I don't believe it

I do actually: Not ten minutes ago I was awoken by my arse-y neighbours for playing Whitney Houston, Huey Lewis & The News and Genesis. If only they'd do this at 7.40 then I'd never be late for school.

Objective: To buy jacket today.

Thought Pool

I am extremely, extremely dissapointed that, despite the recent trend in Little Miss/Mr Men and retro cartoon t-shirts, that there is no Wacky Races t-shirts! (I have found some, but none are mainstream.) Bloody outrageous.

Anyway I have an entire backlog of school stuff to do AND I need to buy another pomegranate. It'll be the third one I'll kill. This week has had nothing interesting, need to complete silly portfolio, ie endless watercolouring.

I had to phone the police last night as the branchy neighbours were starting their shenanigans again. She started moaning about how she's had a broken nose, he just keeps shouting and swearing at her. (They were playing Will Young earlier on and the Wilkinson Sword/Shocking Blue "Venus" (both sang/shouted in staccato and seperate lines).) It really was quite laughable.

I've bought more Bret Easton Ellis novels; I have the entire collection now. >_> My thesis will probably be on them.

And I've just had a horrid flashback of a TV show some time about about unusual jobs, and it was in a farm and it subjected on a fat man with large sideburns directing sexual gratification. It was quite grotesquely funny.

I need a new jacket, computer and I still haven't read 1984.

Frumpy!

Ah, I miss it! The flight there was quite good, but I found it bizarre saying "soda." Humph, but the flight attendants were very funny in a frumpy American way: She said "Well I don't know!" and started waving her arms around, and the other said "back off" to this old woman.

I spent, at whole, four days shopping and eating. Maybe I should have been born an American. In these five days I accumulated:

Two bags of Hershey's Kisses and one bag of Jolly Ranchers, Miniture Mixtures and Jelly Belly; Italian waistcoat; Levi's; boots; shirt; t-shirt; underwear; more food; a complimentary Hilton umbrella (fuck yes! And it was one of the posh ones with the push-button) and.. hmm, there should be more.

What's your poison?

Buhy Buhy

Shall be back soon!

À bientôt!

Stupid arse

If I hear that stupid Asian Radio advert I will scream. I am sick to death with the stupid faux-panoramic slides of shitty people going "do do." Not only is it probably racist against caucasian people but it would not be that if people started creating a radio for non-Asian people. Arseholes.

Sacré bleu

Well, English was hopefully alright, doing essays on The Horses and 1984 but the latter of the two was probably not done too well. Maths wasn't as bad. Non-calculator was diabolical.

But in other news, I found this poor tirade:

True story: late January, I put a phone call in to a friend I haven't seen in just shy of a year. I find out he's working as a bouncer now, so instead of rolling out on a Friday or Saturday when he's throwing Northampton's undesirables down the staircase at Revolution, we agree to hook up on Sunday and spend the last vestiges of our pay checks on as much Navy rum as we can afford. (It's the only alcoholic substance that mixes better with Pepsi than it does with Coke. Fact.)

Anyway, eight hours into the session, we land at this run-down but functional faux-Irish bar just out of town centre, around a quarter full with its usual clientele: people who just don't have the time or inclination to become alcoholics and lower-tier office workers.

So we roll in. The boy hits the bar to order drinks, and I head straight to that integral part of any down-market pub—the video jukebox. God bless these things: for two pound you can chose seven of an increasingly depressingly poor selection of music videos to aurally and viscerally entertain you. But there's some pearls on there, so I make the usual selections: “This Charming Man,” “Ignition (Remix),” “Together in Electric Dreams”... over my shoulder I hear a voice.

“Oooh, put The Cure on.”

I turn around. Behind me, dishevelled on a bar stool, is a woman I'd have guessed at being in her early 30s, dressed far too well for a pub that has three fruit machines in it. In her hand, teetering in slapstick-drunk fashion, is a glass of what looks like total bitch-piss white wine. I shoot her a “Buh?” look.

“I'm sorry, what did you say?”

“Put The Cure on! “Fridays I'm In Love” is an amazing song, it's one of my favourites.”

“Ummm, no.”

I put “Typical Me” on instead, and she pulls one of those over-exaggerated sulk faces where you push your bottom lip forward and look like, to all intents and purposes, a smacked arse. It's at this point I realise that I'm being flirted with by someone who looks like my old science teacher. OK, steel myself through all of this, it's just some drunk slapper who's played the same cards with 17 other guys this evening.

Oh, fuck, she's joining me at my table.

I can finally see her face now. She was obviously quite something ten years back, but now she just has a washed-up sexuality, smoker's skin—the eyes of someone who cries a lot. And I get her life story. I don't want it, I don't need it. You don't either. Potted highlights include her claim that Jonny Greenwood was her boyfriend when she was a student at Oxford Brookes, and then... yep, here comes the husband problems. Her man is ten years older than her, married to his job, he doesn't give her the affection she needs (by this point she's tracing circles on my hand, and has somehow already entangled our legs together without really moving that much)... it's kind of pathetic, really, to see someone who had a youth with such vigour and promise reduced to flirting with a fat guy in a blazer-and-scarf combo in an Irish theme bar.

She leant over to kiss me. It was like snogging Mick the Miller. Wet, graceless. By this time I'm alternately feeling really sympathetic towards her, and worrying that she's spiked my drink, so desperate is she for some physical contact.

“You know, my husband's away in Chester for a few days and we could go back to mine and....”

At the very moment she was about to offer drunken depressed sex, God and that bottle of wine she'd necked intervened. She vomits all over the table. She literally paints it with spew, before lolling her head around in the manner of a comical zombie. I made my excuses and left.

JENINE

Bloody Fauve

There has been an absence of postings. At least almost a month. This calls for a decent post. Let's put this into perspective in the oh-so-CV-style of recent to latest.

There's been no big issues related to my education. Too many essays for art; not enough in English. Oh and prelims. UGH. I kinda know most things except for English. I should really finish that past paper and write an essay. And I want to go on and do history of art. Stupid Glasgow Uni website is rubbish -- doesn't tell you anything.

Kaa! Ba boop ba dada!

I'll be visiting the States again in March. This means nice food for me, ie. stuff I can't afford from Dean & DeLuca and Cucina & Co. But, meh, I'll be on in holiday. I will buy the pocket watch (hopefully -- I might just keep it for myself, Amy >.>) and Lucky Charms (yes, you'll get them). And generally more buying of stuff. Oh yes, and DS games for half the price they are here. 8o|:S

(I turn over and look at the TV and find that there's an Indian man putting a giant pole through his cheek.)

I've gotten into The Kills. New album I must buy on 10 March, I believe; I'll trust HMV. OH, and the bitches The Daily Mail reported they were touring! Why wasn't I informed?! I'll be seeing Panic at the Disco in March too. (They've removed the exclamation mark; March is a rapt month.)

(On the TV: Cleft lip and palate.)

I've applied for Barista at Starbucks. Aim high, people.

Distraction

I was supposted to be revising, but was distracted by a freakishly over-sized squid.

La De Da

I don't think I've ever been this bored in a long time. And I'm waiting for Sammie to get back on MSN so I can meet her for Tesco! It's 5pm and already dark. Hopefully I'll feel a little bit better for tomorrow. Eeks.

Joyeux Noël

What a good time, I mainly got money. At least the tumble drier never went on fire, I never choked on the turkey and I never fell down the stairs. On Boxing Day I managed to purchase numerous paraphernalia. You will enjoy the below carol.

Que du bon temps, j'ai surtout eu l'argent. Au moins le sèche linge ne sont jamais allés sur le feu, je n'ai jamais étouffé sur la turquie et je n'ai jamais tombé en bas de l'escalier. Le lendemain de Noël, j'ai réussi à acheter de nombreux accessoires. Vous va voir ci-dessous le carol.
J'ai seulement ajouté dans ce afin de le rendre plus intéressant. Mais si vous avez lu cette j'ai ensuite assumer ce moyen c'est une phrase ne figurait pas dans l'original. Smarties seul avez la réponse.

On the first day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
A partridge in a pear tree.

On the second day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the third day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the fourth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the fifth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the sixth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the seventh day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the eighth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Eight maids a-milking,
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the ninth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Nine ladies dancing,
Eight maids a-milking,
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the tenth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Ten lords a-leaping,
Nine ladies dancing,
Eight maids a-milking,
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the eleventh day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Eleven pipers piping,
Ten lords a-leaping,
Nine ladies dancing,
Eight maids a-milking,
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the twelfth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Twelve drummers drumming,
Eleven pipers piping,
Ten lords a-leaping,
Nine ladies dancing,
Eight maids a-milking,
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree!

Oh, yeah.

Ah-hahahaha

Lol at sweaty people at that dance.
People are unflattering, I do not see the point; making an utter idiot of oneself.
And those stupid arses better not start nagging at me for being late when other people stagger in half-cut at noon. And they're racist. I've seriously giving up caring now.

You do what you want applies here.*

* - Does not include illegal activities, any cause of endangerment, or gliding under the age of 16.

;]

Happy Birthday! :]

I'll have to steal that catchphrase for my birthday!

Crystal

...

I am officially living in fear, and I have a chemistry presentation to do on polyacetylene. Yas. Here, have a picture.





The jacket potatoes are ready!

Also, I've noticed that the Mars advent calendars are the exact same design as last year. >_>

Ooh maa good

I had to apply for Urban Outfitters.

I opened up the tub of butter I have and it was printed on the wrapper "It's better wobbly!"


Then I read the small print and it was referring to the curvature of bread.

Helium Whore

Aaah! What a lovely day I've had to-day. >_> I'm starting to write like that. Anyway, I went into town with Samantha and Hayley. Firstly, we seen a man in a pretty floral shirt and skinny jeans, and seriously could not resist the temptation of stalking him. That lasted until Kelvingbridge underground to J. Sainsbury's' checkouts. We were distracted by Granny Knittings on Innocent smoothie bottles and Christmas cakes.

Afterwards, we went into Virgin (I refuse to call it by its current name, as such) and looked for a film and realised we were running a bit late for our rendez-vous with Hayley. Meeting in Borders, we were attracted to the magazine section, only to find subtle old-men-gay-porn and mens' fashion magazines. (Dirty faces are in.) We then spent about, perhaps, three hours in the humour section...

Onto Starbucks, in which Samantha got a steak panini and covered Nicole Kidman's face with steak, caramelised onions, and peppers (also covered in Monterey Jack cheese). We then got lost in the Childrens section briefling and I bought Orwell notes.

It was raining! So we ran up into the galleries and I forged a label in H&M for a fucking excellent winter hat. I love it. I think it made my day. Haaa, then we went into Birthday's and bought a helium balloon and inhaled it like junkie to herion. I make good Gryffy impersonation on helium, I may say.

Urban Outfitters are looking for Christmas staff @_@ I may apply. HA.

Wogan?

Ugh, yes, it was Children In Need today. And I had to go as Caesar which wasn't that bad since everyone knew who I was. Yeah. But I arrived in with some skankho ned who bored holes in your eyes. State of her instead >_> So I just went down to my locker prematurely and hung about there until the bell had rang, pretending I was looking in my locker interminably. Then we got buckets, badges etc etc. Finally we left after Xiang took forever to get dressed in his ele-funk costume.

We just walked along and gloriously begged off people en route to Kelvinbridge Subway. We meet a cheeky bastard of a germ. In case he's forgetting, we're in his maths class... Then we met a little bit of a perversion of an obsessed Terry Wogan fan, selling an Elvis Presley autograph. I thought I'd never mention that name on my blog. T_T

In town was rather dreadful, just walking the freezing cold in three t-shirts, a toga and a purple overall. Oh, and a wreath. After all that shenanigans, we just arrived back in the west end a begged some more; only I was absolutely starving and I had to resort to a latté and a nice [turn out to be utterly vile as it was GLUTEN-FREE X_X] egg mayo sandwhich.

After all that, we returned and were transformed into Scrooges and counted all the coppers! We altogether raised £4620, if I remember correctly. I thought it would have been better if we counted each individual bucket...

I went home and retired to by bed, aaah.

Whooping Cough

I feel quite warm and cozy inside. It can't be said for the outside. I probably have Whooping Cough, even though I haven't been sick in about four years. Getting sick is for pansies! Thank you, Monica. >_>

I can't remember that much of what happened today.