Monday, 30 November 2009

The Blacks Will Be Grey, And The Whites Will Be Grey, But The Blues Are Still Blue

New Years Resolutions:
  • At least try and have an average body clock - do not stay up till 7am for no reason
  • No one is forcing you to be at university, so do not moan about essays or any other kind of assessment. Sit down, shut up, and write
  • Try and accept the fact that Jayne will be gone for a year, and do not sit and swear at her continuously for two hours
  • Stop eating crap - ice cream, coffee and ginger nuts do not constitute as a proper meal
  • Stop being a dickhead
  • Consider small life plan

Although the sooner rectified the better, the above things are acceptable until December 31st, which is thankfully 4 weeks away, better giving me the chance to prepare myself for the person I am about to become. Should probably not swear at Jayne for two hours again though, not sure I would be able to get away with it twice... Hopefully I'll be able to practice my self-control this year and not eat the entirity of my advent calendar in one go as a "midnight snack".

The past week has been pretty uneventful - or, at least, I think it has. I seem to have been in a world of my own recently with little to no clue what's going on around me, leaving essay deadlines and presentation work to creep up on me without my realising... I was aware enough, however, to notice the giant bastard of a rat that suddenly entered my life the other night. Me and Jayne were casually crossing the bridge over the canal when, low and behold, a gigantic monster leapt out from a dark corner. Needless to say, we shat ourselves and legged it up the street, hoping to God that it wasn't following. Thankfully, we escaped, only now I am left with a horrible sensation everytime I see something that is smaller than a cat, whether moving or motionless, and seems for a split second to be that exact same rat.

We also had a minor hiccup with the fire alarm last week after it went off for no reason at all - seriously, there wasn't even a pair of hair straighteners on. Not only did it blast out at a ridiculously high volume, it continued to do so for the next thirty minutes until our landlord came round and opened the machine up, eventually shutting it off and leaving us all to feel like we had spent the last three days at a Slipknot concert. Thankfully the stress levels weren't too high as Alex was busy dressing up as a bear for work (no lie: suit, head, paws - the whole deal) and Megan was out buying a carpet...

I wish I had something else of worth to say, but alas my life at the moment consists of essays, essays, Strongbow, and more essays.

Oh, and two creme eggs.

Monday, 23 November 2009

Life Lesson #75 - Don't Sit Infront Of Sleeping Men On Coaches

Note To Self: When there is a man sleeping behind you on a coach, make sure not to put your head all the way back on the seat. I found this out the hard way when going home on Friday as the man behind (who was snoring loudly enough to give Siddle a run for her money) unconciously grabbed my head and decided to rest his hand on the back of my seat for the next five minutes. I jumped when he did it too, causing me to involuntarily throw my MP3 played into the lap of the guy sat next to me. Needless to say, it was an awkward three hours sat in a silence tainted with humiliation... Finally escaped when we got into Bradford and hopped on a bus home, only to listen to the conversation of two old men and eventually come to the conclusion that they had a more exciting life than me. One of them even went as far to say that every single night was a great night, going out with his friends and drinking ale. It sounded good to me, he's on the right track.
I went out for lunch on Saturday with Kez and some of her friends, and we went to see New Moon, which is amazing. Edward looks beautiful, Jacob has nothing on him. I think I got a bit too excited though, and my mind was elsewhere all day - more specifically when I left my bank card in the machine in Cineworld and only realised when the film had finished and we were halfway to the carpark. Thankfully, a good samaritan had handed it in and I was reunited with my money, which I was glad about. I wasn't so glad about the bus journey to Paul's house later on, complete with two really annoying chavs who got off at the same stop and kept calling me a 'fucking goth' and asking me if I had my nipple pierced... God knows. I don't think I have ever been happier to see Paul's mum put her head out of the window and come let me in. The night got better from then on, or rather, worse if we're talking in terms relative to alcohol. Within the space of a few hours, I was completely wankered, sat with Lauren and Kel watching Paul sing Cherly Cole on karaoke, and locking myself in the bathrooms for ten minutes because I was scared I had gone into the mens and was afraid to come out incase I was right. Personally, I blame the Tesco's own brand of RedBull we had been drinking beforehand. Apparently, there was 'A Change In The Name, But The Kick Stays The Same!' - not sure what it was meant to be similar to, but it certainly wasn't RedBull. The rest of the night is rather vague, although I do recall ringing Jayne and sending her numerous texts, probably about house rabbits (I'm trying to convince everyone to let me get one for the house, they are amazing, they walk around your house and sit on your sofa like a cat - but they're rabbits!). Then I found Kezia and we decided that if we walked to Morrisons and got a taxi from there, it would be a lot cheaper. Which it was, only we would have to walk forever, and through the prostitute area of Thornton Road, which wouldn't really be that fun... Still, taxi only cost £5.50 - bargain! Totally worth it. Made myself an egg mayonnaise sandwich when I got home to celebrate.
Currently sat at my computer desk trying and failing to write my essay. Definitely starting to feel like I was not cut out for academia. Me and Jayne had a conversation before about how we could stop going to university and just sign on instead. We wouldn't have to get up, or do stupid essays or presentations, we would never be stressed, and we could just "eat and watch New Moon, all day, every day". Sounds a beautiful life, doesn't it?

Sunday, 15 November 2009

Two Chinese Lesbians, A Sex Toy, And More Than One Octopus. Does Life Get Any Better?

Before I started university, all people spoke to me about were things like how to go four weeks without washing clothes, where to get the cheapest alcohol, what to do if you find yourself being faceraped in the middle of Brannigan's, and other student-y things - no one ever told me how much work there would be, how difficult it would be to do, and that I would wind up on the verge of dropping out when I heard the words 'essay deadline'. I went to the library the other day to attempt to find some books that were even slightly relevant to my presentation and, after a fruitless search, decided it would just be better to play some 'introductory songs' - for example, Stairway To Heaven, American Pie, Bat Out Of Hell, or any other song that lasts longer than 8 minutes, leaving only ten minutes for a pointless statement about religion and a Q&A session about Meatloaf and Don McLean. I have also realised that everything I was ever taught about the Romantic poets is wrong, which I found out the hard way in Tuesday's seminar when my tutor let me ramble on for a good ten minutes before stopping me and telling me that everything I was saying was wank. However, on my way out I saw a grown man riding a child's scooter and felt a little better about myself.
This feeling was unfortunatey shortlived - I felt all dignity leave my body as it lay sprawled, face down and covered in cider, on the floor of Brannigan's on Wednesday night. I was helped up by a boy from my Sociology class that I have never met and was, unsurprisingly, the only housemate to go the bed alone.
Thursday passed with little excitement - I had a meeting with my tutor, who did not look anything like I remembered her looking, resulting in me being confused for the entire meeting until realising that the picture I had in my head was actually of Carol McGriffin from Loose Women... Could have been mortifying, but thankfully was not. What was mortifying, however, was having to be dragged home from the SU by Sam and Chris on Friday night as I was somehow unable to hold myself up and very closely resembled an adolescent Bambi. My head felt like it was about to explode this morning and the hangover was definitely not helped by being shown a video consisting of two Chinese lesbians, a sex toy and several octopus. Octopuses. Octopi? Today's exciting events also included McDonald's (yes, exciting), a Mock The Week marathon with Jayne, and Kez calling up in a voice an octave higher than usual and screeching excitedly down the phone that there was going to be a TV program about Enid Blyton. I can guarantee that said program will be the highlight of next Monday and will probably continue to be the highlight of my week. I really hope I am not in my prime.

Tuesday, 10 November 2009

William Blake, I Am Sure You Were Good In Your Day - But I Do Not Give A Shit

It is 4:25am and I have to leave the house for my seminar in just over four hours. Unfortunately, I do not understand anything William Blake is writing about, let alone give a shit, and fear that I may look something like this at around about 9am.
I spent the majority of today's lecture humming Jesus Christ Superstar to myself (your guess is as good as mine) and watching a ladybird walk around on my copy of Work, Consumerism and the New Poor. Now, don't get me wrong, I am sure it is a gripping read, and no doubt Zygmunt Bauman had a hoot writing it, but I was feeling oddly selfless and decided to let the ladybird have its fun while it could (by that, I mean I am pretty sure it pissed on the front cover and was therefore reluctant to pick it up until the lecture was over).

Sunday, 8 November 2009

'Is It Just Me, Or Does That 'c' On The Mince Pie Label Look Suspiciously Like A 'g'?'

When I was at secondary a school a wise, or so I thought at the time, teacher said to me, 'Amy, there's something unique about you, you're going to go far in life'. Judging by Thursday's journey home, I beg to differ. About the going far part, not the unique part - you would have to be uniquely stupid to do what I did. Everything started to go downhill when I was robbed at Chester train station. I'd had a slight bout of homesickness and decided to go back to Bradford for a few days thinking it might make me a little happier. However, homesickness was quickly displaced by disbelief and depression when I had to pay £40 for a return ticket to Leeds - in theory, 96 cans of Strongbow. With a lighter purse, a still drunk Megan and a backpack the size of a small African country, I reluctantly boarded the train thinking the day could only get better. This idea was squished as soon as I sat down and realised I wouldn't be able to get into my house once I got back to Bradford as my keys were in the top drawer of my desk in Chester. Nice one. Thankfully, the rest of the journey ran fairly smoothly until I said goodbye to Megan in Huddersfield and carried on by myself to Bradford. That was when it happened. Instead of giving the man at the train station my 'OUT' ticket, I inadvertedly gave him my 'RTN' ticket - the one I needed to get back to Chester on the Saturday. Had I noticed it at the time, I could have gone back and reclaimed it, saving myself half of the £40 I'd paid for it, and the following £11 I had to pay for a NationalExpress bus back. However, I didn't notice, and am now into minus numbers where my money is concerned, something which shouldn't have happened given that I had around £1,000 only 2 months ago. To top it all off, I dropped my headphone jack down the toilet and as a consequence all my music sounds as if it is being performed by the entire cast of The Little Mermaid...
Fortunately, Thursday night is pub night in Thornton and I was able to drown my sorrows in many a rum and coke whilst listening to my mother witter on about the bane of her life - the new central heating. Apparently, the instruction manual is too complex for her to understand and she keeps having to get out of bed at exactly 1:15am every night and turn it off (she likened it to being as stressful as having a new born baby, leaving me to wonder whether I was some scientific miracle baby that radiated heat at all hours of the night). Things started looking up on Friday when Sally bought me coffee and we sat in Starbucks for the good part of three hours talking about shite and people watching. There was also an amusing incident involving a label for 'mince pie' which had been typed in a We're-So-Posh font, resulting in the 'c' looking incriminatingly like a 'g'... Once I had left Sally I had to sit at the bus stop for ages (I missed the bus I was meant to get, obviously) and listen to a small, clearly-raised-in-Bradford child swearing at its parents (from its pram, no word of a lie) and scream at the top of its lungs about how it refused to go and 'see grandma' unless it could go to McDonalds first... To be fair, 'grandma' was probably only 24 and most likely worked in McDonalds, so I don't see what the problem really was. I forced myself to listen to it until my bus came and then went to the pub with my dad (what? My parents are rock and roll) and contented myself with downing rum, eating curry and watching Peter Kay. Thankfully my bus ride back to Chester today was uneventful and my doom and gloom appears to have evaporated for the time being - however, I am taking a brave step and venturing out of my house to the library tomorrow, so watch this space...