after we had broken up, so that's fair, really.
But the problem is, I just cannot trust him back in a relationship.  I'd be a jealous, possessive mess of a woman, and I like me carefree and empowered, thank you.
I'd constantly be looking at other women making sure he didn't get any kind of feelings for them, he'd never be able to be alone with any of the girls he's ever had crushes on again (and he's pretty good mates with them) without my head exploding, and actually, maybe I want to move on.
I know he's taking it badly, and I feel bad about that, but there is nothing I can do.
I can't reply, because I'm not going to give him false hope.
So that's that, really.
Depressing post, but short and sweet. Normal service will resume soon, involving pretty new hair and happiness, I hope.

A Blog Coming To You From My Metaphorical Sickbed

Though it feels a bit more like a deathbed.
To whichever wanker who though giving me a cold was an excellent idea:
FUCK.
YOU.
I haven't been sick in a fairly long time now, if we don't include my time of the month, which I don't, because that can be cured by a well placed hot water bottle and a shitload of Feminax.
This, apparently, cannot.
Whilst I sort of appreciate the slight temperature I'm running, because it's making the cramps less horrible, the headache, sore throat, and blocked up nose are starting to take the piss.
It's not so much that I mind not being able to breathe properly.  I normally breathe through my mouth anyway.  However, not being able to sing along to Leaving on a Jet Plane is starting to grate on me.  I love that song.  I also love the Vintage music channel they've come up with. It's like my best friend.
Tempted to make instant mash for lunch.  The only thing I can think of that doesn't require cooking but might cure me.  With cheese, maybe yoghurt.
Does someone want to just come round and cook something restorative for me?
Not loving the break out of spots being sick has brought either.
Or the inability to spell anything.
Have to do a Marxist essay in time for college tomorrow.
LOL. Just no.
Maybe after another nap, though I'm tempted to just not go in tomorrow.  It's not like there's anything I can't catch up on. 
Vintage TV now playing love songs. Blech.
Time to see if there is soup.  Toodles. xxx

On Katie's Suggestion.

She seems to think that I should list 101 things that make me happy.  I'm going to try it.

1) When my baking comes out really, really excellently, like so:

2) Historical romances
3) Daydreams about being a very successful grown up.
4) Daydreams that are REALLY inappropriate for the location you're having them in, like having sexy daydreams on a bus when trying to hold down a conversation.
5) Strictly Come Dancing
6) The Great British Bake Off
7) When your crochet ends up looking amazing.
8) When Dad brings me a random Crunchie.
9) Lula.  Just in general. She is one of the best people alive.
10) Writing fiction and it actually sounding decent.
11) Tudor history
12) Learning songs on my guitar really really slowly, but on my own so it feels like a proper achievment.
13) Realising, 13 things in, that Katie was right about this making me feel much better.
14) Katie
15) How Anna smells.  I know I bang on about it, but honestly, phwoar!!
16) Getting over a sore throat and being able to screech out songs when I feel like it again.
17) My purse (It has a big, shiny union jack on it)
18) Going to the market just off Covent Garden.
19) The Globe.
20) Kenneth Brannagh.
21) Mocking Hanna
22) Flirting with, ahem, "Adam"
23) ALL of my cousins.  There are about 13 and a half of them, and I love each and every one of them. Even the tiny, mental ones.
24) My Grannie.  Scary, but she loves me.
25) Being a ginge.
26) Honeycomb.
27) How my room looks like it has pink walls in the morning when my curtains are shut, pale blue walls in the daylight, and white walls at nighttime when all the light I have is the moon.
28) The best piece of post I ever got, still in a frame, still on my bookshelf.

29) Doctor Who
30) Doctor Who jackets, all tweed and elbow patches.
31) Lidl's lasagne
32) Being able to spell lasagne.
33) The picnics Sullay organises.
34) Cold chow mein, covered in sweet and sour sauce and served in a lunch box in front of jealous looking mates.
35) Painting my nails yellow and drawing smiley faces on with Sharpie marker.
36) My brother, even though he's mental and seems to take joy in making my hair look mental, waiting til I have smoothed it over, then doing it again.
37) Having one seat in the living room accepted as MINE for Dr Who viewing.
38) Kissing so hard that you don't realise that your hair is a messed, you're pressed up against a wall and that people might see you.
39) My boobs.  They are in my top two of favourites features, just for how excellently jiggly they are.
40) My eyes. The other ones in the top two.
41) When my nose is blocked up a tiny bit, so that I can whistle through it.
42) My neighbour's home made apple juice.
43) When I walk into the house after a bad and very cold day at college and my mum has made stew.
44) My cat, Jake.

45) My cat, Stuart.

46) This picture of my parents' wedding, even though they HATED their wedding, and my granddad (middle) makes me want to rip my eyes out with a spoon on regular occaisions.

47) Having my hair stroked when I'm upset.
48) The fact that my dad totally reverts to being a teenager when we go down the Brook to see Stiff Little Fingers.
49) The fact that my dad lets new boys I bring home know that he knows EXACTLY how to make a petrol bomb and how to throw it efficiently, too.
50) The Parasol Protectorate series.
51) Gail Carriger's blog: http://retrorack.blogspot.com/
52) Lemon sorbet
53) Reading a whole book in a day, even if it's trash.
54) The Sociology Corner, both as it was last year and as it is this year, though I do miss Sarah.
55) My mum's disco cds.
56) My AMAZING 50s style prom dress, which I keep wanting excuses to wear again.

57) The fact that, in January, I get to wear it again :D
58) This picture of me and Lula, despite the fact that I'm clearly being an idiot.

59) The fact that saving a file as Me At Prom in one word spells meatprom, and so makes me think of cows in top hats.
60) Deleting bitches from FB.
61) The lack of bitches on my FB.
62) My giant pink Ugg boot slippers, that somehow still fit after six years in service.
63) Fucking with people's heads.
64) Writing my blog.
65) Tom and Jerry
66) Looney Tunes
67) Wacky Races
68) My retina-scarring, grandma-on-crack shawl.
69) Wearing men's shirts.
70) How my hair looks when I wake up.  Mostly for it's comical nature, occaisionally because it actually looks great.  THAT doesn't happen often.
71) Katie singing.  It makes me happy inside.
72) My lizard necklace.
73) The thought of being able to wear my winter jumpers again.
74) Snow
75) Kicking ASS on Singstar/Lips.
76) QI when it's extended to an hour long show.
77) The thought of owning a wardrobe full of tea dresses and fake fur stoles and t-bar shoes.
78) My stripper boots.
79) The one happy penguin in all the nonchalent penguins on my phone background.
80) Entertaining the idea of a lip piercing purely to annoy my mother
81) Secretly thinking about getting one when I go to uni anyway.
82) Magners.
83) The own brand cider that they have in this chain of French supermarkets that tastes amazing.
84) Rollercoasters.
85) The Pirates of the Carribean ride at Disneyland.
86) Feeling more cultured than basically every member of my Film Studies class, mainly because they spent the weekend watching American Pie and I watched Strangers on a Train.
87) The contents of the box on top of my wardrobe.
88) Wisteria perfume.
89) Rebecca, by DDM.
90) In The Middle by Jimmy Eat World, because of the instantaneous better feeling it brings.
91) The entire shelf I have of shitty romantic fiction.
92) My catapault pencil sharpener.
93) When people get my lyric-quoting jokes.
94) Drawing hearts in the margins of pieces of paper.
95) Fridaying, even though it doesn't really happen anymore.
96) The fact that, despite it's free-ness, IKEA tea is scrummy.
97) Cheesecake.
98) Camping holidays with as many relatives as can be persuaded.
99) Rockham Bay.
100) My lesbian pirate bag.
101) The fact that I did this whole damn list, and DO actually feel chasms better.

Dear Ex.

Etsy sends you an email when someone sends you a message.
Since I now know you read the blog, I may as well chuck this out there.
The whole point of my blocking you on FB and contemplating having your number blocked (yeah, I am thinking about that) is because you have to stop contacting me now.
I don't hate you.  We were together for two and a half years, and I know that you broke up with me because you thought it was for the best.
But I meant it when I told you that we weren't ever going to get back together if you broke up with me for the second time.  And now, everytime you do contact me, it breaks my heart a little bit.  Especially just now.
We both need to move on with our lives, because, like I said, I meant it when I said we weren't ever getting back together. I rarely even give blokes second chances; third ones are completely beyond me.
I think that what we both need is a completely clean break from each other.  So long as we stop contacting each other it should be pretty easy, we don't really have the same circle of friends at all.  It's not because I hate you, but more for basically the same reasons you gave for deleting me from FB.  It's a mix of wanting to cry and wanting to punch you in your stupid face, but until the message you sent on Etsy everytime you sent me a message I got a bit more angry.  So stop it.   Because I don't want to have any feelings at ALL about our relationship apart from "It was nice while it lasted" rather than "It was nice while it lasted, but now I want to set Wendi on you."
I'm not going to write about my moving on in this blog post.  But I'm going to in other ones.  We both know who I've been talking about, and I promise you that when I said I'd got over it before, while we were still together, that I wasn't lying.  I had got over it, but now it's come back.  So please, stop reading this blog after this post, because I know there are things you aren't going to like in here and I'd like to prevent resentment on either side of this.
I don't really know what else there is to say about this, apart from that I'd really really appreciate it if you did as I asked before and stopped contacting me.  I don't know if I'm ever going to contact you, but I'd like to think that if I did it could be because I'd forgiven you, rather than because I'm having to get your number blocked.  I'm going to carry on with my life and try and be happy now, and I'd like it if you could try too.

WHEEEEEEEEEEE!!

A basic expression of my opinion this morning.
Decidedly over-excited and putting off doing a history essay plan to bring you excitable news.
Not that I'm excited.
MAY have SORT OF told, ahem, "Adam".
Not that this won't be a total and complete admission anyway, because he reads this wonderful expression of my innermost feelings in linguistic form.
GOD I'm a sap.
I went giggly and beetroot red.
Thank GAWD we were on FB, blog aficionados.  It was RIDICULOUS.  Not only was I in silly clothes (a giant men's tartan shirt in various shades of neon, chopped up pj bottoms in stupid green with teddy bears on them), but I was giggling like some kind of deranged loon, looked like I'd been sunburnt and kept burying my face in my pillow so that he couldn't see me giggling, despite the fact that he wasn't even there.
I embarrass myself, darling, I honestly do.  I get completely absurd.
Still being absurd.
Texting him and being absurd.
SOMEBODY STOP ME.
I am not a good representation of the female species, btw.
We don't all get stupidly giggly the minute anything remotely exciting happens. 
It's JUST ME acting like a teenage girl.
Not that I'm not a teenage girl.
But I liked to think I had more class than that.
Clearly not.
Think all the ideas of class went away when it was suggested we get a bit tipsy and shag each other.
Personally, I blame Mitchell.
This would NOT have happened if myself and "Adam" (Does feel stupid calling him that, by the by, but ya know. Don't start what you can't finish.) weren't discussing whether or not he would end up happy.
I'll be honest, that is a much more polite way than we were saying it, but it's not the point.
We had decided that he would probably end up the victim of a golddigger.
If I don't have to kill him for being a smarmy, up-himself ARSEWIT with no tact and very little going for him.
However, "Adam" (One of these days, I'll will just call him by his name.) suggested that, because of my little tolerance for alcohol (One bottle of Bud and I was tipsy, ladies and gents of the blog jury), that it would only take a pint of beer before I was pissed enough to, ahem, "bestow my womanly charms" on the little wanker.
Oh, how I laughed.
And then said something I really don't regret.
"If I can drink a beer without shagging you, I think I can drink one and have enough standards not to shag Mitch."
Whoops.
There was a fair bit of flirting after that.
Not that there wasn't before that.
And now, now whoever it is in the sky that controls all our actions, or perhaps just my body, is punishing me for being all happy and giggly and COMPLETELY RIDICULOUS, and I have a very big cold.  Sore throat, blocked up nose, the whole lot.
As a side note, I am sat in the library and a girl in awesome indigo coloured jeans has just come in. They are gorgeous.
But yes.  I'm sick.
Not fun.  I'm hoping the cold Chinese and the ridiculous cake we have made for Anna (whose birthday it is, but I'm not allowed to make a fuss apparently) will fix it.  Either that or I am going to have to go back to taking that bottle of teen vitamins again, and it's not the best taste.
I don't see why they don't make the gummy vitamins they do for kids, for teenagers.
It would be much easier to get them to take vitamins.
Because let's be fair, teens are not grown ups.  We do grown up things, like drive and sleep with one another and make life changing decisions about our education, but what we really want are gummy vitamins, umbrellas with cartoon characters on and pjs with feet.   Preferably with patterns.  Mine have a cow pattern on them, but where I'm out of proportion and my legs are short where my torso is long, I get a pretty damn uncomfortable crotch pretty damn quickly.   We want decent cartoons like Johnny Bravo and Wacky Races on the telly, not this crap about Ben and his aliens.
We also want big warm mugs of hot squash and a fleecy blanket and to curl up on the sofa and pretend like you understand the stance the Loose Women are taking on what that policeman said about rape.
We also want mac and cheese, and bedtime stories, and welly boots with frog faces, and we want to spin like lunatics on spinny desk chairs, and we want spaghetti hoops and Pringle sandwiches, we want birthday cakes shaped like caterpillars that don't taste like dust, and we want to be able to paint our nails all different colours  and not be judged as a loon.  We want to have sleepovers with midnight feasts and both girls AND boys and not have it assumed that it's going to become an orgy just because a few members of the group have cocks.  The blokes I would invite to my sleepovers are more feminine than some of the girls I know.  There is also a gay rights issue there, but that's for another blog.
We also want hats with faces, and clothes that don't cost £25 for a tshirt.  Ice cream cones, rainbow sugar in tubes, and to not have to worry about whether or not you're making a cock of yourself.  PERSONALLY, I want to climb a tree.
Scrolling up and down again, I have put "ridiculous" in capital letters far too many times.  Must stop. Getting RIDICULOUS.
Hehehehe.
Still texting "Adam", under the desk now.  Lots of not remotely covert chatting up.  Lots of only slightly more covert insinuations.
I have a history essay next lesson, cramp, a runny nose and a headache.
Well, as Churchill once said;
Keep Calm and Carry On Blogging.
So I shall.
It is always cold in the library.
It's probably more than a little to do with the fact that I like sitting in the corners, where the windows are.
My fingertips always get freezy cold and I have to stick them between my legs to get them all warm again.
Despite the fact that it is still September, and I didn't even bother bringing a coat this morning, my fingers are now getting to that stage again.
Perhaps if they SHUT THE DAMN WINDOWS such things wouldn't happen.
I am crocheting a shawl.  It is in the same colour as the wee purse I made for Katie, which I posted on Twitter and FB.  It is currently the length of my armspan, and about an inch thick.
I've been working on it for a couple days, but because it is so damn long, it takes me a whole episode of Don't Tell The Bride (Yummm, culture) to do one row, because I am also quite slow at crochet.
I HAVE only just started.
I want to try and finish it before Christmas, but I'm not sure I see that happening.  I can crochet the whole way up to Norwich and back down again next weekend, but even then I may not get very far.  Want it to be all the way down to my arse, so it will definitely be taking a while.  Can't decide if I want to make it a very big triangle, or start it off sort of rectangle and make it really really big.
I might put a button on it, but I will then have to go and get a button.  And I would want my button VERY VERY BIG.
I like big buttons, and I cannot lie. (You know I'm hilarious.)
Think I will leave the library about twenty minutes before lunch starts to do my essay plan.  SO not getting it done while there is the appealing of baring my soul before the internet and inviting the world into my precious little life.
AKA blogging.
Will have to go in about fifteen minutes more than likely.  I'll sign off in ten to check my emails and the like. 
I'm boring like that.
I'm exciting in lots of ways though.
Like how, when I piss off in a minute, I'm going to take a LOT of painkillers.
I'll spare you the details.
Really want one of the dissovable powder medicine drinks I have in my drawer at home.  Like Lemsip, but ASDA brand.
You have to add a shiteload of sugar though.
And I'd rather have it in the blackcurrant flavour than the horrendous lemon and honey we have.
Also want my pot of Vaporub from by my bed.  Normally clears my throat out fairly nicely.
Ewwww, sniffles.
The constant nose-wiping is removing my make-up, which I'm not really all that impressed by.
It took all of ten minutes to make me look this pale!!
I also have itchy elbow armpits.
That's what I call the inside of the elbows.
I don't think there is actually a technical word for that.
The technical word, according to Wiki, for elbow is articulatio cubiti, and the technical for armpit is axilla. Which leads me to believe that the technical term for it should REALLY by articulatio cubiti axilla, but I might just stick to calling it what it is in English. 
They're kicking gypsies off their campsites on the news again.
Wonder if it would get the same attention if it were non-travellors who were getting evicted from their homes.
Probably not.
Might get a cup of tea.  Could go for a cuppa with my cold Chinese lunch.
There is honestly nothing better than a portion of chow mein, coated in sweet and sour sauce and left to ferment.
Om. Nom.
Yeah, definitely want a cuppa.  Think I have a pound in my bag.
They will also give me free biscuits if I buy a large.  Cracking :D
Alright, horrible lot, I'm going to leave you alone now.  I need tea and I need lunch and I need an essay plan so Lawrence doesn't kill me, because I already like him better than Emma.  Mostly in teaching style.  Once you get past the slightly awkward, GCSE style of her teaching, she's actually a pretty nice person.  It's only a little bit of digging.
Buhbye darlings, have a good day :) XXXXXX

How In The HELL..?

Did I not realise stupid ex was a complete tool before now?
I will remind you, gentle reader, of the story, because ALL of it still pisses me off half to hell.
I loved Harry.  Really and properly.
A few weeks before our two-and-a-half-year landmark, Harry texted me whilst at work to break up with me.
No shit.
So we broke up.
Five days later we are back together, because I turned up at his and we confessed love still and how much we missed each other and we kissed.  A lot.  I won't apologise for that, we were both gagging for it.
First day of college, which is maybe a week and a half afterwards, he starts complaining about how stressed he is and how it would be better for us to break up.  On Facebook.
So I said fuck no, you can break up with me to my face if you're going to do it at all.
So a couple days pass, and then he admits the crush on the rainbow slag (I don't actually hate her. She seems nice. I just have a bit of a thing where I push all my aggression out and feel much better afterwards). So we break up, on FB again, for proper.
The week goes by, and he sends me lots of sorry messages, and I give him very little sympathy, and he deletes me from FB, so I block him when he STILL sends messages, but all of this is old news.
I got a text today from him, and before I opened it, I assumed that it was about the gig we are going to.  Technically haven't emailed them about the missing tix yet.  Doing that TONIGHT.
Anywho.
It wasn't.
"I don't know how you're feeling at the moment, but I'm not feeling good about anything so just to set things straight between us can we sit down and talk face to face sometime soon?"
Ummm, no.
JUST. NO.
I got quite upset.  Because I thought by blocking him on FB he'd GET THE FUCKING HINT.
Apparently not.
So I pissed off out of tutor (It's not really a lesson.  I know Don is trying very hard to make it one, but no) to go see Anna, who I SWEAR smells like the best thing I have ever smelt, and I have smelt some DAMN GOOD THINGS.  She apparently smells like Dior.  I like Dior.
So we talked (read: bitched) and I put on a show of needing help with an essay, and we decided that I should text him back.
"What is there that you could possibly say to me?"
And we waited. And I checked my phone so frequently that Anna confiscated it til the text came through. And we bitched some more about how he should just leave me the hell alone.
And then the text came.
"At the very least sorry, given the opportunity more than a single text could convey."
I honestly don't want to hear that.  I am sick of his sorries.  I am also sick of his face, but that's besides the point.
So I text back.
"Then no, thank you."
Because I don't want to hear it, I don't want to see him, and quite honestly if I did I'd probably end up with several sliced up knuckles from punching him straight in the face.
And I like my knuckles.
They make my fingers all flexy.
I figured at this point we were probably done, and I had calmed.  So I hugged Anna (And smelled her again. Seriously, go smell her.  It's like cake, only way better.), bashed Tom round the head, hugged Rach and left again.
As I end up back in tutor to do even less work than I was doing before, I feel my phone vibrate.
I look at the text.
I got to "I apologise..." before I decided to read it later.
I left college after this, lessons being over, and decided to read the text when at the bus stop.
So I got to the bus stop.
"I apologise for not spending enough time with you when we were together, you deserved much better.  I am sorry for this summer, I have fucked up my ife and I am sorry I ruined everything between us."
Why will he not give me a break? Seriously?
This is why I blocked him.  Because every morning I would turn on the PC and get all depressed about whatever he had written.
I am seriously thinking about blocking his number.  I do not EVER want to speak to him again.
I am perfectly happy when I don't think about him.  I consider myself well OUT of the love stage and inside the "Let's move on and screw someone new!" stage.  WELL inside it.
But when I do think about him...
I want to punch him so hard his teeth rattle about in the cavity where his brain should be.
Sadly, I have no upper body strength.
Maybe I'll get a dog.  He's scared of dogs.
Perhaps a massive fucking dobermann.
Or a pug with anger issues.
I haven't texted him back.  I think I'm better than that.

In Honour Of Nelson And Mungo

Sullay (as I like to know her, or Rach as everyone else says it) has put a picture of her cat Nelson on her blog.
And also a picture of her dog, Mungo, which is possibly the best name for a dog I have EVER heard.
And so, I have decided to grace your eyes with pictures of my cats.  Also because there is very little for me to rant about today, except the fact that Danni's new boyfriend is intolerable.
Here's hoping he gets dumped quickly.
I have two cats which we got from Second Chance Animal Rescue , who are called Jake and Stuart.

Jakey, who is senile.

Stuey, who is possibly the most stupid animal ever.

They are bloody mental.
Jake hisses at his own reflection, and Stuart ran out into that ridiculous storm the other week, worrying me and so making me go out to find him in a jersey dress, boots with no socks, a granddad cardi, and an umbrella.
Unimpressed.
Was even MORE unimpressed when he came legging it in after the storm had finished, me drenched and him slightly damp.
He did however cuddle up to me to try and make up for it.

Breaking Social Norms

Because norms are boring.
I like breaking social norms.  It's seriously entertaining to fuck with people's heads in such a fashion.
I.e. One social norm would dictate a lack of bluntness.
Fuck that.
I do blunt on a professional scale.  I cannot be bothered pussyfooting around people.
Like how I told Danni today that the guy we catch the bus with clearly wants to get into her pants.

Well, who wouldn't want to tap that?

I'll be honest with you, magnificent blog-master, I thought she knew.  Really, I did.
So telling her so wouldn't have been so bad.
I could have phrased it more politely, i.e. "He clearly has a crush on you."  rather than "He clearly wants in your knickers." but no.  I don't see why I should bother.
I also don't mind telling people when I dislike them.
My grandmother thinks that I would make a good politician due to this quality.
I love my grannie very much, but I was pretty offended by that.
I am not a politician.
My bluntness comes in only one flavour, and that flavour is truth.
Like telling my granddad that if he keeps asking to give me Christmas/birthday presents, he will become less likely to be allowed this wish.
Didn't work, he still asks, but ya know.
I tried.
I feel like I'm going to start putting a load of pictures on here.  You don't get enough of them.  I shall post awesome photos.
Such as:

Myself and a fake Boris Johnson

Funny story behind that one.  Persuaded several people that it was the real Boris Johnson, despite the Madame Tussauds setting.  And the fact that you can see Ghandi's head behind Boris' left shoulder.
And:

That's Karl Marx between me and Sarah.

Another funny story.  Persuaded our friend Tom (for all of about three days) that I had painted it free-hand and enlisted Sarah to help me fill in the colour.  Anna even found an art foundation called Heal's to make it look like I was a ridiculously good artist who was really shy about it.   Little bit hilarious.
And:

This was the time when Hanna bought a book.  We were really proud of her, because it didn't even have a pink front cover or anything.  Lukey was a wee bit scathing, so I told on him.  The only reason we tease her is because our English teacher put on her report that she should try and "enter the world of a serious, academic student".  Which was actually pretty enraging. Despite the fact that the one time she tried to get a book recently she ended up with a book about lesbians throwing each other out of windows.

I'll be back in an hour, probably with a new post. My granddad is here.  Lord preserve us.

Darling Bloggers

I'm not really in a very bloggy mood. Yet I feel an obligation to give you some kind of ranty post about my day.
Pregnant girl has started ignoring myself and Sarah.
Can't say I feel a great loss.
To be fair, she'd begun to annoy anyway.  The pregnancy was a bit "final nail in the coffin".
A good friend's ex winked at me today.  Now, there are certain men who can carry such a thing off with aplomb.  These are men such as Stephen Fry and Joe.  Have I mentioned Joe yet? Joe's cool.  Think I have a picture somewhere...

It is apparently on my upstairs computer.  I'll deal with it later.
The particular fella that winked at me, however, can absolutely NOT carry it off.
It was frightening.
Joe's started off being frightening, but it's sort of okay now.  It's his nature.
This guy's is not.  It's creepy, and not helped by the fact that he remains my friend's ex.
Just. No.
Winking is for scheming, gay men, and people missing an eyelid.
NOT passing people in corridors.
Yuck.
Trying to learn how to play The Show on my guitar.  Not easy.
I would like to draw your attention, darlings, to three lovely people.

Katie, who blogs here.

Hanna, here.  Be warned about her though, she does stuff like say ensnail instead of ensnare, and boils eggs for 45 minutes.

And Lukey, who is new to the whole blogging extravaganza, who is here.

More about Hanna.  Having said ensnail, we thought we'd fuck with her a little, and mention snails a hell of a lot.

LUKEY
Yeahh not so bad, just did a hard evenings work getting paid to watch someone elses tv and eat their food

Babysat?
I love baby sitting, I used to do it but the kid always ate snails :S
Snails are so annoying

KATIE

I mean snails... what is the point in snails?

ME
[Me]
Weird question, trying to learn a wee bit of Spanish
[Hanna Rose Williams]
okay
[Me]
Snails in Spanish?
[Hanna Rose Williams]
caracol. and fuck you
news travels fast
[Me]
XD <3<3
[Hanna Rose Williams]
ill say what i have said to everyone else. I THOUGHT IT WAS A WORD
[Me]
XD
I love you.

I had to stop there, but I wish I could do more.

Had to get the last few bits in.

I'm Just Saying.

A friend of mine, who I met all of once but liked enough, is trying to get me to play guitar for him, because SOMEONE (ahem, Sarah) told him I was good.
This is a LIE.
I'm actually really quite shit.
I can play one song, badly, and parts of two songs even worse.
I can sort of play a couple of songs by Rocky and Balls, The Break-Up Song, and a TINY bit of Love Cake.
I can also play a (bad) live version of Lady Gaga's You and I.
That's it.
I am NOT of a standard where I could play to anyone more scathing than Anna, who is a bit of a pussycat really.
She's also stupidly pretty.  I don't think I've mentioned this yet.  Gorgeous hair, gorgeous face, gorgeous body.
I'd get you to look her up on FB, but she doesn't have one.  Perhaps you should comment on this and tell her you agree.

Beautiful Anna.

She's pretty amazing.  And she now owns a kazoo.

Anyway.  We're tempted to set up a really quite amazing duet and become very big in Japan.

She has a ukelele, and I'd tell you about how amazing she is on that, because she probably is, but she forgot to bring it today.

I went away for a moment there, and have come back to discover the new H&M catalogue.

I <3 My Mummy.

YAYYYYY MASSIVE JUMPERS.

My guitar strings are starting to become a tetanus threat.  I have been informed (now) that they should be changed every six months or so. And also to get my two and a half year overdue tetanus shot. 

Might just change the strings.

I Know, I Know, Too Many Blogs, But...

Katie said I could not find any photos of her looking daft.
Challenge accepted.

She should bear in mind that I love her.

I Don't Actually Miss My Ex

Which I find quite surprising, deep down. 
Allow me to explain.
Since the start of year ten, he was ALMOST my all-time best friend.  He was always tied top with Luli.
We could talk about basically anything, and be completely understanding with one another, no judgement, no nothing.
And while that's gone now, I thought I would miss it more than I do.  But I have Luli. I have Katie and Hanna and Anna and Lukey and Sarah and Danni, all of my gorgeous cousins, Sullay, Rach and Tom and I am so damned lucky to have them it almost hurts.  So I don't miss him. Not even a little bit.
In fact, I'm starting to see the perks of not being in a relationship.
Yeah, it still hurts a bit when I hear about him going out with this rainbow slag (I know, I know, I keep going on about how I don't blame her but it feels a little good to say that.), but it's okay. We were together for two and a half years, it's only reasonable to feel a little hurt, even if it is only instinct.  I don't conciously think about it.  In fact, when I do think about it, I kind of hope they're happy together, because I'd like it if someone else could have what we had and I'd like him to be happy too, even if I thought the happy lasted a little longer than he thought it did.  He's not a bad person, in my opinion.  I'm fairly sure I'm supposed to be hating on him and everything, but if he wants to be with someone else then fair enough to him.  Christ knows I was an annoying little whiner-bitch for a large chunk of the time.  So yeah.  If he wants to be happy with someone else, then okay.  It's not like he's in a great place at the moment either.  I genuinely think he wanted to avoid hurting me as much as possible, and for that I'm appreciative.  I don't really want to look at him so much, but I do appreciate it.  He could have gone ahead and cheated on me, but he had enough sense and respect to not.
But yeah.  Kind of on a downer now.  Let's perk me back up with discussing the obvious perks of not being in a relationship.
I can now flirt with whomsoever I damn well please.  And it feels EXCELLENT.  I am a naturally flirtacious person.  Mostly I don't even see myself doing it.  But now I can do it outrageously, and if I want to make something more serious of it I can.
I don't feel the need to shave as much.  I am saving a fair amount of cash on shaving foam and razors now, and providing I wear long sleeves or a jumper and a pair of trousers or leggings or something, no-one will ever know.  And that's going to get easier, what with winter almost here.  I fucking love winter.  I can wear my extra thermal layer of body hair and no-one will ever know!!  Except you, gentle reader, and for that I apologise.
I can now hang around with my male mates without even so much as a sniffle of jealousy.  I can watch movies and drink beer (AHEM, Tom. Not a hint or anything :P ) or kick some ass at Singstar (AHEM, Sarah) and I won't have to feel like I should plan ahead for how to phrase it when I discuss my day.
No more 3am text messages about role play groups (NOT the kinky kind, gutterminded peruser of my blog, the kind where grown ups play pretend with little figurines) or shepherd's pie or WHOOPS I seem to have missed my train, I will have to sleep at the house of my former crush.  Kid you not on that last one.  I stopped being iffy about it fairly quickly, but he was apologising for a long while.
I can watch as much Man Vs Food as I please and not have to listen to "American's are disgusting."
I will NEVER have my internet history searched through again.  That was stupidly embarassing. Let's not go there.
The only thing I miss, o' kind and sympathetic reader, is intimacy.
Not the sex kind.  Though some of that would be cool.
I miss cuddles. 
I miss being able to bury my face in his neck and breathe his smell and feel much better about the world.
I miss someone knowing exactly what to do when my stress levels are getting dangerously close to boiling point to calm me down.  That was damn useful.  And comforting.
I miss the little smiles and the eye contact and the hand holding.
Okay, to be fair, I miss sex quite a bit too, but I can always visit Ann Summers.
But yeah.  I'd love the love back.
Not with my ex.  Hell no. I swore to him I was never going back there and I meant it.
But with someone new it would be amazing.
I'll refer back to yesterday's post.  I make a pretty okay girlfriend.  And apparently my singing could make someone fall asleep. (So why, then, Kerry Pringle thought that I was annoying people I don't know. Perhaps the humanities office doesn't like Lady Gaga.  Though they coped just fine with the two girls who spent five minutes screaming their heads off outside the office.  Just. Saying.) In a soothing lullaby way.  I think.
I might put this on Facebook this time, rather than just in the secluded land of Twitter (comparatively secluded). Yeah, my ex's big brother is on there, and a couple of his mates, but his mates seem to have a sort of respect for me.
I walked by one of them on my way home today.  He greeted me.  This is already better than normal.  Normally it's a sort of grunt and a bob of the head.  Perhaps they have learnt to fear me.  This would be good.
On other notes, I am learning how to play a Rocky and Balls song very very slowly. Go youtube them. They are wonderful. I have a bowl of supernoodles with chili sauce.  My webcam mic is a load of shit.  One of the best singers I know told me I had a pretty voice.
I'm going to leave you, nice person, with a lyric from a damn good song.
You and me, best friends forever,
Call me soon, or maybe never!
HEY! Go fuck yourself.
Love to all, as ever xxxx

Revenge On Hanna For Blog-Raping Me

I refuse to call it blape.
It is a stupid word.

Hanna.

This is my blape to Maddy while she is gone- I love you :)

A Hint To The Crush I've Got Going

My Girlfriend Resume:

• Not a fussy eater. KFC works as well for me as Bella Italia does. Sometimes better.
• I have no social life. I would basically be available all the damn time.
• I have an essentially male personality, making me pretty easy to get on with. Chances are if you're checking out that fit girl, I will be too.
• I have curves. They're pretty awesome. I normally show them off too.
• I don't expect a man to come shopping with me. I actually prefer it if you don't.
• I carry my own damn bags.
• I can hold an intellectual conversation.
• Parents do not frighten me.
• I don't spend hours in the bathroom. I have currently got my normal time down to twenty minutes, including shower.
• I'm pretty damn excellent in the sack. (Just saying)
• I am very relaxed about you having crushes on other people during our relationship. We're human. We're allowed to check other people out. Providing nothing happens, there's no problem there.
• I'm a very cheap date. One bottle of lager (though I prefer cider) can get me a bit tipsy.
• DEFINITELY not a shrinking violet, which means I stand up for myself. Yes, it's lovely to have some manpower behind me, but my tongue muscle is in good shape, tah.
• I don't go psycho if you have female friends. You're allowed. The majority of my mates are male.
• I'm not expecting to be spoiled. I kind of prefer it when I'm not, really. I pay my own way where I'm going or I don't go. Unless you insist. But expect to be treated back once I have the money.
• I don't smoke. Literally nothing.
• I'm stupidly enthusiastic.
• I can be made happy by something as simple as a Kinder Egg. Big things are all well and good, but the little ones are what make my days.
• My music taste ranges from Dolly Parton to Stiff Little Fingers. There will be something we can listen to together.
• I'm confidant. I don't get knocked down by jibes often. You can call me fatty, shorty, ginger, thicko, whore, slut, slag, bitchface, and pretty much anything else.
• I'm laid back almost as far as to be laid down. There are only a couple of things I will not tolerate. These are:
  • Violence
  • The words “retard” or “spastic”
  • Not liking my best friend (It's okay, she's amazing. She just takes a little getting used to.)
  • Using Autism in any derogatory way at all.

Everything else is kind of okay.

• I'm not bothered by how you present yourself. So long as you don't smell and you wash frequently, I really don't care.
• There are two things that scare me – Feet and needles.
• On that note, however, anything more thrilling than Dr Who will require my being cuddled. This means, though, that you get to snug right up next to me. This is a good thing. I smell good and I've got D-cup breasts. What more can we ask here?
• I like wearing suspenders, and Dita Von Teese is practically an idol.
• Your mates won't scare me either.
• I am crap at video games. You will win all the time. You can attempt to teach me, but that will require me sat between your legs. Don't see that being a problem ;)
• My friends are pretty cool. They're intelligent, witty, and accepting of almost anything.
• I come as a package deal. This might sound scary. It's okay. It just means that you are stuck with Lu as well. She makes excellent lasagne.
• I have several pairs of very slutty heels.
• I am no longer in touch with any exes.
• I read Cosmo.
• I'm pretty. No, really.
  
  

  

  Not actually as orange as I look in the picture. Apart from the hair. The hair is orange.

So really, all in all, I'm pretty cool. I go for most types of guys, and no matter who you are I'm not going to laugh at you if you come up and ask me out. Providing I don't find you creepy, I'll say yes.

So come on then. If you've got a crush on me, don't be shy.

My Saturday (More therapy based writing)

You'll be pleased to hear, faithful reader, that my fingers have stopped hurting since yesterday, as I have taken a day's respite from the guitar. This is mostly due to a very painful rendition by me of Jolene by Dolly Parton, after which I decided I should perhaps go buy a new chord book and learn songs I can sing, to prevent the depression setting in as I BUTCHER some of my favourite tracks.
That's about it on the getting better front, however.
You remember my ex? OFC you do, I wrote a massive fucking paragraph on the nutter. Well this is mainly going to concern him, since he's still being a cock.
Why is he being a cock, darling peruser of my distinctly weird blog? Well. Let me start by telling you a small other thing, because the author in me feels that the big thing should be saved for a big finale.

I had not yet informed my B-E-A-UTIFUL best friend, Lu: 

Me, Sarah, Mitch and Luli at prom, July 2010

Of my unfortunate break up.  And boy, was it unfortunate.  Anyway, I hadn't told her yet. I rarely call her (this makes me an uber bitch, I know) so normally I have an entire week of bitching to share with her, as does she with me.  I informed her of our eventual split.  I did not expect her to go "OH. So that's why whenever I greet him all cheerfully he looks a bit frightened. I must of [Lovely reader, this is just how she talks. I know she means have.] looked like a complete idiot. Can you call me sooner next time please?"  I felt rather guilty at this point.  She, however, has offered to harass him for the twenty quid he still owes me (Yes, still, but quite honestly I've not made it easy for him to talk to me, what with refusing to see him.) which I presume means  that she forgives me.  I found out later, having consulted her mummy (not so weird, she's like a ridiculously fun auntie, and my manager, but more on that later), that SHE had also seen stupid ex, greeted him cheerfully, and had too wondered why he had blanked her.  I explained. She got really quite irate.
Life went on within the day. I served customers. They were nice. We had pizza for lunch, it was BOGOF and had pepperoni, which is always awesome.
Wendi (manager, Luli's mum) drives us home every Saturday on the way home.  She asked me on the way what I intended to do with my life now.  Jokingly (mostly), I said that I was going to get really, REALLY slutty and just do whatever the fuck I wanted. She thought that this was a very good idea, and I should use the tenner she had just given me (Yes, I'm a volunteer worker. No, I don't know why she gave me a tenner. Yes, I tried to argue with her. Most pointless 15 seconds of my life EVER.) to go buy some Lambrini and shag this guy I was talking about who I had a crush on. (She's the kind of person I can tell this shit to. She's fifty and still snogging 20 year olds in bars.)  I had to remind her, again, that I was still seventeen.  You'd think she'd get this, my being the same age as her daughter and having been around hers most weeks since I was about eleven, and several times more between the ages of 6 and 8.  But no.  Not that I don't expect this from her.  She keeps asking her own daughter to go and buy aforementioned alcohol.  STILL doesn't get the whole underage thing. Distinctly remember a moment from a sleepover aged fifteen, and her asking Lu to nip up the shops in the car and buy her some Nicorette.  I love her, but she's not exactly improving with age.
Anyway.  I pointed out the lack of age to her, but she still thinks acting slutty is the first step to recovery.  I am actually tempted.  She seems happy enough.
Anywho. I got home after this, and logged on to Facebook.  Eventually. Was dragged out by father to apply for jobs first.  ANYWAY, earlier this morning I had received a Facebook-based email from the stupid ex, which went as follows.

I had decided this morning not to grace it with a reply as yet, to go to work and deal with it later.  I was not impressed, believe me. You'd think if he had thought it through about still wanting me, we'd still be together.  Stupid man.  Are all men stupid? (Duh.) Anyway.  I later decided to reply to him, and the conversation went as follows.

I thought it only fair to warn him about Wendi. She was threatening to break into his house and piss in his mouthwash.  Honest to God.
I just...  He is so fucking agitating it almost hurts.  His date has gone badly with the violet slag, and now we come back to me. Obviously. Because I clearly didn't say at the time when we broke up that he'd had his second chance, so fuck him to fuck!!  It is possibly the most appropriate moment for a facepalm ever. IN FACT:

Anyway, enough of Jean Luc Picard.  I'm going to sign off now, as my anger has slightly dissapated and there is honestly nothing more I can say in this instance.  Might hunt down some Magners.  Love to all. xxxx

Stupid Stupid Stupid

Things which are stupid - Men, money, not eating breakfast, fingertips bitten up by the first load of guitar playing you've done in years (this blog brought to you more slowly than normal), being hurt that your ex is now going on a date with the girl he left you for, falling for the girl your ex left you for's ex who might just like you a little bit too, getting whiteboard rubbers thrown at your head for a whole hour and a half by that guy, stress headaches, the functionalist view on crime, the civil service, not having a drink for lunch and so having to ask your mum if you can borrow some of her money to get one, stress headaches (REALLY fucking stupid), obstinate teenage-pregnant friends who can't seem to get it into their stupid heads that it is just inappropriate to announce yourself "Hi, I'm M***** and very very soon I'm going to be FAT" when the father of the baby is 40-fucking-2 years old.

Yeah, it's another bitchy blog.  I think I'm only going to blog in times of great stress, despite the effect that will then have on the stress headaches.  How about I run through the list for you to release my stress?  Not that you have a choice what my blogs contain.  If you don't like it, stop reading.

Men - My love life has gone like this for the past three or so weeks.  On a Friday whilst I was at work, my (now-ex) boyfriend texted me saying that he didn't want us to be together anymore.  After a couple of hours of extensive bargaining and pretending that I had really REALLY bad hayfever and was perhaps allergic to Lu's perfume, I attempted to have us split on fairly nice terms.  The same afternoon we were talking again, me making silly jokes about pepsi cans and him being grateful that I wasn't trying to stab him.  Wednesday turns up, and I wander past his on the way home, jokingly telling him not to check out my ass as I walked by.  He invites me in, we chat.  He gets up to go the bathroom, comes back and I ask for a hug.  We hug. For a LONG ASS TIME.  He starts to pull away, and the next thing I knew (through no legitimate fault of mine), we're kissing.  In a pretty full-on, devour each other's faces kinda way.  We stop, he moves away.  I make a crack about whether or not that's going to happen everytime we kiss. He says no, he just really missed me.  Hmph.  We keep talking, and after a while he gets up again and goes to see if his dad is up. He sits back down, but next to me this time, and the face-devouring continues.  After we've calmed down, and I've started pretending I'm not a little bit tearful, we decide that we'll give it another shot, and just see each other once a week like we would have done anyway, but whilst being boyfriend/girlfriend during that slot.  So we carry on like that for a little bit.  A week and a half maybe? I sort of lost track.  This weekend just been, however, he said that we weren't going to work, he didn't like the sort of relaxed approach we had and we should just stop trying.  I inform him that if he does this via an instant messaging system again (this is on Facebook. Seriously. Excuse me, umpire, new balls please!!) I'm probably never going to talk to him again.  He decides we should see each other Tuesday after college and talk about it face-to-face.  We never really got as far as Tuesday. Monday night we start discussing it, and he starts dropping hints about how disgusted he feels with himself, and how he's become his own worst nightmare.  At this point, I get a bit antsy.  Mostly because I've discussed his worst nightmare with him, and that's being a cheating boyfriend.  I tell him he'd better explain himself, because he wouldn't like the conclusion I was jumping to.  He asked me what that conclusion was.  I lost my nut a little bit at that point, and screamed at him that actually, I think he'd better just tell me, because I was sick to the back teeth of guessing what was going on and surely it would be easier just to come out with it.  This is when he tells me that he's got such a huge crush on another girl, whose name I won't say here because I don't really mind her so much.  It's not her fault.  This is when I decide that perhaps it would be best to break up, and then also decide to stop talking to him for the rest of the evening.  He asks later whether or not we're still going to a gig (we are) and I pointed out that I'd probably not want to punch him in his stupid face by October.  I did NOT realise that October is about two weeks away.  (I'm going to take this moment to say that I'm not sure what it is I just found on my arm, but it is either a really long, sore bruise, or a very sore artery.) He asked me to please not punch him in the glasses, as his grandma helped fund them.  It was at this point that I told him to shut the fuck up.  I found out this morning via a mutual friend that he went on a date with her.  She's in a relationship already (it was more Facebook INVESTIGATION than stalking. And it was only once. Yesterday.).  So he's still being a cock.  GRARGH.  SO SO SO glad that there are more than just me and him going to the gig. May never have appreciated Luke and Lottie so much before.  But yes. Men troubles discussed. Heart feels like it's been pulled out through my nostrils, stomped on and stuffed back in via my belly button, but never mind.

Money - I have none. Does what it says on the tin really.

Lack of breakfast - Really fucking hungry.  No money.

Fingertips - MY GUITAR HAS BEEN RESCUED :D  And I'm not completely shit!!  (Okay, total lie).  I can now play several chords that I have already forgotten the names of, but definitely D, and I can almost do the whole of Love Me Tender :D  Feel decidedly pleased with myself.  However, due to maniacal typing, the little sore bit on the tips are all red and raw and a bit angry at me.  They'll get over it. I brought handcream with me, I'll make it up to them.  Guitar though :D  It's a blue Ashton classical. VERY pretty.  TINY little dent that isn't so noticeable, but lovely all the same.

Being all beaten up about Chewy and the Violet Girl (ex looks like a wookie, new woman dyes her hair a new colour every two or three weeks. Last time I checked it was purple) - I have since asked Sarah to stop telling me this shit.  It just hurts.  I got all tearful on the bus and everything (think I carried it off, but she follows my blog so she'll probably know once she's read this. Meh).  I'd really like to get over it, and I don't think keeping me up to date with all his news is any way to go about it.  I do NOT want to cry over a walking carpet.  Just... Ow, I guess.  Rejection is not fun.  Especially after two and a half years.  TWO AND A HALF YEARS AND HE DUMPS ME BY TEXT.  Fucking men.

The Other Guy - I'm going to think up a codename for him. He already had a codename but knows it now, and my evil friends are devious and might, in a misguided attempt to get us together like Beatrice and Benedick out of Much Ado About Nothing, show him.  I do NOT need him to know I have feelings for him at the moment.  Especially not when I still get painful little pangs hearing about my ex.  Let us call this new man Adam.   Before I broke up with my ex, I started getting a bit of a crush on Adam. Okay, very big one, to the point where my ex could tell and he's never even met Adam.  I got teased a lot, and maintained to most people that there were no feelings there at all. Pffft, yeah right.  He's lovely.  He's told me he's an old romantic who would want to take a girlfriend who would appreciate it to Austria and France. Seriously.  Gah.  Anyway, I made a good attempt to get over it, as I was still madly in love with Chewy and pretty happy in my relationship.  I managed to get rid of the majority of my feelings for Adam and forget about it.  Apart from now.  NOW I keep having not exactly appropriate thoughts about him.  Which, whilst fun, are not a good thing.  Lovely friends who are attempting to do the best for me, and so driving me INSANE, feel like I should give it a go and have a flirt, seeing as how he seems to have a thing for me as well.  To the point where my mother, Sarah, Anna and Sarah's boyfriend all seem to agree.  Wow.  I'm starting to wonder if they might be right.  I don't want to immeadiately go and do anything, because since Monday (it being Friday now) I have NOT had enough time to be grieving for my previous relationship, and whilst Sarah and Anna seem to disgree, I don't really care.  I want some more time.  Like a good few weeks.  Rather than four days.  It was two and a half years.  That's not going to go away instantly because he doesn't love me anymore (claims he still does, fuck that) and I've got a crush on someone else.  Hmph.  Fuck if I know what to do.

Whiteboard rubbers - Seriously.  Think an inch by an inch sized sponges, with a bit of cloth on top.  Like a soft scourer.  Thrown at my head. At least twenty times.  He only had three rubbers.  How did he manage twenty times? If he threw them at my head at just the right angle, they would bounce back to him because he was sat next to me.  He got me straight on the cheek at one point, apparently leaving a black smudge.  Unimpressed.  Have not spoken to him since.  Absence not making the heart grow fonder.  Just pissed off.  People seem to be thinking this is like what little boys do to little girls when they like them, like pick on them and pull their pigtails and the like.  It had better be, because if he is just doing it to piss me off I'm going to punch his stupid (attractive) face in. GRARGH.

Stress headaches - Possibly the most inconvenient headaches ever.  You are already stressed and then BAM, incurable headache. Mine is in my forehead.  VERY frustrating.

Functionalist view on crime - Just won't stick in my head. Despite writing two mini essays on the topic.

The civil service - Just GRARGH. They still haven't managed to give my dad a decent new job.  Probably not long til he quits.

Relying on mother for liquids - I might play the heartbroken card. She tends to sympathise with that.

Stress headaches - Still stupid, still getting worse.  Hopefully getting a drink soon.

My pregnant friend - Just...  It's just maddening, it really, really is.  She continually claims to not give a shit what other people thinking, and is as such going to carry on declaring her pregnancy by her 42 year old "partner" (she's 18.  I know.)  whenever and wherever she pleases as, fuck it, she's going to be obviously pregnant in five months anyway, she might as well declare it now so that people have warning. I swear, one of these days...  "At least she has her friends to support her."  Getting to that stage where I DON'T WANT TO.  I don't want to have to look over her shoulder for her when people starting bitching.  I don't want to have to defend her to people. Because whilst she doesn't care what people think, she's going to have to start because I am not going to hang around if she is going to keep being so damn inappropriate in her declarations.  JUST. NO.  I have got to the point where I am so close to having had it with her completely that I don't even particularly want to see her.  And I am pretty damn tolerant.  It may have to come to it shortly where we point out that she is embarassing us.  (I say we.  I'll say it alone, but I'm 99% sure that there are people with me on this one.)  I have enough to deal with in my life at the moment without picking up pieces behind her as well.

I've been blogging on this one for about an hour now.  I feel slightly better, but still very annoyed.

I'm also a little bit confused.  I have a friend called John.  He is American. He's quite nice, though I find him unnerving at the best of times.  He seems to think, despite having me on Facebook and my name being repeated in front of him quite a lot, that my name is Harriet.

Ny name is NOT Harriet. It is Madeleine if we're GOING to go for the full name.  I really have no idea what's going on there.  Just going to let it go.

I have about twenty minutes left til lunch.  I think I shall sign off here and go grab a drink.  I still have about four books in my bag from yesterday, so I'll try and get rid of the headache.

Love love luh-uh-uhve to all. (No idea what I'm on about? FOR SHAME. Go listen to 5 Years Time by Noah and the Whale. Go now.)