Tuesday, 30 November 2010

Subserviance... Subway.... Sandwich...

So finally, Chester has caught up with the rest of the country and actually taken it upon itself to snow. After three hours of concentrated wishful thinking last night, the theory that I've been working on since I was three that I have magical powers has been proven after getting an e-mail telling us all that our lecture this morning was cancelled. I was especially happy as the last time I attended that lecture I spent two hours awkwardly avoiding the people I barely knew who I had been insanely dancing with the night before, looking intently at my book whilst the three of us pretended we didn't remember. I decided to make a good morning a better one by not going to my seminar either, given that I was supposed to have read Ulysses and am currently still struggling on.... on page 11. I did go to the library and do some dissertation work instead though, so it's not like I've been totally unproductive. I did want to go home and work, but the library wouldn't let me leave with the books because I owed them too much money, so I was forced to sit with all the pretentious library snobs having in-depth discussions about Ulysses and polishing their monocles. It has dawned on me over the past couple of weeks that, in regards to education, I have made every 'wrong choice' available to me since I was fourteen and am now, in my third and final year at university, in the exact same position I was back then, except now I live away from home and I no longer think it acceptable to wear baggy jeans and chains. Oh, and I'm in thousands of pounds of debt. Well done, self. Still, my mother reassured me that even if I get a third, I will still get a hat and robe. Unfortunately, I have spent the past hour watching J.K. Rowling interviews on YouTube so even a third is looking a bit on the hopeful side. What a vicious little circle. I did try and do some internet related research, but after clicking on a link to what could have been a very useful article and finding out it was a 'fill-in-the-word' exercise for year tens, I gave up. Also, whenever I do have a spur of motivation and sit down to do some reading, within minutes I find I have completely drifted off and am somehow thinking of an entirely unrelated subject, usually inane wonderings such as, 'how do birds have sex?' (Seriously though, has anyone ever seen it happen? It isn't possible.) Today, for example, I read the word subserviance and spent the next ten minutes thinking about Subway sandwiches. Worrying. Very worrying.


Nothing much else has happened as of late, just the standard daily thoughts of, 'oh God. I need to sort my life out,' usually occurring when I am using a facial cleansing wipe as a substitute for deodorant, or something equally as ridiculous. I am going to Manchester later to visit Naomi, although I have been informed that we will be ice skating, which is pushing me towards feigning some sort of hideous illness which rules out any extreme sport in which I could end up in a compromising position. I will think of one on the train. I love going to train stations, I was in Lime St. Station last week and saw a poster for Aladdin at the theatre. I was pretty confused to see Pamela Anderson on the front of it, trying to recall a scene in Aladdin in which there is a blonde haired, enormously breasted woman wearing nipple tassels. (Ok, maybe not nipple tassels, but she definitely didn't seem to be wearing a lot. Pretty sure that would be frowned upon in Arabia, no?) 

Saturday, 13 November 2010

Dear Household Fish - Stop Reading Sylvia Plath!

Although my recent attempt at becoming an improved version of myself has actually been working out quite well, I have yet to get round to doing any washing whatsoever. Putting your shoes on takes a lot more time and a lot more effort when the only socks you have left are slipper socks or snow socks from your year thirteen skiing trip. As well as having no luck laundry wise, things have gone spectacularly downhill in regards to household pets. Given that it was bonfire night last week, me and Alex took it upon ourselves to go to the racecourse at the end of our road to watch the fireworks and have a look around the fair. Short story shorter, we won a fish on Hook-a-Duck. Alex, having never been allowed a fish as a child, got rather excited and insisted we went to buy it some food as once. After putting it in the vodka jelly punch bowl we used at the Hallowe'en party we arrived home from the shop only to find the fish had leapt out of its bowl to its untimely death on the kitchen floor. Or so we thought. After a lot of of screaming, the boys from next door ran over and put the fish back in its new home to find it started swimming around again as though nothing had happened. After noticing he was attempting the aquatic equivalent of a run up, we transferred him to a cocktail jug and proceeded to be on suicide watch for the rest of the night. He is now secured in a real tank (with a lid), but the other day I caught him reading The Bell Jar and eyeing up a bottle of sleeping pills from his tank, so I think it's fair to say I'm still a little worried...


As well as having a little fish drama this week I have also encountered a small amount of drama via Facebook. Growing up and going to school in Bradford, I have obviously come across my fair share of idiots, some of whom I, for some reason, am friends with on Facebook. One particular 'friend', I noticed, had joined a group named Muslims Burn Poppys, We Burn Muslims. Fair? in regards to the recent palava with poppy burning being all over the news. Usually, I tend to shy away from conflict, but this really pissed me off and I felt the need to say something about it. (Plus, I was secure in the knowledge that I was miles away from Bradford and wrapped up in my duvet, thus reducing my chances of being beaten up).  Anyway, I posted a little rant about how she was wrong and was generalising the entire Muslim population, most of whom are just as disgusted by certain individuals as anyone else is. Her intelligent reaction was to tell me to fuck off and go 'preach to someone who gives a shit', and then I was called a 'smart ass little cunt' by the daddy of her lucky, lucky baby. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank my mum and dad for letting me go to a school that was full of small-minded little shit-heads like this. 

Wednesday, 3 November 2010

Clinging Onto the Rails, One Drumstick at a Time.

It has now been well over a month since my last blog and I find myself asking, 'Where the fuck did October go?!' I remember very little about it, to be honest, it is mainly just a blur of dissertation titles, drumsticks and zombie-green facepaint, (at one point, all at the same time). I have probably been too caught up in the whirlwind adventure that is third year after being immediately gripped by the excitement of English Literature during my first seminar when it was explained we would be spending the next two weeks looking over a variety of poems, one of which was entitled 13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird. Seriously. It didn't help that I had just walked up a colossal hill to get there and proceeded to choose the only seat next to the World's Hottest Radiator (capital letters, just so you know how hot it was). Obviously, as has always been the case in my life, no one else seemed to be even warm in the slightest, nevermind sweating profusely and wishing they were dead. One girl was even wearing a Parker coat, which seemed to me to just really take the piss. Still, at least I was reassured in my later Sociology lecture that, unless any of us went 'completely off the rails' (I'm sure he looked at me), we should pass. I spent  the next two hours drifting in and out of consciousness, zoning back in just in time to hear my lecturer starting a debate about how an alien would respond to a raisin, talking about the mating habits of a fox and making sure we were all aware that a mole lives in a hole. I'm not sure what exactly that has to do with positivism, but I'm clinging to the rails with both hands, so hey! I should pass!


In regards to my dissertation, I'm not sure clinging on tightly to the metaphorical rails will help me pass that one. Due, I'll admit, to my lack of paying any attention whatsoever to the module homepage, I didn't realise the deadline for the proposal was so soon and spent one morning pacing up and down outside the Sociology building hurriedly inventing a research question. Then, through no fault of my own because I couldn't secure a meeting with my 'dissertation supervisor', I had to fill in a 'request for ethical approval' form without any idea what any of it meant. Not an easy task. Somehow, I don't think that after being given a paragraph and then an extra sheet of paper,  the answer 'possibly' will suffice... 


Starting today, though, (well, not today, because I'm tired and Peter's coming over, and not tomorrow because I'll be getting the train back to Chester and it'll take ages and then I'm going to watch TV), but starting Friday, I will be a new, improved version of myself. I am going to:

  • Stop being a sarcastic bastard (only to an extent though, there's only so much I can change).
  • Not hide in the back of lectures eating drumsticks and making sarcastic notes about how little I am gaining from this 'learning experience'.
  • Resist the urge to escape from lectures during the half time break.
  • Stop spending money on things I don't need.
  • Stop being an annoying housemate (this includes waiting until someone has gone to get their towel and then jumping in their bath fully clothed.)
  • Stop eating drumsticks as a substitute for meals.
  • Wash clothes more often. (And hair).
  • Alternatively, buy new underwear.
  • Be ace.