26 December, 2010

Old things.

I've just been re-reading my blog whilst listening to Sub Focus and Last Planet on Spotify. It's pretty good, but the post I picked at random just happened to be the one on October the 26th, excactly two months before this very date. I just thought I would stop, take stock and reassess my situation.
OK. So, I'm now slightly older, slightly more mature (mmm, believe it if you want to), and two months further in my relationship. I was still at the old school, hating the new school and looking forward to Bonfire Night and my Birthday. Now, Christmas has just passed and I'm looking towards the Cottage- Warming party that I'm going to with Dad and Brother on the 29th (Theme- old 70's sitcom), and New Year's Eve.
Speaking of which, my New Year's resolution is to run every day, starting New Year's Day, no matter how awful I feel, or whether I'm doing something 'important'. I want to run the cross-country at Sport's Day, you see; and I want to come in places 1-4, out of eight of us. I must've mentioned before the ridiculous sporting hierarchy implemented by the ludicrous female P.E staff. This will give me a chance to prove myself, someone from the bottom group (gasp!) might actually, possibly, maybe perhaps win it. And to prove to myself that I'm going to STICK to this pledge, I'm posting it on my blog. So you guys will have to remind me, support me and cheer me on...or not.

Some day, I will be good at something. Not just something academic, I will be good at something; I will be fit, and sporty, and I will have chosen a sport, or an active hobby that I will be good at. I might enter competitions, I might win competitions, who knows?
I decided this when I was watching BBC Sports' Personality of the Year a week ago; beforehand, I'd never had much interest in most sports. I'm not saying I've snapped overnight and I'm suddenly a fitness fanatic (shudder. Oh God, NO), but I'm saying that I wish I could be good at something and show it. And not just use my vastly superior intellect and killing wit to get to where I want to be in life. I don't HAVE to be good at sports, but I'm sick of complaining about being mistreated for not being good at sports; complaining never did any good (to my knowledge. But then, what I know could be written on the back of one eighth of a postage stamp to be fair), and I quite fancy the idea of being good and sporty-fresh.
Ahh well.
A girl can try.


First of all, Merry Christmas to you all; I hope you had a nice day, and hopefully are still having a good time!
Being the ridiculously spoilt girl that I am, I did get quite a few presents, most of which I centrainly don't deserve to be honest; but then again, I'm not saying take them back! So here we go, I shall now write a list of everything that I got :)
Chocolate & Vanilla Bath Salt and Hand Cream from Esme.
A dark green satchel with 'Soviet' on it from Kiera.
Bright red lipgloss from Kiera.
Chocolate box thingy from Charles' parents.
Percy Pig piggy bank and Percy Pigs from Charles.
Dove shower gel gift set from Charles.
Strawberry lip balm from Charles.
Silver heart keyring from Charles.
Silver photoframe from Charles.
Fluffy pink socks from Charles.
Blink-182 greatest hits from Charles.
Blink-182 ticket for the O2 from the Blundy clan.
A beautiful Jack Wills dress from my Auntie and...Uncle?
Spotty leggings and a hat box (?) from Auntie Bernard.
A gorgeous hand-knitted scarf from my godmother.
WHSmiths giftcard from Auntie Morsey and Uncle Jerrsey (pronounced J-air-see).
Roxy T-Shirt from the Lambourn clan.
Hideously sour and addictive sweets from the Lambourn clan.
Reese's Pieces nail polish that smells like peanut butter when it dries.
A Snuggie (technically a Slanket) from my brother :)
A full length mirror from my Parents :)
Clinique 'happy' perfume and moisturiser from my Parents :)
A Ducti bag from my Parents :)
An epic Pussycat dress from my Parents :)
A Day To Remember- What Separates You From Me CD from my Parents :)
Just Listen and The Truth About Forever books by Sarah Dessen from my Parents :)
Blink-182 Greatest Hits CD from my Parents :)
LOADS of Body Shop stuff from my Parents :)
Three pairs of knee-high socks from my Parents :)
Lovely makeup from my Parents :)
Lee Trafford 'Violent Violet' hair colour from my Parents :)
Terry's Chocolate Orange from my Parents :)
Golden coins from my Parents :)
A BIG Hazlenut Quality Street from my Parents :)
Cadbury's Selection Box from my Parents :)
A Gumball machine from my Parents :)
I think I've probably missed lots of stuff out, but those are the only things I can think of for now; I'm so ridiculously spoilt, yes, I know :D
But I'm also worth it ;)
Now, I'm going to go and enjoy my post-Christmas glow. Thank you, and goodday.

23 December, 2010

And now, ladies and gentlemen, I attempt to define ''Love''.

Right-o, love. Well, if you're reading this, don't get mad at my potentially pathetic and very, very wrong definition; but in my humble opinion (or, IMHO if you will), love is something totally different to each person. I mean, some people see it as life-changing, some see it as painful, and others...well, others see it as cash, but let's not go down that road for now. Or ever.

But, even though I'm a cynical old bag, I believe in love; I'm also quite old-fashioned at heart, in that I think 'saving yourself until marriage' is quite a respectable thing to do. I'm not saying everyone should do it, and I myself don't even want to think about whether I will or not, not at this age, but I'd cheer anyone on that managed it. Celibacy is very underrated, sometimes it is nice to save yourself and your body for the person that you're sure will fill your heart and feel your pain; it's like giving them the last little piece of you that no-one else has and no-one will again. But lets stear away from these waters, shall we?

If I had an unlimited amount of words at my disposal to describe love, it would go something like this: Look at every emotion and adjective in the dictionary.
Love is big and tall and wide; it fills your mind, heart, body and soul if the person you think about is the one special enough to minorly possess your body.
Love can be small, thin and short; to fit in a corner of your mind anywhere you go, because someone really special that got away will have a habit of doing that, you know.
It's beautiful, sparkling, captivating, amazing, dazzling, blinding, and fuzzy; because every single person in the world has a heart (honestly, I swear...), and each of the 6.6bill (average) people involved will, at some point, feel all of these things at once. It swells up inside your head, relentlessly pounding on your temples until you feel like you'er about to burst with the sheer amount of feeling that's going on. But you don't, believe me. Your body decides to stick in there and subject you to this lot.
It can be ugly, dull, difficult, painful, boring or even scary; it makes you do or think stupid stuff, makes you a lot more sensitive and a lot more paranoid, but all the same, it's worth it.

If you've ever been in love, and you disagree with this, don't go telling me I'm wrong. I'm not wrong; to me, love is everything. Love can be nothing, and every time I think of the person concerned (an awful lot), my heart will start some form of dancing. Whether it chooses an upbeat 'boogie' or opts for a more sombre Charleston depends purely upon the circumstance.
But anyway.

So, just think about love. To me, love and my boyfriend are everything at the moment; I'm only fourteen (oh joy), but you don't have tob e a grown-up to know what love is. I'd happily stake my life on the fact that whatever I feel towards said boyfriend is pretty real. It tears me up at the worst of times, but other than that, it makes the moon eclipse and circle round my heart :)

To my boyfriend: I love you. Those three words make up nine months' memories, arguements, tears and laughs. Just know that I'd never swap you for the world. You are my world, after all.

That's all, folks!

20 December, 2010

And so, it is Christmas.

In the past year, a lot of stuff has happened to seemingly make the year itsself feel more like ten. But it's almost the end of the 2011th year since Jesus' birthday on this Earth, and promises of a New Year lie in tantaziling distance. What I've never understood is why the year ends at December and starts again at January...surely if Jesus' gang made his birthday Christmas (which must SUCK, you only get half the presents; good for the parents though, make a couple of cheeky cutbacks, oioi) then you'd want the year to start on the 26th, or Boxing Day. And WHY is it called Boxing day? We don't box! Are we breaking tradition? We just sit around and watch repeats of things on the televison with a biiiiiig glow of satisfaction and stockings to open. Wheeee!! But yeah, anyway. OMG Bobby Davro (?) is on Come Dine With Me, but I digress (I'm digressing meaninglessly all over the shop wearing a Christmas hat; suck on that!).
So, Christmas this year; it will be different, and because we've had so much snow, I feel like I'm in a Hallywood romcom, which is never a good thing; prolonged exposure to box-office mush turns your brain to grey soup, much like reality TV, smoking and being a teacher. Personality transplants do exist, just ask my tutor, if you can get hold of her. I wouldn't recommend it to be honest, she sucks my soul out with a simple greeting. Although that's probably because she's also my PE teacher, and the sound of her voice transports me back to numerous PE lessons, being yelled at for not catching a stupid plastic ball or missing an 'easy pass'. Cuhh! What is an 'easy pass' when it's at home, anyway? I wouldn't know what one was if it jumped onto my lap, bellydanced for England and started talking Welsh. Oh, hey, Cerys Matthews. *cue Tumbleweed*.

11 December, 2010

For once, I'm speechless.

I have no idea what to say. I fancied the idea of typing whilst pounding away on my keyboard whilst listening to Blink through big headphones, but I don't know what to write. So I won't; goodbye.

10 December, 2010

Stuff I like.

Wahey, here we are once again, on this dilapadted excuse for an online diary; in the grand words of Wikipedia, did you know that a blog is usually maintained by an individual with regular entries of commentary (PAHA!), descriptions of events (mmmyeah...), or other material such as graphics or video. Right, moving on...Wikipedia can't tell me what to do!

Stuff I quite like:

My iPod- it carries so much music, which, as I've already posted, carries memories for me. It's like a small, purple, shiny, fifth-generation memory bank with a built-in camera :)
Spotify- iTunes doesn't work on my laptop (megaultrasuper fail), so I'm using the knockoff version, of which I get twenty hours a week. Crazy Town just came on, wheee!
Eyeliner- it makes me look like a cat, apparently, or an Egyptian, depending on how much or little I put on. Yes, I make it too thick, and I probably wear too much, enough to feed a family in poverty in Zambia for a week, but that's just me.
Hoodies- they're so comfortable and warm; if worn properly, they look immensely cool and not tatty, scruffy, chavvy or a combination thereof (Heaven forbid).
Random smiling at people- at the risk of sounding like an Earth-whisperer, I do like walking along the street and glancing up at a greying, focused old stranger huddled against the brutal winds (hang on...I'm sounding a little bit Soviet now. Woadka...), then I just shoot them a third-degree charm-watt SPARKLER. Yep, I grin, roll my eyes slightly as if to say, 'Tsk. Mischeivous England, making us feel Russian, eh?, and continue along the way, my heart feeling slightly lighter with every step I take.
Random compliments- I love getting them as much as I love giving them; it does make someone's day, or at least stick in their mind to be told their hair looks lovely, or whatever they're wearing really suits them.
Changes in the routine- I love it when something unexpected happens, and things are slightly different to the boring monotony of school/sleep/school/sleep :)
Waking up positive- it's a rare phenomenon, but it does occasionally happen. I'll swing my legs out of bed, stride across my bedroom as fast as my sleep-weakened body will allow, grab my hair and tooth brushes (not the same for both, don't be stupid. Pfft) and bounce into the bathroom. Sometimes, it's only to walk out of the door and see the sky fading ever so gently from deepest blue, to piercing azure, through a beautiful orange, to whitish-yellow ablaze on the horizon. I can make shapes with my Dragon Breath, and that strangely does pass quite a few boring minutes waiting for the bus, another highlight on a cold day.
Drinking orange juice from the carton- it tastes so much better grabbing it from the fridge and having a couple of cheeky sips before depositing it back in the same position, then it does to drink it through the faff-enduced phrase of crossing the kitchen, getting a glass, walking back to the fridge, opening the fridge etc. etc. It's killing my buzz just thinking about it really.
Waking up deliciously warm- my feet will be stretched out and pointed, half my face will be hanging gracefully off the bed, one arm will be gripping the black bars of my bed (no, it isn't a cell.) and yet all that concerns me is the fact that my duvet is so soft, light and snuggly-warm against my immobilised body, and that I ahve another three and a half hours with which to enjoy its company.
Tidy bedroom! I know it sounds wierd but there really is nothing like coming home after a long day of education, tramping up the stairs, and throwing your bag into the corner of your own private oasis. Especially if you can see the floor and the bed is made. I also love going to bed with a tidy room, a much better waking view than discarded shoes and various bags etc.
Texts early in the morning- through force of habit, I've taken to checking my phone each morning before I go to the bathroom; this is so that I feel safe in the knowledge that (ususally) no-one has attemtped to contact me, and all is well in the Social world. But sometimes, very occasionally (and I like it best that way; totally unexpected every time :D), I'll wake up to a random text, telling me that I'm missed, loved or pretty. Of course, it's lovely to hear those things in their own right; but before you've even spoken a word, before you've had a chance to clear your mind entirely of sleep-fuzz, before you've broken the silence of the night and chased your dreams away, there is someone out there who thought enough to drop you a line, maybe carelessly, or unconsidered, but nonetheless, a line, telling you something positive.

I know I come across as extremely pessimistic, shockingly scathing and unbelieveably sarcastic for someone so young, but sometimes, these positive little gems in my grey shaded world make it worth living. I suppose I'm just like that; for every lovely thing I can think of, it's placed under seige by ten horrible, bitter thoughts. But you know, sometimes those lovely thoughts wrestle free and dazzle everyone, punch them in the face, and dance off in a cloud of niceness.
Now is the time to urge you pointlessly to come back to me with stuff you like (five points preferably, even more if you're feeling especially flush...), and I'll collect them next week. That's all for now, I'll see you people on the flipside, dudemeisters. Woo!


Smile, or I'll get the callipers.

First things first, before I get inundated with non-existant comments about how calipers are devices used to measure the two opposing sides of an object and have no relation whatsoever to any facial feature, be it one expressing happiness or a positive emotion, or the opposite. No, I don't care, it just sounded good, and I felt like using the word. OK? So ssshhhh...
This blog has lapsed (through no fault of your own, so don't go blaming yourselves...) into a state of abandonment and is saturated with self-pity, so I think we need a pick-up. Well, I certainly do, to remind myself why I am actually sticking around to watch my life get run into the ground by a talking hippo with a magic, psychic machine-gun than can blast the Delta galaxies around the furthest realms of the Universe (I am right, it is a capital U, right? Like it's God...?). But yes, I digress (and that was intentional, Miss, so you can shut it as well) yet again, and I shall drag your wandering, minute (I always misread that word) attention back to the topic of the blog post of which I've wasted eleven-and-a-bit lines on already. Pfft. Yes, you may or may not (either way, it makes no difference to me) remember that a while back, I made a post entitled 'Stuff I hate' or something similar, followed a week later (or probably even later than that, I'm bad at time-keeping. It's currently fifteen-past-eighty-one on a Sunday twilight. Come live in my world!) by 'Stuff we hate', in which I had a week to collect the opinions of everyone else around me, and ask what they hated. So, I thought I'd attempt the same thing (for some reason, that last phrase took me an age and a half to type, I kept typing my 's' words as 'th' words. God help me, I've developed a computeral (?) lisp! Stick that, Bill Gates. Yeah.) in my next blog post, which I'm sure you can click on once i've done it in that informative side-bar thingy down heeeeeeerreee....---------------------------------------------------------------------------|>
Have fun, friends!

Indulgent self-pity.

Yeah, I know; I haven't updated this thing for a few days, probably more than a week. Sorry. Just another thing to be bad at. Yup, yet another moan about how not-good I am at everything; it's pathetic, but once again, prithee indulge me? It's not like everything in my life is such a massive fail, it's just that the fails are so massive. They eclipse the fact that it's almost Christmas, they eclipse the fact that there's only a week of blessed school left. It's really quite stupid; I HATE BEING A TEENAGER. Most of us don't have the luxury of an online ranting weapon to direct our angst and venom at the innocent, unchallenigng victims of our life; so I feel unjust using it. But it just ISN'T FAIR. I have to fit theis Godawful, ridiculous stereotype of being moody, and hormonal, and annoyed with the world. The only things that give my life some colour are the public holidays, my laptop, and my boyfriend. I lead such a thrilling life, but what riles me most is that while I seem to have to suffer all of this rubbish, the only thing that might make it bearable isn't occuring! I mean, if everyone else felt the same, it would be fine. Like, if they all felt challenged and worn out with the pointlessness and futility (yep, they are the same things. But one's a bigger word thatn the other) on their teenage years, we could all be miserable and angst-ridden togetther, and happy about our unhappiness. But no, you perfect people, the ones who've been blessed with the ability to GET OVER STUFF, to whizz through life uncaring, you've all got it good. Wheras I'm stuck at the back, struggling along against this endless battle with everything; and for what? So that I can come out of the other end, at nineteen or twenty years old, and look back fondly on my teenage years with rose-tinted glasses about five miles thick, and proclaim, like every other smug, sanctimonious human being on this planet, that they were the 'best years of my life'. Yep. If these are supposed to be the best years of my life, then I dread to think what adulthood will be like. For God's sake, just leave me alone to be miserable, all of you. Go on, go.

04 December, 2010

Taxes and other nonsense.

I don't know much about politics, just enough to know that Labour and Lib Dem are WRONG. Yeah, a lot of you might disagree but then again, no-one ever TWEETS AT ME, so I will neither know, nor care. At this current moment, I'm sat on the sofa, leaning sideways for some reason unbeknownst to me. In the background, Channel 4 News is on TV. There's just been a piece on students who are labouring under the illusion that the manager of Topshop (ooh. Original) is a tex evader. Somehow, this linked to the popular topic of richer people having to pay more tax. Let me just take a moment to let that sink in. Richer...people...need...to...pay...higher...taxes? Sorry, I think I must be a bit slow; you see, I don't understand how that works. If, for example, one of these studenty-types got rich suddenly and miraculously, they wouldn't think it was very fair. Hypocritical has a new meaning with these people. Rich people, OK, yes, most of them (the intelligent ones) WANTED to get rich. To be rich. It's hardly a chore, is it? To quote my infamous Fatha(aaaaa)r, I don't begrudge anyone their money, because the grass is always greener, and one day, hopefully you'll be in that position you so begrudge. But just because you're rich, doesn't make it fair to have to pay more money. If you are careful, if you pay attention, if you are wise, then it will make it a damn sight easier to become rich. Go on, you scruffy no-gooders, go and get clever, get some money, and stitch up that Godawful 'artfully' ripped clothing. Tsk.

Selective anti-socialism.

Everybody nowadays is maintaining that us Merrie Teens are nothing but moody, rude and impolite. Hey, hang on! Woah there, chill! Wooooaaaahhhhh...no. Were not. So SHURRAAAP. I am a teenager [as I hope you will have known by now]...and I'm writing a blog. Not just a private, for-my-eyes-only major whinge-fest, but a public blog. That means it's public. For you lot, the Public, to read. And, judging by my blog stats [yeah baby, yeah], you seem to like it. So...I'll continue. Yes, everyone seems to think that we do nothing but hole up in our rooms, moaning at the walls. It's not true! I'm not anti-social at all, I'm writing a public blog, in case that didn't sink in the first time; I also text incessantly (if I have credit, that is), and I have MSN, Twitter and Hotmail. These aren't just for my friends, either, I do talk to strangers, I do, I do! No, thats a lie, I don't; that would be slightly wrong and more than slightly stupid. And anyway, anti-social just means you don't talk to people; lecturing us on the ways that we do talk to people is slightly pedantic. It was my Mum texting at the table this morning at breakfast, and it was my Dad walking around in a trance with his 'Crack'Berry last weekend in Reading. So you see, I'm not entirely at fault here. It's not fair that, just because I happen to be fourteen years old, and prone to sarcasm and moodiness maybe a little more often that is strictly necessary, I'm pinpointed when I dare to text just once more after I've been told not to; disappearing and not giving the people I'm talking to any warning...now THAT is being anti-social.