Procrastination

Mostly because it's tricky to type while I'm having a nice little cry, so my bad for typos that may occur, I'll spell check it before I post but it doesn't do grammar so ya know.
I'm clearly in a self-depreciating mood, because I have chosen to play Little Lion Man and read through all the emails Harry has sent me.
Hence the crying.
I honestly thought I was done with the crying.
It's not because I miss the relationship, or because I want him back or anything.
It's just miserable reading what he says and knowing I can't help him.
Because I don't know how much of this he is telling anyone else.
And it's pretty serious in some bits.
And he should be telling other people, because I cannot help him.
He was one of my best mates for so fucking long, and I can do sod all to help him and that feels so, so awful.
Thing is, I could cope with all the hideous mood swings while we were together because he was my boyfriend and so it was okay.
I can't now.
I can't text him and ask him how his day went and have a barrage of swears thrown back at me.  I barely coped with that when we were going out, let alone now.
I've got back as far as September with the emails, and I have decided to stop.
I honestly would quite like him back as a friend, and he would like me back as a friend, but I don't think we can be until he has sorted himself out, which he has indirectly agreed with.
I kind of miss his cuddles, actually.
They were pretty awesome.
I'd like to think I'm not fucked up in the head, and I'm just hormonal, but I think I'm just letting some shit out that I've bottled up for a while.
I think I've decided in my head that actually, I am more than happy to move on and be with someone else and not feel guilty about it, I am just still somewhat upset by the destruction of the last relationship.
I really have no idea about whether or not this is a bad thing.  All of the rules I had in my head about getting over people and starting new relationships have just been thrown out of the window in the last few months because I decided to sod being sensible and do what I wanted exactly at that moment.
Mostly because of something I found on Bebo when I was thirteen, but that's beside the point.
It is now, ofc, cheesy, but when I was thirteen it was a revelation.
I have no idea what I want anymore.
The last time I had no idea what I wanted, I blogged to work it out, but that was before people actually read my blog at all, and especially not the people it would end up being about.
Truth?
I miss Harry, but not enough to go back into a relationship with him.
I would very much like to continue on whatever road I have put myself on with, ahem, "Adam" because it's making me happy.
And frankly, isn't that the whole point?
Not just in a small way, but I would assume that being happy and actually enjoying yourself is the whole fucking point in life.
Which is why I do things like paint my toenails all different colours, and bake.
Fuck this shit, I'll do whatever I damn well please.
Which right now means soup.

A Conundrum

I'm not going to blog about my life today.  Yes, I went to London today, I went round Madame Tussuad's and had lunch and did a bit of some galleries and some museums before I felt really sick and Mum felt sick and we went home.
I also got an incredibly upsetting email today, which I don't really want to talk about, but didn't explain ANYTHING.
Anyway.
I'm being all clothes oriented again, I'm afraid.
I'm trying to decide if a dress is too short.
I got it from work a while back for a couple of quid.  I work in a charity shop, making this possible.
It's a Miss Selfridge in a size ten, which was asking for trouble, really, because I don't do Miss Selfridge (I get the feeling it doesn't have a "d" in it) and the tits and ass mean that I have not been a size ten since YEAR ten, at which point I went on the pill and my boobies went from C's to D's.
Anyway.
It's really, really nice.

You can actually see the detail better if you highlight it, weirdly enough.

Like so!
This is NOT a very good picture.  I didn't take one of the bottom half, so I shall describe.  It has pleats coming down from the waist and POCKETS, which I love.  I do love pockets.
The top, however, I DID get a close up of.

It's a bit sailor-like, which is why I loved it, really.
Really cute little lapels, and I LOVE the stitching.
Considering replacing the buttons with little anchor buttons, because that would make it adorable.  Possibly these.  Though £3 is a little excessive for five buttons. I would have to go somewhere and get buttons.
Anyway.  It has a couple of flaws.
I cannot fit into it without magic knickers.
If I do not wear thick black tights with it, there is a serious issue that I will discuss in a moment.
If I put a belt with it, I cannot breathe.
However.

Yes, my room is a freaking tip. Console yourself with the fact that all the clothes are clean.

Have you SEEN my breasts in this? ("Adam", if you're reading this, do try to calm down.)
They look pretty damn good.
My waist looks teeny weeny.
I can make the shoulder of the dress go over to the side a little, giving a really gorgeous V look.
And I can wear it with THESE:

My all-time favourite heels.

However.
Back to the little issue.
If I don't wear my massive magic knickers and thick THICK black tights with this, you can sort of see a little bit of arse cheek.
Like a couple of inches.
Because the dress has a wee slit at the back.
I think (think) that I can put a couple of stitches in, maybe let the hems of the slit out a little and make it a wee bit more covering.
Maybe.
I do risk ruining it, though I figure I've got quite good with a stitch ripper, I can always put it back.
It is shorter than anything I have EVER worn before.
Quite a serious dilemma.   I also have nowhere to wear it.
What do you lot think?

I realise I have not done a Three Good Things in a while.  I shall do a fifty good things next time I am miserable to make up for it.
<3 to all XXXXXXXXX

Sorry!

Virgin cut off my internet on Wednesday, without warning, for "planned maintenance".
You'd think, had they planned it, they would have warned us.
Clearly not.
I'm not sure how long this blog entry is going to be, so I'm going to write a list of things that I want to talk about at the start, and then if I get disturbed I can come back and carry on with it later :)
Okay, so:
- Stupid Ex getting even more stupid.
- My weekend as an overview.
- Slush puppy.
- How I got creative with my skirt.
- The awkwardness of not having internet.
- Pumpkins.
- Adam

We shall start it now.
I posted this about an hour ago, because I'm fucking tired and, whilst I want to update my blog, I don't have the energy.
Ex clearly read it, because I got emails as such.

IF YOU DON'T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT HOW MUCH OF A DICK YOU ARE BEING AT THE MOMENT, DON'T READ THE FUCKING BLOG YOU ENORMOUS PLONKER.
Frankly, I have spent the time since we broke up trying to make sure that you are okay, despite the teeny weeny fact that you managed to break my heart twice.
You have met this by venting your mood swings and rages at me.
I don't have to deal with that anymore, because I am no longer your girlfriend, but I kept listening because I thought that it would help and would maybe end up in us being friends again, because I wanted that.
I also kept your name hidden by referring to you as Ex or Stupid Ex because the majority of the people I know are mad at you, but I didn't want them to vent this at you.  Now, I really don't care.
I only texted you Friday night to find out how your doctor's appointment went, because I cared. You didn't want to talk about it, and that was fair enough.
I am NOT here to be raged at.
I am fucking SICK of being raged at.
Because quite frankly, you are NOT the only person I have to look after.  And you are NOT top of my list in the order of which I want to deal with the people I have to look after.
I deleted all the texts you sent me, so I don't really remember what you said.
Either way, I'd appreciate if you could fuck off and leave me alone.  So no. No I do not want to set aside some time at some point this week to have lunch with you.  Piss off and leave me alone.
I am blocking you now. I would probably send you an email if I was even slightly sorry.

Lovely blog readers, please remind me of this feeling if I ever try to unblock him.
Anyway, my weekend was pretty cool otherwise :)
Chessington Friday, Legoland with fireworks on Saturday.
Rollercoasters make me feel really really calm.
I think it is the outlet of all the screaming.
I do like screaming.
I had a slush puppy at Legoland.
This one, in fact.

Raspberry and blackcurrant flavour

This is because I am a goddamn saint.
Bong wanted to go on a ride for people with skinny hips.
This is NOT me.
I have BIG hips.
He needed two people to go on with him, so that strangers would not sit next to him.
After much arguing, I presented myself as human sacrifice, despite the fact that such rides make me feel really rather ill.
I did NOT fit in the seat.
I have bruises.
The slush puppy was my compensation.
Still a bit miffed about it.
Still, no foetal position, which was nice.

I got CREATIVE :D
With a skirt :D
It was previously my mother's skirt, which she has never worn.
It is a maxi skirt, with pretty roses on it.

Sorry about how it is sideways!

Rose patterned :)

Having donated it to me, I found that it gripped my hips in an entirely unattractive fashion.
Made me look huuuuuuuge.
So I decided to mess with it, as it is a REALLY pretty pattern, and I liked it.
I hiked it up over my bazooms, folded the top down, and stuck a bustier I have over the top.
Added heels.
TADAAAAA.

Looks pretty good :)  Stuck my prom petticoat underneath.
Doesn't really do it justice, but I lost my camera so my phone had to do.

Found my camera in the bathroom.
Then realised I had lost the lead.
As is life.

Not having the internet is very awkward.
Can't do things.
Tbh, too tired to finish this properly.
I wrote Katie a song rather than doing this.
I'm going to record it and post it.

Adam. Yup. He's still there.

This is how tired I have gotten.
Bog off now, blogees, and let me sleep.
XXXXXXXX

Another Blog In A Free

Providing you wait a moment for me to grab my ipod out, you may read my witterings.
I am also starting to get a fairly hellish cramp, so I may suddenly abandon you to take a shitload of painkillers and sit in a corner and sleep.
Not that that will get any work done.
Not that any work was going to GET done until second period.
It is getting to that sort of weather where I dig through the shelf under the computer for my gloves and hat, and pick one of the many scarves hanging in the hallway just to get me to college without hypothermia.
This actually makes me really quite happy.
It is supposed to snow by the end of the month, which is glorious.
Would LOVE a snow day.
Will have to get wellies before then.  The only boots I have either have three inch heels, or very tiny, but significant, holes.
My trainers then don't have enough grip.
Not using my heels as ice picks either.
So I shall have to get welly boots.
It would make me happy if I could find some of those could have frog faces on them.
I miss have wellies with frog faces on them.
I think this came up in a previous blog.
It did.
I just spent ages reading them.
I bitch a LOT.
But then again, no-one is forcing you to read this.
Starting to get hungry now, and I know exactly where all my money is.
On top of the bathroom cabinet at home.
:(
Cup of tea and a bit of cake would be amazing.
Elevenses at nine o'clock in the morning.
Om.
And also Nom.
I have a book in my bag.
In so far it is drivel, but that's okay.
Tempted to leave the library, borrow a quid of someone and buy a BIG cuppa, because then you get free biscuits with it.
Mmmmmmm, 'squits.
Hilariously, I planned to do Film work in the lesson.
Sat in the library. XD
We watched a documentary in Film.  There were a lot of complaints about it's factual nature.
You can't see me rolling my eyes, but I am.
There was a clip from Scream in it, which I have not seen.
I am assured that it is not all that scary, but very jumpy.
I don't know as to whether or not it is not scary.
What I DO know is that it IS INDEED VERY JUMPY.
There's a bit right near the start where she is creeping along outside the house trying to escape, and comes across a window.
She looks up, and there is a black figure in the window, facing away.
Then it turns round really suddenly, and there is this screaming mask on whoever it is.  That white and black one that is all stretched out and weird.
The mask wasn't scary.
It was the sudden bit and the expectation of seeing just the dark insides of a hood, and then not, that scared me.
To the point where I jumped a mile, shouted "Shit!!" really loudly, and shook for about five minutes afterwards, laughing in a way that can only be described as slightly hysterical.
I was pretty much the only one, as far as I could see.
The teacher had to pause the film while "we" (he meant me) regained "our" (my) composure.
Bless him, he was quite worried for me.
Good thing horror movies aren't on the syllabus, let me tell you.
I'm very, very bad at horror.
There are too many needles.
Even in films that aren't horror, there are too many needles.
Like in Girl, Interrupted.
The library is doing that thing where it gets cold again.
So far, I CAN still feel my fingers, but I'm going to have to step it up a pace in my frees on Friday.
Maybe gloves.
Whilst gloves make it tricky to type, they do make me WARM.
I think I still have my fingerless ones from last year.
Mother was right about this not being enough clothing.
A run down:
-Boots that come about up to my calves, tan, leathery, a bit beaten up.
-Shitty tights that I got from a supermarket that have weird black tiny ladders in them.
-Black cotton skirt that has two layers.
-White vest.
-Red cropped cardi, only one of the buttons done up because otherwise I look like a fatty.
-Undies, obv.
Wearing a jumper dress tomorrow, if I can get a pair of leggings clean tonight.
Or decent tights.
I do actually have a pair someplace.
Might also appeal to my mother to let me keep the money I owe her to spend it on essential warm clothes.
However, cannot do this while blogging.
Shall have to write a to-do list.
Hanna, who is nice deep down, wrote on my to-do list the other week; Shag "Adam".
She wants me to tick it off.
I would put a photo, but it has his real name rather than Adam, and whilst those who bother to read this shitty excuse for a memoir know his real name ANYWAY, it would feel like a betrayl of trust. (Look at me being a good girl and not kissing and telling.  Sort of...)
The Crunchie in my lunch box is calling me.
We don't really have packable food in the house atm.
I have, therefore, ended up with the following for lunch:
- Six pastry twists, butter flavour.
- Crisps, S+V flavour.
- Crunchie, Crunchie flavour.
- Two mushrooms, raw flavour.
Yes, I eat raw mushrooms.
Must figure out a way to remove the bookmark Adam has of this blog.
Not exactly a good catch.
My father grilled me about him the other night.
His exact words were "So, have you selected a new victim yet?"
Myself: "Victim?"
Dad: "Yes, victim. Like (insert Ex's name here)."
Myself: "You mean a new boyfriend style thing?"
Dad: "Yeah, victim."
Myself: "Funny."
He then decided to grill me.
Apparently he needs to know this stuff.
No.
No he doesn't.
Having described Adam in general, my father told me that I should try for someone richer next time.
He then proceeded to call me "Elizabeth" in a hill-billy voice for the rest of the evening.
It's a reference to a tv show called "Swamp People", which is on the History Channel, and a bit hilarious.
It is about a group of alligator hunters, one of whom is named Elizabeth, but prefers Liz.
Her boss, who I think is called Troy, knew her since she was a bubby, because he knew her daddy, who is now sadly dead.
He was having a VERY bad season, and knows she is a VERY good shot, and so decided to offer her a job with him and his son, whose name I HAVE forgotten, alligator hunting. 
She accepted.
However, when Troy gets all excitable, he calls her Elizabeth.
Or when he is bored.
Or when he wants to annoy her.
And basically all the time.
This pisses her off.
She frequently threatens to shoot, throw knives at or throttle him.
This is hilarious.
Troy has permanent subtitles because his accent is so strong.
He says something along the lines of "She don't like me callin' her Lizebeh. I call her wha'ever I laahk."
Dad does a very good impression of this.
Frequently.
With me as the target.
My name is NOT Elizabeth.
It is not one of my middle names.
This, therefore, pisses me off.
Dad also, in the same night, called me a female scorpion, accused me of being a lesbian (I did "come out" that evening, but only as a Guinness liker), and continually flicked my hair over my face.
Unimpressed, tbh.
But still.
He threatened to steal my phone and look through my texts.
I pointed out that he did not know how to work my phone, nor did he bring his reading glasses.
This stumped him.
This is how it should be.
The day my father learns how to A) Open my purse or B) Look through my phone will be the day I am grounded permanently.
He didn't, however, seem too bothered by the fact that Adam is about a year older than me, which I thought would have done.
Despite the fact that there are six years between him and my mum.
There are, apparently, very different rules for me.
I imagine that, if I did pick someone six years older than me, he would kill me.
That would mean going out with someone born in the 80s, which for me is a strange concept.
And definitely not happening.
It has definitely got to that stage where I need mittens in the library.
What confuses the crap out of me is that they continue to open the windows in the library unless it is pouring with rain or snow.
Have they not seen the lack of clothing some of these people wear?
Like blokes with their arses hanging out of their jeans (NOT attractive, by the way. A small strip of pant is fine.  Two arse cheeks covered in a comedy pattern is sick and wrong.).
I see a lot of arse cheek at this college unintentionally.
In my opinion, if shorts don't come down at least two inches past the curvature of your bum, then you are not wearing shorts, and instead denim knickers over a pair of tights.
Dear girls.
You are not super heroes.
You cannot, therefore, carry off pants over tights.
Sorry.
M XX
I was walking in to college with Sarah the other day, and we did see a girl who appeared to be wearing a denim g string.
NOT attractive!!
Yes, your arse is nice.
No, I don't want to see it the WHOLE DAMN TIME.
Arses should be kept covered, apart from swimming and sexytime.
And even DURING swimming, most of the arse should be covered.
Unless you are Brazilian.
Different rules apply if you are Brazilian.
Like the French, and going topless.
Or a nudist.
Nudists are allowed to be nuddy.
They make an effort to not wear clothes.
Girls with denim g strings clearly decided that they should put some form of clothing on this morning, but fucked it up and left the house dressed like White-Trash Barbie.
What confuses me also is why you would then have pockets poking out of the bottom.
You cannot possibly put anything in those pockets.
So why bother with them?
There is legitimately no point.
And why continue to wear shorts in the wintertime??
Tights are NOT thick enough to keep you warm in such weathers, and leggings are too bulky to put under shorts.
Therefore you must be COLD.
Being cold SUCKS.
WHY DO IT TO YOURSELF, YOU LUDICROUS WOMEN!!??!?!?!?!
Also, this tshirt and leggings thing.
We can see your fanny.
Put it away.
I am not normally a fan of the word fanny, but I honestly cannot call it a lady garden in the case of these girls.
Too classy for these girls.
NOW my fingers are freezing up.
Fail to see how the library can have got COLDER as the morning goes on, when the sun is all the way up now, and there are 52 computers running and several students in here.
Does not make sense.
Hmmm.
Appear to have blogged for the entire free, leaving me with sixteen minutes.
Having consulted my purse, it would appear I have enough money for TEA :D
I will go and buy this now.
Love to all
XXXXXXXX
Three good things:
-80p cups of tea.
-Rachel's blog.
-Jumper dresses.

Today In A Nutshell

Several bad things happened, like poor Anna and losing my bus pass and getting a bit embarrassing off one damn bottle of lager.
However.
This is my overriding emotion.

That is all.
3 Good Things:
-That strange gold coloured Fosters.
-Ice cream
-Russell Grant on Strictly Come Dancing

My Weekend So Far

It has been a bit traumatic, to be fair, and it is only Saturday night.
Waking up this morning, I realised I wanted breakfast, which is a rare occurance now, and so I decided to skip out on a shower, scrape my hair back and wear a shitload of deodorant, as you do, so that I could cook what Nigella calls Doughnut French Toast and what I call Socially Acceptable Dessert For Breakfast.
It is essentially eggy bread, but with cinnamon and icing sugar on top, but I had run out of cinnamon, so it was just icing sugar this morning.
I then went to work.
This went fine, I came home with 6 books (a regular occurance) and a bustier (bit weird).  It is black, with nice flowers on it, but I will only wear it over a blouse, which my manager thinks makes me a fuddy duddy.
This is the woman who:
-Cannot remember my age, despite the fact that it is the age of her daughter (my best mate) also.
-Thinks that shagging as many men as possible is the best route to getting over an ex (NOT the route I am taking. Prefer not to be slaggish).
-Wanted to piss in said Ex's mouthwash.
-Suggested I get a breast reduction.
That last one happened only this morning.  Because a dress I tried on (it's an enforced thing with her) wouldn't do up on the top.
I was actually okay with this.
She, clealrly, was not.
Personally though, my bangers are one of my favourite bits.
They tie top with my eyes.
Anywho.
I came home after work, lots of comments on how tired I look (actually not tired, just not wearing foundation) to find the shower missing.
This upset me greatly.
I am going out tomorrow, and seeing "Adam".
I would quite like to wash my hair.
I am going to have to do it under the cold tap in the bath.
I am also going to have to do it at about eight o'clock in the morning.
Gah.
The things I do to not smell bad.
This should probably be tagged with "First World Problems".
I do realise that there are lots and lots of disadvantaged children who do not get clean water at all.
But they probably aren't reading this.
The Ex is still emailing me.
Lots of stuff about how sorry he is and how much he hopes I am going to be happy.
Ergh.
I may have to block him.
Oh hang on, the last time I wrote he had blocked me.
Yeah, he unblocked me.
This involved me screaming at him about how actually there were a LOT of shit moments in our relationship. He did ASK for more reasons why we couldn't go back out.
He also sent me an email with ten of the word "fuck" or it's variants thrown in.
I asked him not to send me emails if he couldn't do it without swearing.
Little shit sent me back the same email, but with all the swears deleted.
I was unimpressed.
So ensued me getting VERY angry.
He has sent me several emails since, one about unis and another couple.
I haven't answered, and I won't be.
And actually, if he ends up reading this, I'll request here and now that he stops sending me emails that make me want to cry my heart out, because I like my heart IN.
I am not freaking Davy Jones.
Not that I think he enjoyed the experience of having his heart cut out and stuck in a box, to be fair.
I think I am going to start ending every blog post with at least three things that make me happy, and I am  going to make a massive list of them down one side of my blog, and they will ALL be different.
Things that make me happy today are:
-Pumped Up Kicks by Foster The People, but covered by Sophie Madeleine.
-Realising that I have accidentally matched my toenails to my undies.
-My Union Jack shoes.

A Quick Blog Before My Essay

It's just to organise thoughts, really.
Ex has blocked me on FB.
I realised this a few hours after I asked him to stop texting me about the Rainbow Slag, because it was just getting me all angry and I have enough anger in my life without adding her to it.
She is, apparently, getting a tattoo of a potato.
This is the kind of thing that makes me want to have a nice deep sigh and massage the little dips on either side of my nose where my eye sockets are.
I do not think a potato can look good as a tattoo.
Unless you give it a face and legs and arms and things, it will basically just look like she has had a turd tattooed on.
I think if I liked her, I would tell her to not get a tattoo of a potato.
She will probably regret it fairly quickly, too.
I honestly think that his blocking of me is a little rude.
I have tried quite hard, really, to make it so that we didn't hate each other.
My beautiful friends assure me that a good friendship between exes is impossible.
I'd like to think that this isn't true.
I am, however, sensible enough to know that it probably is.
It's just pissed me off a little though, that he has blocked me.
I can understand his reasons why, but I would have liked some kind of apology email, such as the one I sent him when I blocked him.
At least I explained myself, apologised for the fact that I didn't want to hear from him anymore.
Had I been told, I would have minded less.
As it stands, I am a little hurt.
The friends, however, will probably think that this is a good thing.
They felt, yesterday, that it was probably best for me to break off contact with him.
I do see their point.
But now I won't know how his doctor's appointment went, and I do actually care what happens to him.
I'd rather not be all underhanded and go through his mates, or get Sarah to go ask Matt who will ask a different Matt who will ask Ex.
It's just too complicated.
I will probably have to go through Etsy.
Oh God.
I have GOT to stop caring.
:(
Had about two minutes there where I just gazed around the library.
I do not feel any better, and instead feel a little bit like crying.
Again.
Sick of crying, tbh.
Going to go out tonight, go to work tomorrow, go to, ahem, "Adam" 's on Sunday, and just have a break from thinking about it, because the more I think about it the more upset I get and I am done with being upset.
I do think that it is maybe more me missing his best mate presence than anything else.  I can cope without kissing and cuddles and sex (though I'd rather not) but I now have very few people who I can talk about fit girls and space and good music and family with.
Right. Whilst I feel that crying is good for the soul, and I should not have to put restrictions on myself, I am going to STOP blogging because breaking down in a library full of chavs is a terrible idea, and there is no-one nice within close range to cuddle up to.
I shall do my crying on my own time.
Right.
<3 to all XXXXXXXX

Lunchtime.

Was pretty humiliating, actually.
Almost flashed my knickers. (Not a lot of them today, bloody laundry days)
Got mocked by friends.
Got mocked about, ahem, "Adam", about him, in front of him.
Neither of us found it a particularly enjoyable experience as far as I can tell.
I sure as hell didn't.
Anna assures me it was not that bad.
It was bad.
VERY.
I blame Katie, in large parts.
I do not think she has forgiven me for serenading her with Celine Dion.
So much rejection.
Think I shall go the library. Whilst I have many, MANY books still on loan, libraries are calming, and perhaps my red face will go away.
Katie now furiously typing her own blog.
It WAS nice watching Girl, Interrupted, apart from the suicide bit where Anna warned me that it was coming and I had to look away.
There are fifteen minutes left of this. I am looking forward to getting the fuck out, as I feel like I need a walk.
Getting all headachey in the hot English room.  Nice cold air outside.  Mmmm, air.
Fancy watching Hercules.
Going to read Katie's blog.
Love to all.

A Free Period Blog

The ex has sent me an email again.
He asked me not to blog about it, and I'm not going to in the extremes I normally go to. I'm not going to tell you the content, I'm not going to give you print screens, I'm only going to tell you the content in one sentence.
He was honest with me.
And thank GAWD for that.  Not that I was supposed to read it til 2012, but whatever, I was never any good at following demands.
I'd be TERRIBLE as the victim of a hostage attempt.
A note to potential hostage takers - I don't follow instructions, and my parents are broke. I am stubborn and more than a little anarchaic when backed into a corner.  I also have no idea how to use a gun, but will more than happily give it a try with a few choice lines a la River Song.  Expect me to give you HELL.
But yes, the ex.
He thought honesty would make me all mad at him, but I actually feel a lot better now I know what went on.  Because it felt a lot worse than it actually was. 
It's made me a little sad though, because I'd have forgiven all of the stuff that was before we broke up.  The stuff afterwards is immaterial, and during he didn't do anything cataclysmic, so it would have been fine really.
This is another good reason to be very, very blunt and honest with everyone.
Saves a lot of heartache later.
Starting to miss cuddles again.
I bloody like cuddles.
They are warm, and they smell good.
May have to steal Anna again, or find some willing bloke.
There aren't many of them.
A strand of my hair keeps coming unpinned and flopping over my eyes.  Aggravating. 
I'm not really sure what else to type in here. Putting off homework again.
Though to be fair, the library lady might get even more angsty if I tried to do my film homework, seeing as how I'd have to watch a film and my headphones are at home.
But still, everyone loves Flubber!!
Keeping seeing pregnant sort of friend wandering about.
She sat down with me yesterday and asked whether or not it would be awkward if she did.
Well, yes, actually, but you've already taken the chair my feet were on and I can hardly kick you off it, seeing as how I don't own the chair and you're a little bit up the duff and it's all against social norms if I deprive a pregnant lady of a seat.
Blasted social norms.
Blasted morals.
I left soon after.  I had lessons to go to, and she was annoying me without even intending to. 
In my honest opinion, you should not be lectured by your friends on how you're being inappropriate because actually they love you and are trying to protect you, throw it all back in their faces, piss off for something in the range of a MONTH, and expect to be welcomed back.
Ummm, no.
What happened, did your other little devotees get sick of you?
Okay, that may have verged on the bitchy side, but quite frankly I am not in the mood for being used. I got enough of that from my maternal grandmother (imagine me spitting on the floor at this point) for an ENTIRE DAMN LIFETIME and I will NOT be used again.
Unless it is mutual using.
Just put a quick cover up in there for potential fuck buddy statuses to be protected.
THAT'S fine.
Being bought things on an almost constant basis in an attempt to buy love and make my mother feel awful is not how to do it.
Not that it was purely my mother.
A story from a Christmas when I was little may illustrate this better:
When I was about seven or eight, we had Boxing Day at the house of the maternal grandparents (spits on floor).   I think it might have been the year that tsunami hit. I don't really remember.  My granddad, who is a sweetie but is easily manipulated and has sod all backbone, had bought HER (what I will be calling his wife from here on in) a fairly nice necklace, little purple roses on a nice cord.  I had some sense of social etiquette by this point, and understood human emotion well enough.  SHE, however, decided that I was too little to understand such things.  I admired the necklace at one point, because it was pretty.  And it was. At which point she gave it to me. The morning she had got it.  Which made me feel like shit, and Granddad feel like shit, and my dad got a bit grumpy.  Not in an outwardly fashion.  He gets all glowery and a bit scary when he's angry.
But that's a prime example of shit that SHE used to do to make Mum feel bad.  Christ only knows why, my mummy is wonderful. 
Unfortunately, my mum's brother has gone the same way as HER.
When asked to set him up a FB account, I did not expect him to use it to organise his affair.
I consider this my being used. Again.
There may be people with other interpretations on that, I may have become hyper-sensitive to this sort of thing.
He also implied during a phone call to my mother that perhaps we should tie a bell to my little brother, who is mentally disabled (not in a huge way, he has Asperger's syndrome, but it counts) so that people can hear him coming. Think they were discussing something like a concert.
Mother got very, very, VERY pissed off, and slammed the phone down.
She is normally quite the calm, refined sort.
When Christmas came around last year (2010), he sent a present for my brother with a bell tied to it.
ALL the presents got sent back.
I do NOT care what was in them, and I do not want to know.
I, frankly, prefer my brother to presents (don't tell him) and so I will not accept gifts from a sick, insenstive little arsehole who seems to think that this is an acceptable way to behave.
As a sociologist, reader, I know that a lot of social deviance comes from a lack of socialisation.
However, there is only so far, in my opinion, that this principle can be applied.
By the time you have got to the age of 50, you have been around enough of the well-socialised to know that taking the piss out of one's disabled brother is not an acceptable way to behave.
Leading me to believe that actually he is just a cock.
My train of thought has kind of wandered.
I daydreamed a little, there, as the library is a damn good place for daydreams.  Low hum of noise, tapping keys and a little bit of chit chat, but nothing major.
I was thinking back to the bit where we severed contact with HER and also my granddad for a bit.
It was year eight for me, so...  I was thirteen ish, which makes it 2007? Ish?
Anyway.
It had all got a little silly, because Granddad had started coming round our house to escape HER.  Understandable, and the one time he has ever shown any backbone.
The final time he did this it was because SHE had walked out of the house, and he had been driving round to try and find her and couldn't.
So he turned up.
This was not long after (maybe a few days) that my mum had almost burnt the house down. That was a little bit bad, the cats didn't really understand the danger involved in fire.
But she was a bit stressed.
So Dad and she went out anyway to try and find her.
Which they did.
From here I only have their account of the story.  I have been taught that I should only trust corroborated evidence, but I don't really mind.
SHE was back at their house, and so when Dad and Mum turned up, SHE discovered where my granddad was.
Words were exchanged, and I remembered being told that SHE said that SHE had only had one child, and that was her son.
Um, ouch.
Anywho, SHE turned up at ours, where we were under strict instructions to not open the door under any circumstances.
So SHE shouted through the letterbox at my granddad, demanding he come home now.
Which he did, despite the fact that I tried sitting in front of the door (I was always a bit of a mini bad-ass).
He had, however, left his glasses.
So I went round the side of the house, out of the front, and up the road, keeping my eyes on the pavement.  Gave him his glasses through the car window, turned around and left again.
I did NOT, as SHE has since claimed, give her evils.
I stayed neutral.
Not my fault he'll believe anything SHE spins him.
This was the point where my mother had had enough, and decided that all the contact should be severed.
Not complaining.
Sure, fewer presents, but I was content in that fact.
For about a year, we had no contact with them at all.  The only way Mum knew about the evils thing was because at that point we were still talking to HER son. Which we are not now, because as I have said, he is a knob.
Then Granddad texted Mum, saying could he please come round and just talk.
They talked, outside, and things were said to the effect that he absolutely HAD to start seeing us again, because it was killing him or some other shit.
This was the same kind of line used around the time of my mother's wedding, where Granddad would absolutely DIE if she didn't have a nice big wedding.
She didn't, Granddad is still knocking about.
Anyway.
Mum made it my decision whether or not to start seeing him again.
I decided yes, purely because of the death thing.
He does NOT buy us presents.
He keeps offering to though.
At which point I tell him no.
The last time he tried it, I pointed out to him that the more he asked the less he was going to get. He said he had gone temporarily deaf.
I feel like I have lost all respect for him.
He continues to go on foreign holidays,  despite the fact that he has a heart condition (he got a pacemaker last week) and has no insurance because no-one will take him because he's stupid and tries to go places like Egypt just AFTER the civil unrest.
This blog is starting to go a bit morbid.  May have to bake when I get in. Not that I'll get in til quarter to five IF the bus doesn't decide to come early again.
Five minutes before college even finished, and the college day is based around the departing of the four.

Sums it all up, really.
Quite want food.  I'm rather hungry now.
Having an ongoing debate with Sarah about whether or not to shave my legs.
I'm GOING to, but it's a bit fun to persuade her that I am trying to grow my own tights.
It's a temptation to try and lose weight.
I don't particularly need to, I'm at the top end of healthy, but with my weekend going the way it looks like it might, I'm starting to get a bit self-concious.
I have wobbly bits.
I have very few not wobbly bits.
These are my feet, my shoulders, and my scalp.
Everything else wobbles.
In the case of my tits and ass, I don't mind so much.
I'm getting over the fact that my thighs and arms and the like do.
My belly is getting a bit more wobbly than normal though :(
It may be the absence of the exercise I used to have with my ex, that being my only form of exercise, which was usually counteracted immediatly afterwards by either: Post-Coital Pepsi, or Post-Coital Ice Cream.
Both of which are great.
Too great.
Stupid wobbly belly.
May have to get on the Wii Fit again tonight.
The last time I did it, I did a nice half hour workout, where I swore at the coach a lot but felt very good afterwards.
I have learnt from this that such activities are a bit small for my living room, and that my balance is a lot better on my left foot than on my right.
Not that the personal trainer bloke cares.
I think I shall name him Edward.
Not because of any fascination due to Twilight.
I was always far more into the werewolf type.  Cannot do pretty boys. I mess people's hair up.  And I cannot see the point in going for a vampire when you could have a SPACE HEATER for a boyfriend.
I am cold a LOT. I do not need more cold added.
Also quite want a cup of tea.
I have had one today, but I feel like I need more.
And perhaps the pastry that is in my bag.
People who chatter at normal volume in libraries piss me off. There are a couple of them in the corner doing it right now.
Miss my ipod.
Still have half an hour to go.
Debating internally the concept of matching undies.
Does it look like you're trying too hard when they match?
I have two very nice sets, one of which I can't regularly wear because of how it has suspenders and I lost a stocking, but whatever.
I am going to have to do an AWFUL lot of washing.
There's a stack about two feet high in my room now.
Little bit embarassing.
Shall start tonight, after the film homework, and then do it a LOT tomorrow when I get home from college early, as Granddad is not coming. Again.
No complaints here.
HATE PEOPLE WHO TALK IN LIBRARIES.
IT IS A LIBRARY.
STFU.
Girl across from me just declared that she was getting a cold sore.
It amuses me that her mouth has herpes.
She does not look my sort.
And she's too damn loud.
The weather is too warm for October.
I want SNOW already. I want to wear my nice woolly hat with my new and rather sexy hair (not very sexy today, tied back because I couldn't be bothered washing it this morning) and I want my scarves and gloves and stuff.
Mouth herpes girl is leaving.
Thaaaat's better.
I do not understand the appeal of short tshirts and leggings.
I would rather people could not see the outline of my lady garden.
Very strange dream last night.
"Adam" was there, and an ex was there, and there was some kind of issue where if you accidentally stood in the wrong bit of this place, where the walls were both made of trees and of some kind of metallic stuff, then you would get sent somewhere else where there were zombies.
There was also a guitar, and I was definitely in charge.
Very strange.
Not as weird as the dream I had where me, Katie and Hanna all went to Disneyland, and there was a brass band and one of them had a powerpoint and then the most recent ex was there in his history lesson.
Pretty weird though.
Didn't see any zombies. It was more of a knowledge that we were being watched, which may have been put in there by the section of 28 Days Later that we watched in Film.
I swear I am more intelligent than all of those people added together.
Wish I was boasting.
For lunch, I have cool original Doritoes, but the Asda brand, and sour cream and chive dip.
And I think some chocolate.
One of the Ex's mates was nice to me the other day. Which was a bit odd, because we don't even slightly like each other.
Said something about not judging me because he had only heard Ex's side of the story, and so had a biased perspective.
Which was nice.
Weird, but nice.
It felt like people automatically assumed that when we broke up, it was my fault.
Dunno why.
Feel a lot better about it at the moment.
Kind of calm.
My mum has a weird thing where, if I'm sick, she is not allowed to leave me.
Which is nice.
But this is because this one time I got sick, and she had to go out, and by the time she came back I was very much worse.
She can also smell it when I am sick.
I would find this weirder if I could not smell it when Luli gets sick.
Maybe it's like the bit where your periods come at the same time. If you know each other long enough you start to learn when they smell sick.
Think I shall go in a minute.
You'd think they'd have got the builders to do work near the library outside term time.
Clearly not.
I shall go and sit in the study area and eat and contemplate.
Love to you all.
XXXXXXXX

I Am In A FANTASTIC Mood.

Here is why:
 - I have my favourite flavour of dip in the house.
 - My dad lost in a Sociology battle against me, because he thought the police weren't institutionally rascist (LOL)
 - The mortgage on our house is paid up.
 - MY DAD HAS A NEW AND WONDERFUL JOB THAT HE DOESN'T NEED QUALIFICATIONS FOR.
- I have a BEAUTIFUL new safety wife.
- I am going to, ahem, "Adam" 's this weekend, and that is EXCELLENT.
- I have a pretty new necklace that I will take a picture of and post :)

I feel pretty freaking wonderful.
I shall make you a playlist, one day, of songs which will make you feel awesome.
In fact, I shall put it as a gadget (oooh, get me!) on this blog :D
I may do a whole new list of things which make me happy.
Like how Hanna forgot the date of Hallowe'en today.
HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY :D

Nothing Happened

Yes reader, I went round, ahem, "Adam" 's house and nothing happened.
Though he did make me a cup of tea.
And we did have a pretty epic hug.
I was right about ALL blokes smelling good.
Must be magic.
I also saw him with a hoover and laundry, which means he can't make ANY sexist jokes anymore.
I also met Matt's girlfriend!!
She seems NICE.
Poor girl.
He owes us Subway.
He failed at being vegan.
All for now, too tired to do any serious blogging.
Love to all.
Have a picture of when the bloke out of The Computers sat on us at a gig.

He was very sweaty and spat a lot.

Sorry, Darlings.

I know it's been a DREADFULLY long time.  Are you okay?
The weekend in Norwich was fairly typical. 
I DID, however, go to see UEA, which was amazing and beautiful and awesome and an amalgamation (look at my posh word :D) of all these things in one.
Spent both nights while I was away texting, ahem, "Adam" (one of these days I'll quit that), but that's about as much detail as you're getting :P
Came home very VERY tired because ten hours in a car renders you useless and went to bed, thinking about how it would be nice to go out to a gig the next day, regain a social life, maybe get to bed by ten all snug with a cup of Horlicks.
HA.
I was not warned that it was a mosh-pit style band.
I have now learned what a "circle-pit" is, reader, and I am a little afraid.
Eventually, I will link you to a video each for the bands we saw, of which there were three.
One of the front men of these bands sat on me, and Ex grabbed the arse of one of his favourite males.
He is still VERY pleased about this.
I am beginning to query his sexuality.
It was OUTRAGEOUSLY good though. Having consulted two of those who went with, we have agreed that, whilst we may never recover, it was SO worth it.
We had a talk after the gig, after our legs starting working again and we realised that we had got so hot and sweaty that we could literally wring ourselves out.
We sort of cuddled (I had spent the gig between his arms against the railing, because I am a shorty and he is not, and he only once or twice tried to pull something, but we had become accustomed to the other being all sweaty by this point, so it did not matter) and, despite the fact that I do care about him still, I reiterated that we could not become a couple again.  This was taken fairly well, and I presumed that this meant he would back off a little and we could just be best mates again, which I do miss.
Like I miss cuddling.
Katie and I were discussing this earlier, about how it doesn't feel quite right cuddling up to someone who's neck you can't bury your face in.  I would like to add to this, in that the smell has to be right too.
Ex always smelt amazing.  I always pretended to be pissed off that he ended up getting deodorant on my bedsheets, but I actually didn't mind.
Let's not tell him.
I'm not sure what it is about blokes.
Providing they keep hygenic and slightly groomed (I'm not really bothered in the facial hair vs bald chin debate.  Ex always had ENORMOUS beard that was three different colours, and not intentionally either.  After certain, ahem, appendages, it was always my favourite bit of him, though I did have to be the one in charge of grooming it.  Whilst he didn't mind the 'tache growing over his upper lip, the neat freak in me who occaisionally pops out CANNOT cope.) and avoid at all costs that awkward stage between bald and beard which is SO DAMN ITCHY during any form of intimate activity then they are great.  But it seems to me that all the clean ones smell AMAZING.
Except smokers. But that's an obvious.
But they smell really good.
Really. Really. Good.
The only person I have ever smelt to rival blokes, especially Ex, is Anna.
She smells awesome.
Something about Dior.
ANYWAY.
Men smell good.
This is another good reason for "Adam" to  hurry the fuck up and invite me over.  There is nothing better than a good smelling man to calm your nerves.
He caught me staring at his ass earlier.
I came up with the most intelligent reply possible, which was "Bite me" then looking away really quickly.
Don't think he minded so much.
He then hit me in the tit with a ball-pit ball.
Sod.
Everyone else around me doing work.
Have decided to take a sabbatical.
I'm starting to miss making out as well...  (I know full well he reads this.  This might just mean that he takes the hint though.)
Ex made an attempt, despite the fact that I thought he would back off, to ask me back out on Tuesday night.
HE seemed to think that our conversation on Monday night, in which I informed him that we were unlikely to get back together at least for a GOOD LONG WHILE (A mistake, I now see), was a portal for more open conversation, and less of me ignoring him.
Um, no.
So I had to tell him bluntly that we were NOT getting back together.
Which I THINK he took well.
I dunno, I was getting all pissed off.
I was to get even more pissed off, however.
Ex proceeded to tell me how much he missed sex, which is fair, since as far as I can tell he isn't even getting flirty time atm.
I did NOT expect him to then ask whether or not casual sex was on the cards at all.
Ummmmmmmm, NO.
It's not like the concept of casual sex upsets me.
It's purely the BALLS of that IMBECILE.
No, Ex.  No, I am not going to have casual sex with you purely for the fact that you are desperate.
Don't be stupid.
We had a discussion about the rainbow slag, who he now calls the Ridicuslag, which is an excellent insult.  Apparently all is off on that front.
We then had a discussion about which of the girls he knew that he could go and proposition instead of me.
Or rather he made a list of girls he could go have sex with.
Typing it now, this may have been to make me jealous.
Ho hum.
He has decided to go and suggest to the girl he FIRST had a crush on whilst with me, who currently has a boyfriend, that should she find herself single she should come to him for non-commital sex.
Yes, he told me all of this.
I have now got to Thursday, gentle reader, and I am exhausted.
I am going to leave college in a minute, buy a BIG cup of iced tea from Costa, who do amazing iced teas, and drink it on my way back to college.  I may request they go easy on the ice though.
I must also remember to ask them to add my points from my iced tea the other day.  That was yum.
But, sadly, that was also at the point where I walked past some loon bent over with his bare arse for the world to see round the back of Primark.
Unfortunately, I could also hear a trickling noise.
I hurried along, after a deeply unfortunate double take, and got the bus.
There is still a half hour to go of my lesson.  Grarr.  I may request that I am allowed to leave my bag in the Humanities office and just take my purse and cards to town.
Katie is now freaking a bit about periods (imagine that said in the style of Miranda saying sex).
She is impressed with herself about her French essay, and is now getting up to fake going to the bathroom and instead buy chocolate.
Want to throw something.  Not because of anger or anything. More boredom.
I have, so far, eaten four doughnuts today.
Feel like a fatty.
Still, boobs'll get bigger.  Score.
Shame about the same thing happening with the ass.
Have 25 minutes left.
Abi is sat next to me, looking all intelligent.
She is actually ludicrously intelligent.
To the point of being a bit scary, despite her total adorableness.
Katie VERY hungry.
Senior management have gone a bit mad, no longer allowing people to buy food.
Katie has declared them no longer her friends.
She has now realised that I am typing up her woes.
She is now bitching.  Really quietly so Don doesn't hear her.
Apparently she laughs a lot.

Maddy is still a horrible person. With no morals, sympathy or conscience. These are all the qualities, I think you'll find, of a bitch.

Clearly, Katie is still bitching.
Katie, stop reading. Spoilers!!

Sorry, River Song.

Damn right.

Abi's now being a bitch by describing bacon sandwiches.
Fairly hilarious, actually.
Mmmmm, bacon.
May have to start greeting everyone with "Hello, Sweetie."
Really wish people would QUIT READING OVER MY SHOULDER, YOU WHORE.
Do not care if it is not technically my shoulder, FUCK THE FUCK OFF.
It had been going so well, without swears or anything.
She is now googling pictures of bunnies.
They ARE adorable.
Fifteen minutes to go.
They aren't even letting us out early because of naffing Ofsted.
Katie says she hates Ofsted.
I agree.
She is demanding I put hates in italics.
Okay.
Hates.
I feel like I have bested her.
She doesn't like hares.
Anyway, during Socio, an Ofsted bloke spent the entire time staring at me.
I may have got aggravated, and stared back, like when people look at my brother weird in supermarkets.
THAT'S a long story, mostly to do with Hawaiian shirts and socks up to his thighs.
Abi is complaining about her work load.
She can fuck off.
It is both raining and sunny at the same time.
It's pretty.
KATIE.
SERIOUSLY.
SPOILERS.
No-one likes you.
I like you Katie don't worry...
That was Abi.
I have decided her opinion doesn't count.
Katie says this is because she is ginger.
She is VERY ginger.
Katie feels that it is hypnotic.
No, wait, she's talking about the hares.
Never mind.
Abi says fair play.
I'm going to stop taking requests now.
ARGH.
Ten minutes to go.
Both staring over my shoulders.
Signing off now to go and start digging the graves.
TTFN XXXXX