The blog’s gone ignored yet again (can’t you tell I could never make a career out of this?), and I can only apologise for that. Life’s been crazy hectic and honestly, even breathing is fairly low down on my list of priorities. You can’t breathe when there’s two essays due in tomorrow, unfortunately.
So why have I managed to land myself in this academic pickle? Simply, The Spanish Play (known to lesser mortals as La Mordaza [The Gag…oh the hilarity…]). An hour to an hour and a half, every evening since we went back to school a month ago, of being around boys (all younger than me, le sigh), and trying to speak Spanish seriously with a straight face. All of this overseen by the creepy teacher to end all teachers.
Anyway, now it’s over and I feel pretty empty, honestly. You can see me being the weirdo that hangs around the boys’ school waving a placard that says “I MISS LA MORDAZA”, can’t you? No reason to be around S, J, A, A, A & E routinely, no reason to get tarted up just to traipse to the boys’ school and act casual. No excuse to have S or J grab (not in a gypsy way) me (J really didn’t like me, and has attached himself to my friend M… story of my frickin’ life!), or anything like that. Just a lot of work to catch up on and keep up with, and not really very much motivation or incentive.
However, now I’ve signed up to fashion show, there’d better be a lot of eye candy. It would make up for the horror of joint chapel choir rehearsals where there are most definitely NOT any nice boys, just a couple of grumpy conductors.
So, I’ve been tagged by the lovely Claire, to write seven things about me. Pop the kettle on, this could be a fun one.
1. I’ve wanted to be a solicitor/barrister (varies with the weather/my underwear/you get it) since I was seven because it was what my best friend at the time, Hannah, wanted to do. I also vividly remember wanting to be a gymnast (pause for laughter) and a doctor (like my mummy!).
2. I’ve dyed my hair a grand total of once (excepting the times me and my next best friend E had with those spray cans of temporary hair dye). It was a semi perm red wash in 2006 and my hair was so enchanted by it, it didn’t fully go back to its natural colour until I had a bob (don’t laugh) cut in May of 2008.
3. I am TERRIFIED of a zombie apocalypse. And 2012. Hell, just the end of the world. And pigeons. Feathery bastards.
4. I was vegetarian for two years between the age of 14 and 16, and want to go back to it. Not for ethical reasons, but because I don’t really like the taste/texture of meat. Fish is okay though. (does that make me technically not a vegetarian?)
5. The choir I was in and I were filmed singing at the Royal Festival Hall, aged ten. My grand pièce de résistance was a fake hiccup (my only skill in life, don’tcha know) at the end of a line. I OWNED it. Somewhat related to this, I played piano for seven years, clarinet for one and a bit and descant recorder for 5 or so. Got a few exams and decided to stop trying. I also act a fair bit (including the dreaded Spanish play), and still sing in a choir because it means I get days off to sing in pretty cathedrals and drink tea in really adorable tea rooms.
6. My most embarrassing memory is the time I accidentally took a condom into school, aged ten.
7. I’m getting bored and really want to play on the brand new family iPad.
So there you have it. If there’s anything else you really must know, I am in fact a proponent of TMI & overshare and you’re welcome to ask me via any methods of communication you like!
As anyone and everybody knows, I am learning to drive. By “learning to drive”, I mean that I am learning how to get into a death machine and NOT kill anyone. Believe me, it’s been a struggle, that bit there. Approximately thirty lessons later, my test is in a little less than a week and I am still trying to mow down any car that dare approach from the right on a roundabout. Somehow, I think I’m a lost cause on the roads.
In other news, I’m back at school. I’ve had all of two days of real lessons and it’s time for a nice break. In boy news, I am never mentioning the word “gag” ever again. Not only am I sick of it and how ugly a word it is, I may have mentioned it in front of the creepy teacher from hell who is “producing” the Spanish play… named, you guessed it, “La Mordaza”, or the gag. A verbal hole just my size may have to be reserved, I fall in it so often.
So, Jesus’ birthday has passed (happy birthday dude), and so has that awkward space between Christmas and New Year where nobody really settles down from the overeating fest (just me? Oh…). It is now New Years’ Eve, and thanks to plans messing up, I am in my natural habitat, downloading French movies.
I’m not a natural lover of New Year. I never remember the lyrics to Auld Lang Syne and all the hugging and sentimental shiz just gets me down, frankly. I want to say Happy New Year to the people who matter to me, not whoever happens to be around at the time in one big drunken heap of emotion. If it is such a time of reflection and a fresh start and that, well, you’re not going to feel so fresh the morning after those jagerbombs, are you?
In the interests of full disclosure, New Years for me have been pretty good in the last three years and this is the first year where they are legitimately antisocial. 2007, I spent with a friend at my house, where we didn’t even drink, but talked/webcammed with my then Boy all night. 2008, I was in London, got wrecked, kissed a girl, and various other fun things, despite everything of the preceding couple of weeks. 2009 looked set to be a washout, with a broken boiler to boot, but then Socks Guy came into the picture and…well, we all know how that ended.
2010 has been a mixed year for me.
Turning 17, getting a car & driving lessons.
I got fabulous AS level results and two university offers.
My amazing, stunning, wonderful friends, no matter where they come from, or what they do, who have my back. This also serves to alert them that I have theirs.
I came off antidepressants and no longer have to see a psychiatrist, after eighteen months of treatment. Among my biggest personal achievements, that one.
The not so wonderful:
Not spending as much time as I’d like with friends.
Various boy related whinings.
The more I think about it, the more I realise just how good I’ve had it this year, and the potential for 2011 to be even better. I don’t do resolutions, at least, not without the inkling that they’ll be out of the window by February, but the things that I’d like to happen in the next twelve months:
-Pass my driving test.
-Get my A Level grades and go to university.
-Be more sociable.
-Go to more gigs.
-Buy more clothes.
-Take more photos (and VIDEOS, thanks to a super swishy new camcorder).
-Make sure my loved ones know how much they mean to me and just how lost I would be without them.
All sentimentalism aside, you’re awesome. Happy New Year, everyone. Love love love.
Yes, the truth is out. Marrying someone for love or looks is totally out of the question for me, unless that love or those looks are gonna earn a bundle. Before you dismiss me as your common or garden gold digger (Gardening? Digging? Not for me…), I would like to make a small attempt at explaining myself. Be warned, gentle reader, much whining about work, (lack of) life and just how cut out for real life I’m not, is about to take place.
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The only words would be “fuck fuck fuck”.
It’s not been a good week.