29 July, 2013

Useful things I've done with my summer so far

(not in chronological order):
Dyed my hair blue (it's now a rather fetching silvery-green as pictured)
Watched half of American Psycho (I now know half the dillio)
Pimped out my room
Made some actual plans
Got a job
Got an interview for another job
Went to a few parties
Got through prom
Can now cycle fiveish miles in twenty minutes
Survived a night in my house without my parents
Developed my knowledge of LOTR
Learnt how to cook chips muy perfectly
Congratulations to Bethy, hooray for me

27 July, 2013

Full circle

I always think back to the beginning of my secondary school edumication, when I was a little Year Seven. I always play the, 'What if?' game, like what if I'd listened to some, ignored others, made different friends, listened more, listened less...I wonder how much different my experience, and my place now, would be.
I like to think it wouldn't be any different to my current situation; I like to think a lot of things, mainly that I'm immoveable, and that everything that has happened to me has happened for a reason. Not all that 'Faith' nonsense, more about the fact that the kind of person I am has lead me up to this point. I don't want to change for anyone, or anything but of course it's only natural. Basic principle of Evolution: you adapt to fit your climate. Sad as that may seem, it's a necessity. If you want to survive, you will do whatever it takes. 

That's why I look at Facebook, I look at girls who hated girls, girls who loved boys, boys who chased girls, and boys that time forgot. To be left behind is a reality in this world, and sometimes I envy it.

23 July, 2013

Hashtag summer plans

Why am I writing this at quarter past one on a Tuesday morning? Guaranteed this post will be even less coherent than normal (sorryyyyy...). I'm sat in the computer room of Boy's house and we're aiming to pull an all-nighter, with plans not to sleep until we say our goodbyes and I head for home tomorrow EVENING (he deprives me of napping...sadist).
Perfect way to say goodbye in preparation for two long, long weeks apart. Aw.
WHICH IS WHY I HAD TO MAKE PLANS. I have to do something when my main source of entertainment (and sanity) is suddenly, shockingly absent from my life. For example, my room got a top-to-toe revamp when he was finishing off his last exams. In one week, with Boy locked in his ivory tower of Mathsy bidnizz, I enlisted the help of Peachy to paint, rearrange, clean and sort my hovel of a room. I jest, it wasn't that bad. How can a room with a double bed and a canopy be so bad? Well, unfortunately, having a double bed means I have to relinquish at LEAST half of the floor space in my room. On the up side, though, I can hide things (VERY NEATLY, NEVER FEAR) underneath said double bed. Also, I have a double bed. That's a plus, too.
Consequently, with Peachy Keen now breathing down my neck, and after two hard days of slogging away, my room is pin-neat. Which is good.

But this brings me to the rather thorny issue of WHAT NOW. How will I fill these long, empty and ACHINGLY HOT summer days without the company of Boy? River swimming is no fun unless I have someone floating in the rapids below the brick bride, (unsuccessfully) coercing me to jump into the (freezing cold, murky) water. Oh, you may be wondering whatever happened to the days of sassy, feminine independence. Well, I'm not a complete loss without him.
On the contrary. PK and I drafted a comprehensive list of 'Summer Plans' yesterday, with the intention of getting at least one item on the list TICKED RIGHT OFF.
This is dependant on her getting a job rather soon, as things like vintage clothes shopping and day tripping to the Tate don't come cheap. But little things, like going camping in her fancy, girly new tepee. Gathering a load of friends for a pickernick. Cycling to nearby Hungerford ('nearby' crow my aching, traitorous thighs, oh how they scream), to go strawberry picking at a farm shop.


13 July, 2013

Yet again, Year Eleven

I went to prom the other week and I wish I hadn't. Yeah, my dress rocked, my boyfriend looked good and most likely I'd have been driving myself crazy wondering what people were saying about me and looking like, had I not been there.
And yet.
It was SO PREDICTABLE. Cliched, boring girls in ridiculous tans, guys getting drunk in dinner jackets from not-so-stealthily-hidden hip-flasks, teachers fairly tipsy, dancing the night away on the cheap, dusty parquet dance mat (I hesitate to call it a 'floor') to a trashy-sounding array of 'club hits' from the desperately bored, underpaid DJ.
Lukewarm food, the air heavy with expectation and bad perfume as well as crafty joints and fags. The smell of the rain being carried in from the smokers' base, static, prickly carpet under foot.

The worst thing, though? The worst thing is that once again, Year 11 have failed to surpass the shockingly low expectations I set for them; to hell with your preconceived notions, I've known this sorry lot for five years and not once have I been impressed with anything they have dredged up for me.
Call it dissatisfaction with my age group, call it a teenage crisis; but don't call it a surprise. I don't know why I keep so pointlessly flogging this poor dead horse: these people have no imagination. No desire to be anything different than tired, bored and boring; their satisfaction dredged from other people's misfortune.
Case in point: not content with being samey and disinteresting enough at prom, these people had to organise voting for various, rubbishy titles like 'Prom King and Queen'. Of course, it's FAR too bourgeois to take anything seriously nowadays, so the titles that MATTERED ('Best Dressed') were awarded, quite predictably, to the inner circle. King was also taken seriously, as the winner was deemed a good enough all-rounder (physically fit, attractive and popular...with the personality of a spoon) to win an actual award. But prom Queen? Awarded to a, yes, irritating, but not harmfully so, girl in a big, poofy pink dress. The dress was the subject of much...discussion, throughout the course of prom; rich really, considering the source of the discussion issued forth from the overly-made-up mouths of mahogany-skinned girls.

I am guilty of sarcasm, Christ knows; but how horrible is it that she didn't even know? Not one member of Year Eleven wanted to tell her...most because that would have been the end of the hilarious joke at her expense. I didn't tell her because it isn't in my nature to spread bad news. I complimented her dress sincerely as I could because to be honest, it wasn't half as bad as some of the pretentious, over-stuffed meringues in that godforsaken dining room.

So congratulations, to all of you guys. How wonderful of you, how poignant and touching an ending to five years I never want to repeat. I can't stand the vast majority of you, so I shan't be making polite conversation next year.

06 July, 2013

Social commentary

After horsing around and screaming at the tennis (typical Friday night chez Parker), my parents and I flipped over to a music channel, to find a new song done by a couple of artists. The song was quite good, catchy even; I was all set to like it until I realised that the video reflected what was being said, with images of over-consumption and consumerism being flaunted like a cheap whore across my telly-box. Brilliant, I thought, because what this country needs is DEFINITELY more class guilt, more socialism, what I like to call a 'Robin Hood attitude', whereby they think that sending out this 'inspired' (read: tired, done to death) message is somehow alleviating them of any of he guilt associated with their successful, lucrative careers. It's exactly the same with that song, 'Price Tag'; the overall message is just that the world is a power-hungry, greed-driven place and that we should all collectively stop placing so much importance on money...so, Jessie J, how much did you make from that venture? Or did you give it all to charity without even counting it?