I've Neglected You

I seem to be neglecting a lot of things at the moment.
Like my personal statement for my uni application, twitter, and my health.
Migraines are SHITE, btw.
Shitey shitey shitey.

I think I disagree with the Miss Universe competition...

But it's not for the normal reasons.
I'm okay with women parading around in very little so that a panel of people can decide whether or not they're the most beautiful girl in the world.
That's fine by me, it's their lives and if they have the confidence to go out there in a bikini and high heels and be judged in front of the entire world, good on them, they have more balls than I do.
It's the name of the competition that irks me.
They cannot POSSIBLY decided who is the most beautiful woman in the universe because we are not one hundred percent sure there aren't any aliens yet.
And so, since 1953, it has been entirely possible that the results are incorrect.
Miss World, by all means.
Miss Earth, sure.
Miss Whatever-It-Is-We-Scientifically-Call-Our-Solar-System, most certainly.
However, Miss Universe is just narrowing our thoughts on whether or not there are aliens, and whether or not these aliens are beautiful.
Which is why Miss Universe should at least be renamed to something a little more accurate.
And, if we are to include the entire universe within our search for the most beautiful, surely we should also include judges from other planets, galaxies etc, and reassess our views on what is truly beautiful.
Let's say that aliens looked like this:

Who are we to say this is not beautiful?

By their own definitions, this could be the most beautiful woman on the planet.

We, however, could look at her and recoil in fear (admittedly, she was kind of a vampire, which doesn't help, but hey, who's to judge?)

So, to make Miss Universe truly universal, our entire perspective must dramatically change.

Green and scaly can be beautiful.

The current advances in space travel have not gone far enough to allow us to truly dictate what is most beautiful.  There may be a race somewhere in the universe with Veela like qualities.

(For those of you who are sadly lacking in HP knowledge http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Veela)  These may be the women who, even if via mystical powers, are the most beautiful, a lot like sirens in Greek mythology.

And who says magical powers are cheating, anyway?

It's a bit like plastic surgery.  Massive tits are, of course, equivalent to massive power.

Or a bit like dyeing your hair.  A nicer, better suited colour can completely change how you look.

Therefore, Veela should be allowed in.  Providing they don't then get all angry and throw fire around. That should probably be outlawed, though their talent could be fire juggling...   I suppose that one's a bit of a minefield.  Possibly outlaw using fire to intentionally harm. 

Fire juggling would be SO cool.

Or hot, as the case may be.

Like juggling balls, or batons, but so much more dangerous, and therefore with a lot more appeal to the pyromaniac within me.

So yeah.  Veela :D

Found a really pretty picture of a Veela that I wanted to stick on here but the computer wouldn't let me.

:(

Veela I think are actually proper mystical creatures rather than an invention of JK Rowling.

According to Wiki, they are.

Slavic fairies.  Power over storms, send them down on travelers.

Apparently, she-devil redirects there.

It should probably be less fascinating, and reading the whole page is probably bad but meh.

Good morning world :D

So it's been a while since we had a chat.  How are you?  Did that thing you had to do end up going well?  Let me know!
I had the best piece of post EVER this week.
And I mean ever.
It wasn't what the post contained that was so good either.  Because actually, the envelope was empty.
But that didn't matter.
The envelope was the most beautiful envelope on the planet.
By now, I'm probably sounding a little bit like a freakish freak with an envelope fetish.
I'm not.
I promise.
My boyfriend's big brother is going a project at uni involving mail art.
SEE? Not a freak.
Okay, not a freak over envelopes.
I had previously mentioned that I rather liked what Ed was doing with his work to Harry.
So, for our two year anniversary, Harry got Ed to make me some mail art and send it to me so it got there in time.
Now, I can't show you the picture here, because the stupid college computers have Facebook blocked on them, and I don't have my camera or my camera lead on me.
But trust me.
RidUNKulously pretty.
So pretty it's in a frame waiting for my dad to bring me picture hooks for my wall.
It has a tiny rubik's cube hidden in it, not unlike the one he wrote the address on, scrambled up, and sent off to see what the royal mail would make of it.
Pissing awesome, if you ask me.
Here it is!
http://edfairburn.wordpress.com/
He's very good at what he does!
Go and give him work.  He deserves it.
And I don't want him to have to live off baked beans out of the tin.

Should I feel insulted that my mother has bought me jeans on the basis of them looking "generous" in the size department?
I'm thinking yes.
She is also sending me lots and lots of one sentence emails, all at the same time.

On a more positive note, people like my shirt today :D
This is good, because it is a man's shirt, and the colour of a tartan rainbow.
I had not realised rainbows could be tartan until I found this shirt.
One person said that she could watch it all lesson.
In my head, I informed her I wasn't a fucking hypnotoad.

Having looked up the hypnotoad, I accidentally spent about five minutes staring at it's eyes.
I worry for my own safety.

Last time, I introduced you to various good cartoons.

If you don't know what this is, FOR SHAME.

We get our january exam results on my birthday, which happens to coincide with this thursday.
NOT PLEASED.
Am tempted not to open them.
At all.
Just take em home, then open them at midnight.


EMERGENCY, BACK LATER.

Making Decisions

Not something I find enjoyable, to be quite frank.
I have an issue where ultimately, I try to please everyone.  Not something that's possible, generally speaking.
For example...

Mine and Harry's two year anniversary is coming up.
There was an idea we could go to a nice little Italian place, have some pizza, maybe some ice cream, and that would be great.
Then it was too expensive, so we were just gonna go and get pizza from the takeaway up the road and curl up in my room and eat it.
THEN he told me that he'd had the intention of paying for all of it.
Umm, no.
Just no.
That is not how it works.
This is NOT because I'm a bra-burning, feminist maniac who believes that women should have control.  Christ no.
It's just not fair on him to pay for all of it.
ESPECIALLY since actually the place we were thinking is fairly taxing on a student flavoured budget.
So I said I'd pay half, and that was fine, and then we got a buy one main get one free voucher so it was going to be fab.
And THEN HE MADE IT MY DECISION.
Now as far as I'm aware, the only people who read this blog are people who know me fairly well.
So you'll know about my chronic inability to make decisions.
ANY decision.
To the point where normally, I'd get Harry to make every decision for me.  Or at least advise on it.
Daft, yes.
Effective, OMFG no.
Harry is apparently as crap at decisions as I am.
If we have babies, they are either going to be the world's best decision makers, and become politicians (God help them), or be so morbidly awful at it that the entire world explodes.
Hmm.
At least this time, Harry has managed to make a decision (texting him as we speak from the college library), and we're going to go have pizza in the nice little restaurant.
So now I'ma book it, and make a decision on which of the restaurants within a few hundred metres to go to.
Oh yes. ANOTHER DECISION.
And actually, this time, I will make it.  Why?  Harry does appear to still be half asleep.
DECISION MADE :D
I'm getting better at this game.
Note to self: Stop lying, we can all tell.
My mascara on my top lashes is sticking to my bottom ones again in a frustrating fashion.
Everytime I blink, it gets all sticky in the corner, and I have to open my eyes REALLY wide to fix it.
Then I blink again.
There aren't emotes on here to give you an accurate depiction of just how I'm feeling, but think Bloo from Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends .
Hang on...

Now, imagine that Powerpuff girl (Blossom?  I think Blossom) is my eyelashes, and they stick together no matter what you do to fix it.

Yeah, a bit like that.

Have you watched Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends, blogspot reader?

Can I recommend it?

LOTS of crazy, but not quite enough to break your brain.

THIS:

is Mr Herriman.  He's a giant talking rabbit.

That gives you the run down.
Tall red one is Walt
Little yellow one is Cheese
Bird thing is Coco
Normal looking human female is Frankie
Giant purple and generally awesome thing is Eduardo.
I kinda get lost somewhere near here, because, as is the way with Cartoon Network, they have add more characters than I can keep up with. (See: Ben 10, everything else)
It's nice to be writing a big long blog like I used to.
I've found less time for things like this and writing stories recently.
Very depressing.
Might make a weeny blog with lots of copyrighting and hidey-ness so that I can keep my stories on the interwebs but have no-one find them.
Normally on a Wednesday, I have a late morning, involving lying in until about half eight.
To those of you who think that isn't a lie in:
FUCK. YOU.  It's a fucking lie in!!!
Currently, however, I have been up since six fucking thirty again.
Unfortunately, I was in a dream where Harry's alarm was going off.
Though I should have been able to figure it out from the fact that Harry doesn't degrade himself as much as to have the Phineas and Ferb theme song as his alarm.
Surprisingly effective.
Annoying thing was, in the dream, we were ignoring the alarm because we were a little... preoccupied.
Hence getting up at 6:35 once I figured out wtf was going on.
Have you, mystery reader, watched any Phineas and Ferb?
NO???  (Assuming you said no so that I can go into an explanation involving pictures)
THIS is Phineas (triangular head), Ferb (square head) and Perry (oddly green platypus).

See that platypus?
Also a secret agent.

Seeeeee??
AWESOMENESS.
He also has a theme song, and possibly the most awesome animal noise on the planet.
I thoroughly recommend looking it up on Youtube.
Would link it to you myself, but the college computers block ALL SCHISMS OF JOY AND FUN.
Which is fair, it is a college.
Feel like they should have a suite of computers purely for recreational use.  By that, I do NOT mean porn.
No porn.
Eww.
Anywho, Facebook and Youtube and pictures of cats with comedic captions.
Seen dramatic mouse yet?
Is different from dramatic chipmunk.
Entirely hilarious.
Go google it.
NOW.
Still have about a quarter of an hour before leaving for this Oxbridge seminar thingy.
Have already checked with Abi (nice) and she hasn't got a clue what's going on, but it's free lunch, so who gives a shit?
Have not found it necessary to point out that there is no such thing as free lunch, but oh well.
Now I fancy KFC.  Damnit!!
Really starting to wish also that I hadn't left my gloves at home.  Cold fingers suck.
Am, however, wearing my thoroughly fantastic tshirt.
It's a ghostbusters one, which google doesn't have a picture of, but if you look on my facebook for a picture of me with Boris Johnson, it's that one.
May now have to stick my MP3 player in.
Why?
Have the Perry the Platypus song stuck in my head.
Also, a quarter bowl of cornflakes does not a breakfast make.
Depressingly good at sticking to your back teeth, though.
Want more jumpers.
Big thick cardigans in neutral colours so I can wear em with anything.
Have put Catatonia on.
That's not a cardigan, that's a band by the way.
Have you heard anything?
Try Road Rage.
Or Don't Need The Sunshine.
They're very Welsh.
Pronounce the R's in Road Rage in a way that makes you crack up for the first few times, and then try to emulate it.
NOT EASY.
And now I'm dancing in the middle of the library.
Oh dear.
Perhaps nearly time to be moving on.
Cambridge this weekend!  Excitement!
I kind of like how this blog started as something about me making decisions, and ended up with me talking childrens TV shows and knitted garments.
WOOLLENS?
SHROPSHIRE?
(Little in-joke there).
Have I mentioned that it's freezing cold in the library?
I'm sat next to a radiator, shivering.
W.
T.
F.?
They seem to like the windows open.
Hmph.
Proven fact that girls work better in warmer environments.
Which is how I've ended up blogging and not doing my EPQ.
Why do they open the windows?
They are genuinely opening the windows.
I'm shivering as it is, and she just opening the windows.
WHY??
Fuck it, I'ma go to the trip.
You lot have good days now.
Love and stuff xxxx

Why Morning People Can Suck My Hairy Cock

Morning people can suck my hairy cock.
Why?
The morning sucks as it is.
To begin with, I have had to get out of my nice cozy bed to try and catch a bus that rarely turns up on time.
In fact, hardly ever.
It's DARK when I leave the house.
In my opinion, darkness indicates that I should still be asleep.
But NOOOO.
College says "Get up!!  Come learn shit you'll probably never need!"
But SIX TWENTY?
Does it need to necessitate my awakeness at SIX TWENTY??
And it's cold here :(
It's warm in bed.
Here, it is cold.
It's gonna rain wednesday.  Further rant later.  Lesson now.