italian supercars.

italian supercars, happens to be what the presentation taking place behind me is about. it would not shock you to know, my friends, that i am paying no attention to what is going on in my extended project lessons. this guy has made a project where he has made a one page website about very fast cars. very fast indeed, though he has not mentioned the zonda, which is a fucking bitch of a car. anyway, im in good spirits today. only about 2 hours until ant comes and gets me, which is swish, and we get to go see my sister, which is equally as swish, AND get to go buy some crystals, WHICH IS ULTIMATELY SWISH!!!! more sparkly nuggets of spiritual healing for me. and its sunny today, though my ankles are so cold, and hopefully this weekend is going to be real good weather, so i want to be out with nature and my boy, frolicking through sunny meadows and dancing around a maypole with a crown of daisy chains and a white petticoat. i only have about 9 weeks left in college now before i can go and do these things on a regular basis, hopefully walking around barefoot with a 3 inch thick layer of dirty callusced skin on the soles of my feet, and make my way to go live with pippin and merry in the shire. my semi translucent skin is sick of not having a filthy arab tan, and my hair is sick of not being sun bleached and reminscent of a mistreated paint brush, which means this summer, it is my personal goal to try and achive ultimate filthiness and i will not stop until i blend in with my natural surroundings and having a natural coating of camoflauge, which will consist of lots of dirt and leaves/twigs bound into my hair. i atleast expect to be "at one" with the animals and come home like elizabeth from the wild thornberrys. in which case, ant can be donnie.

"should i sit in here and write a blog...?"

evidently, the answer is obviously yes. my day has shown better qualities than yesterday, and by better i mean more constructive. and by more constructive i mean i found my work that i had lost and managed to get my english coursework handed in, which leaves me now with this lovely bit of spare time in which im going to write this pointless little blog with the sun burning the right side of my face and watching gormless goths wonder past the window im sat by. the pressing sense of urgency to do work has left me, which isnt particularly good but then again, theres only so much work im willing to do before i have a social and mental breakdown and someone finds me slumped in my work station with a particularly sharp HB pencil jabbed into my left eye socket and a variety of paper cuts running across my wrists from the impending doom that is my work load. speaking of impending doom, apparently the side affects from taking phsyllium husk could cause death, and one of the symptoms of this kick back from the almost-laxative husk is that you have a sense of "impending doom" (it has to be true, coz it was on wikipedia). but then i thought if i did have this awful side affect was, metaphorically speaking, going to pop my clogs, then perhaps i wouldnt notice? i already have a sense of constant doom upon my own being and this shitty little planet we live on. another side affect is a nasty rash, which is something i get when i have a thorough dance off with meg... i know what youre thinking right, i dont know how dancing can give you a rash either.

anyway, i thought id relay my plans for summer while im here and this incessant sunlight in my eyes is reminding me of summer a little too nostalgically, so, my plan for the summer is;

- come june 28th when my last exam is over, spend a week or so molesting my darling boyfriend before i decide to flee the country.

- decide whether im going to get a flight to pisa or am i going to get a train and stop off and eat some continental olives from other countries? potentially interesting, potentially could end in tears with me being lost, mugged and stabbed.

- get to italy eventually, get on my dads much admired camp site and recharge my zen and juju in the blistering sun whilst in the "triangulation". (for anyone who is wondering what said triangulation is, its a triangular composition of very large logs that my dad resurrected in the middle of the field as a heli-pad for incoming UFO's and other unwanted mystical bullshit)

- wake up at 9am every single day all swollen in my sleeping bag with meg equally as spongey and porous as me, with beads of sweat in the creases of my eyelids and across my upper lip, roll out of the tent and feel sorry for myself for a while whilst the sun continues to steam my body like salmon boil-in-a-bag, or one of them machine fatties get when theyre steamed up and sweat off loads of weight and come out looking like a relaxed scrotom.

- drink lots of beer, smoke lots of fags, burn lots of skin, pick lots of spots, swim in lake, piss on lots of trees, not wash my hair and/or body, eat couscous, drink 6 litres of water, dance around the fire, talk about theories of time and space travel in gold capsules, sleep under the stars, listen to hendrix. that is the daily rota for the 6 or so weeks i plan to be out there.

- at some point i will inevitably be attacked by some wild animal and adopt some hybrid disease or condition and probably die in a ditch off the beaten track on the edge of a mountain

-whilst out in the hills i expect to see the following at some point;

- a bear

- a wolf

- a monkey

- a really large moth

- a stag

- a wild boar

- a wild man by the name of 'dad'

- a lot of chesnut trees

- a anthony zardis

- a tent so sweaty that it has developed condensation

-a josh davies

-a pete gardiner

- a eagle

- a abundance of hippies or white rastafairians

- a shrivelled and sun dired cousin

- a large pizza

all of the above and more.

now is my queue to leave this shitty classroom and do something half constructive with the rest of my afternoon, i.e go flake out somewhere in the sun.

So, on a scale of one to psychopath, anyone wanna wager a guess as to how mad i am?

an anecdote for you guys;

once again i find myself feeling oh so very hard done by. today has been so melodramatic that it feels as though it was in fact a really ho-um mundane under stimulating dream. it all starts with me being unable to get out of bed, and finding myself crippled by my own comfort. i woke and contemplated not getting up for at least another fortnight until i had bulbous formations of bed sores across my backside, but i didnt let the demons in my head get the better of me. however i did find myself staring at the sky for about 7 minutes without a thought passing through that expansive space of nothing between my eyes where there is a vacant area with a "TO LET" sign for rental to brains. anyway, once out of bed, i dwindled about, spent too long trying to sort out my smelly hair, which in affect was beyond redemption anyway. so, after getting to the train station and eating the biggest apple ever and arriving in eastleigh , i found myself in pursuit of two particularly crisp bits of paper. and yknow what folks, them little street scraps turned out to be a fiver and a tenner rustling down the street in a tandem escape from some pensioners pocket, and swiftly into my own hand they went, to be spent on cod liver oil tablets and evening primrose oil (true story). anyway, college was piss, spent 2 hours making felt (yay) and felt bitchy so gave the girls in lesson some party mouth, and left the lesson feeling smug. anyway since then i have been at home working non stop, my eyes sting and my face is stupendously shiny. i've lost a large percentage of my work, for which the presentation is tomorrow lunchtime, and its evident that im just not gunna make it unless i get hit by a space rock and get super powers that allow me to control time.................BOBBA. and im in a mood because my little cousin took my really expensive professional art marker pen and got me in shit for it somehow. most displeased. ASWELL as this, ive got really bad bloat, so ive been taking physllium husk and hoping it'll flush my guts out. THATS RIGHT GUYS, SHIT! GIRLS SHIT! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA

anyway, apart from this, ive had a lovely weekend with the boy once more, being skint means we got to do old people activities such as walking around lakes and feeding duckies :) its the shit! and i bought some more crystals, so no more bad juju thanks.

anyway im ratty and have my "ginger cousin" on the end of my bed, sitting in battle formation. so GODNAT

Dear, Dear blog of mine

Its 16:43 and im still at college. ive been here since half 8 this morning. thats a total of nearly 9 hours in this fucking place. i have not eaten nor drank anything today and i can safely say that i dont feel so fucking good. now i have to mission it in the rain to get back to eastleigh to get the train to fareham to be picked up by meg to be taken to sainsburys to be taken back and home and then to take my pulpy husk of a body to bed. most thrilling thursday of my life? yeah. anyway if i dont make it home alive then im sorry i never wrote more or told you any dirty secrets, im not quite the blogger you hoped for. so long, farewell, i hate to say good bye.
adieu... adieu... to you and you and youu *fades into the distance*

I think my ass cheeks are going flat from the amount of time I spend sitting down.

a few questions for you guys;

1; why is it that brushing my teeth seems like such a treacherous business nowa days? has my self standards slipped so low that i am in the slow yet inevitable progress of having my teeth digress to sugar puff like formations?

2; why have i taken to sitting like a 22 stone bald middle aged white man taking a shit? legs apart, feet perched on the balls- or what are soon to be bunions- with heels pressed against the chair, resulting in a slightly increased gradient of knee, perfect for balancing my scaly chicken skinned elbows on.

3; why does my head keep producing dandruff when i dont scratch my head for fear i may get my hands and fingers swamped and incarcerated in layers of what id like to call "hair" but im gunna run with my hair being more reminiscent  of an abundance of A LOAD OF FUCKING DISOBEDIENT PUBES.

4;  why is it that my eyelashes never fucking grow? is there some out of body determination to make me look like a hard boiled egg that karma is throwing at me? is it developing alopecia ? is it the fact i stand infront of the mirror for atleast 3 minutes a day tugging the crust of the tips of me oh so belittled lashes and resort to simply plucking them from their gummy bedding on my eyelid? all of the above and more. perhaps im being affected by nuclear fallout and slowly decomposing.

5; why am i writing this pathetic excuse of a blog instead of sleeping? the answer is, i dont know. i really dont. 

daaaance to the booogie, get down

in a mother fucking nut shell, i'd like to say to you guys that the reason i have not been writing blogs lately is because i've been so dang busy, but that'd be a bare face lie. truth is guys, i've officially turned into the mythical Solanum tuberosum couchus, more commonly known as the coach potato, the slob, the sluggard,  the layabout, the laggard, and my personal favourite title, the bum. I managed to get all my coursework in though, which was fine. still pottering along with ass holes at college, its a place that i despise with every blood cell in my body and every moment im there my list of "people id like to kill with a blunt implement" grows. anyway, my life out of college has been pretty eventful, this weekend was a smash hit as far as im concerned, and the last few weekends have been lovely. my half term has just ended and i was supposed to go back to college this morning, but after the dramatic incidents of my little cousin finding her guinea pig dead in her cage (r.i.p little one), i decided college was a pretty weak idea and that my one lesson of english literature can wait because a greater force named death is trying to achieve insubordination within the household. this was witnessed twice this morning, once with the poor little guinea pig, and again with a chicken that me and meg were trying to nurse back to health, but unfortunately she had a fit whilst throwing up and died in my hands. many things were strange about the experience. a) since when do chickens ever throw up? how does that happen. plus it made the whole process of prizing her beak open to try put bread and water down her throat obsolete. b) chickens dont have fits? surely. after having a dying animal twitching in your hands it makes you feel oh so humbled towards life. c) i got a real weird tingly feeling in my hands the moment she died. im putting it down to the fact that her life source itself past through my body, which potentially means i have chicken spirit. in which case, awesome. anyway, apart today being "black monday", the last few weeks have been pretty good. me and ant have been up to no good as per usual, and by up to no good i simply mean napping for excessive amounts of time, playing video games until our eyes sting, going on road trips and ending up no where but a land of muddy puddles and eating really unhealthy food. apart from that, ive been doing fuck all but drinking copious amounts of tea and attempting to do work. life is swish, apart from the amount of pure anus's that impede my ability to have fun. but i must not let my own social inability to forgive and forget bellends stop the good times rolling. id rather be a hermit and smell of chicken than have rims in my life, fo' realz. anyway ive exhausted myself. peace out

den of zoom zoom

ohhh mummah has it been a long time since i've blogged, but be it as it may, i am going to write a trivial blog about the  inconsequential happenings and observations of my last few weeks. for one, due to my cassio watch being 4 minutes ahead of real time, i am constantly on time if not slightly early for every event or happening within my meagre bleeding existence. i have noticed things of late that before have not occurred to me as novelty or pleasing in any way, shape or form, such as the faces people pull when they're reading a book on the train. i try and envision my own plot and characters in reaction to what i read from the face of the commuting literature enthusiast. the main theme to all the novels that i imagine is confusion, strongly coupled with the motif of frowning. there is always something slightly magical about train travel. the whole experience is endearing if anything, though for some its a perilous journey across expansive pastures to the unknown, though for me its just the 50 minutes a day i spent listening to my stolen conked-out ipod with its blown headphones which make farting sounds in response to bass, and watching people who are unaware they're being monitored by a dirty haired, round faced 17 year old art student. how demoralizing. the way one composes their body language and juxtaposition of the 'self" is key to being an essential character in train travel. you dont want to be that quiet person in the carriage who sits with hands folded in lap, legs tucked under seat and eyes glazed over looking out intently for the ticket-man, with ticket twitching between forefinger and thumb. what you want to be that bad ass who gets told several times to take their feet off the seats, sprawled across a 6 seater complex with half a can of red bull in one hand and am empty packet of quavers discarded at your feet, listening to your ear-bleedingly heavy music unnecessarily loud. so loud that its uncomfortable but heck, you dont care because you're just a rebel without a cause and with one sole purpose; to piss off everyone. i wish i could say i played that role on the train, but unfortunately i am nothing but a mere 4 seat hog who listens to mild folk and progressive on the train to exaggerate the beauty and atmosphere of the local country side whilst counting sheepies and making note of potential dogging spots. the worst thing about trains is the reflective glass panel that runs parallel above each rows of chairs, allowing you to look up and watch people 6 seats in front of you in this upside down birds-eye view. this is all well and good until you look up and notice some gormless gimp staring back in your general direction and that sinking feeling in your stomach kicks in when you realize they've been watching you pick your nose for the last few minutes. not like thats ever happened to me anyway...