Longer than a month. Bugger.

Sorry guys.  I'm really crap at this and I think really we are nearing the end of my tolerance for updating my blog.
Yeah.
I really love you all though.
But I am now boring and have set myself the challenge, as of writing this sentence, of having a whole chapter of a book written by the time I (possibly) go to university.
And considering I have written anything of worth in a VERY long time, I'd better get cracking.
<3
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It's Almost Been A Month

Sorry about that.  Things all went a little bit mad, with a bunch of people turning eighteen and a whole shiteload of revision being done.  I do miss writing this, I just don't have a lot of time anymore.  Over the summer, for sure, I will start writing more.

And then in September when I inevitably fail to get into university, I will be writing constantly.

Anyway.
This isn't really about catching up, I'm a wee bit of a bad mood bear today.

This is literally a post to point out that all my friends are stupidly beautiful, and I hope that one day, with me telling them enough, they will actually start to believe me.
They are not Barbie dolls.  Not one of them.  Apart from maybe Hanna, but it isn't her fault that she is blonde and likes pink an awful lot. 
They are all, however, individuals with their own dress sense and their own way of looking and their own personalities, and that is what makes them all so fucking beautiful. 
If we are honest, my friends and I, none of us can feel that we follow the lines of what is now considered traditionally pretty.  The stick thin, plastic features with enormous drawn on eyebrows and our bellies hanging out and frankly that is just plain refreshing.  I walk through the corridors at college and feel a concious sense of relief when I reach my friends, because I no longer have to make sure all my back fat is covered.
I like that we don't think like the girls who turn up in a tshirt and leggings.  Nothing pisses me off more than tshirts and leggings and not even a skirt or something.  I do NOT want to see foo-foo in college.  Ever.  If I want to see foo-foo, I will look at porn.
Anyway.  This is not supposed to be me bitching.
This is me telling all my friends that they are actually beautiful to me.  All of them.  No homo.  (Well.  A little bit homo, but shhhhhhh.)
I love them. I really do.  Even the ones who are being hideously bitchy at the moment and either need to tell me what I've done or jog on.  Still love.  I have too much of it bumping around in me, and my way of not becoming polyamorous is to throw as much of it at you lot as possible.
So yeah.
You're all really beautiful, and it is only because I know better that I am not posting multiple pictures of you all on here to prove it.

Big love, but it's Russian history time. (Essentially farming and pointless wars, but I can't turn that into two sixty mark questions.) XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Catch Up And A Confession

I've missed having the spare hours to actually write a blog.  Despite my odd, self-derogatory bit last week.  I vote we all just ignore that. 

Anyway, catching up time.
Last week was Carl's engagement party.  I did not, as threatened, go as a rainbow.  Sarah somehow found out that I was trying to wind her up, which is outrageously irritating.
The party was pretty damn good.
It would appear that you can indeed get something of a mild hangover from three Malibu and Cokes.
His fiancée is a complete babe.  I approve.  I am informed that my approval probably wasn't necessary, but it's a nice added extra, I think.
There was some major singing done.
When I say singing, we picked all the songs we used to scream at each other in senior school and proceeded to thoroughly embarrass ourselves.
Cracking night.
Forgot what I was doing and chatted up my own boyfriend.
Yeahhhhhhhhhhhhh.
He made a mustache out of a napkin.
We're too cool.

Time for a confession that is totally unrelated to me getting drunk.
And everything to do with how much I hate one of the bitches in my film class.
She rarely turns up, which is completely okay as far as I'm concerned, and when she turned up for the second half of our mock test without a pen, I got a bit pissed off at her.
Pretending to be kind and knowing that she was never going to write much and would instead sit there chatting to the other bitches all lesson, I lent her my pen.
The pen that whenever you press down on the nib, it unclicks itself.
Oh, the hilarity.
After about a half hour of silence, she tried to write a few words.
It kept unclicking.
So fucking funny it hurt.
She threw a tantrum.
Later in the lesson, my friend Lauren turned up, who is one of the only decent people in the ENTIRE class.  I therefore forgive her for being a bit shit at the whole punctuality thing.
Yes, Queen of Nerds, I know.
She noticed too how the cow was making a fuss.
I found her later and told her what I had done with the pen.
I think she loves me a little bit more now.
I certainly love me a little bit more now.
I feel SO much better about film.
Plus, a week on Monday I NEVER EVER HAVE TO GO TO ANOTHER LESSON OF FILM EVER EVER AGAIN.
Sweet relief.

Off I toddle.  Love you all. xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Issue With This Blog

I read other blogs than my own.  Infrequently, but I do.
I read Retro Rack, which is a vintage clothing blog by a heavily bosomed author whom I completely adore.
I read World Of Ledzebra, which is a blog by one of my best friends, describing her slightly mental life with her dog Mungo and cat Nelson. And, ofc, the lesser humans.
I also read Katie's blogs, of which she has made many and posts to few.

You see, in this blog I normally fritter away word counts on things like who I'm seeing, what I had for dinner, what petty little issue that is pissing me off that day, like how Blogger has changed it's format and my ex has deleted his Facebook and oh woe is me.
You know, attention seeking crap.
That is essentially all it is.
And then I look at these other blogs and think "Fucking hell, I'm shallower than a puddle of spit."

All of the crap I spout about on this blog is pretty inconsequential.  Like the several blogs about what a complete jackass Harry was.  Describing my antics with booze.  What I try to do is document moments in my life to almost create a diary and I am very steadily realising that I am incredibly shallow, very attention seeking and don't have even the smallest bit of perspective on anything.

Which is a bit shit.

I'm going to try and decide whether or not this matters.

I think two years ago, or even last year, it would really, really have mattered to me.
The attention seeking thing still does.
However, the bit where I'm shallow, out of touch with stuff like global politics and big issues like feminism in the workplace and gay marriage rights and who to actually vote for in the upcoming local elections, it just doesn't bother me that much.
See, the me of two years ago and even last year felt she was of above average intelligence and could do whatever the hell she wanted with her life. The me of two years ago had it all sorted out in her head and was going to teach English for a few years while she wrote her first novel, sell it, make millions, marry a nice man and then give up working to procreate and collect a large wardrobe of vintage clothes and also make a difference.  Do some charity work or something, foster some extra kids, stuff like that.
But I don't even know if I'm going to uni now.
And now I'm getting a degree in Sociology, what the hell am I going to do with it?
I don't know if I want to teach.
I feel like I should be doing something really academic, or at least I though I felt like I should be doing something really academic.  But all that's been buggered over, because I'm lazy and I'm failing and I might not even get into uni, to be honest.

I'm considering ditching every last bit of even trying to be academic now.
I know I'm smart, but I have literally no motivation to do this any more.
I am so seriously considering saying fuck this shit to everything college based, working and saving for a few years and getting a loan from a bank to start a café.
It would have books along one wall and paintings along another and two floors so I could sell some clothes and some more paintings and maybe odd furniture too.
It would be somewhere quiet and cute, with that purple flower growing up the side that I don't even remember the name of now.
Wysteria or something like that.
Purple and nice smelling.

Sod it, I'm reading the style section out of the Times.

Genuine Disappointment

I got a text to my phone at lunchtime from Ellie, asking whether or not I wanted to go to town with him and his nan Ange today.
FUCK YES I WANTED TO GO.
But no.
I was at work.
I am so freaking disappointed it's a bit unreal.
I have met Ellie's nan Ange only once and immediately completely adored her.
Totally and utterly.
Bloody brilliant woman.
So being offered the opportunity to see her again and not being able to and instead having to sell people ridiculously priced garden equipment is a bit of a kick in the teeth.
Gah.
And now I have to do revision so that Ellie can come over later and so that he can eat the Rice Krispie square I have for him and then I CAN EAT MINE.
Sigh.
Bye guys <3