I've got a feeling, if I sing this loud enough...

Is it me or did 2009 go REALLY fast?

Seems like maybe last month that I was singing along to Muse's Knights Of Cydonia as Big Ben went BONG (it actually does go BONG, have you seen the Twitter page?).

You'd think the year would have dragged on longer just because I spent most of it doing nothing but schoolwork. What have I done this year?

1. I finished school at last.

2. I started sixth form (oh noooes!!).

3. I turned 16.

4. I got a job.

5. I brain-damaged myself.

6. I kept all my New Year's Resolutions because I didn't really have any.

That's more or less all I did this year.

The Noughties was actually a totally shit decade for the UK because we had the Seven/Seven terrorist attacks, the economy slipped into the shitter, Robin Hood got cancelled on the BBC, High School Musical was unleashed and other terrible, inhumane things probably happened too.

According to The Daily Mail 2010 will be better which basically means the rest of us a fucked. I hate that newspaper.

My spidey-senses are telling me that tonight will be a night to forget, and my planner is telling me that I am not going to get all my homework done in time and that I'm going to fail my exams and get kicked out of sixth form, then I'll lose my job and then I'll be murdered.

Excellent year coming up.

But, I get spend it with people like Hooker, Mo-Balls, Lemon, Anner, Smelly, Buff, Lil AB and the Rugrats so it could actually be the stuff of awesome.

Happy New Year: eat, drink and be merry.

I don't remember yesterday...

Last night I was making a shopping list and I found a notebook that I took to Tenerife over summer. It was a very interesting read because I took it everywhere with me. I remember making waiters nervous when I sat in restaurants by the seafront taking notes. That may have been why they kept lining up free drinks for me.

Enjoy.

Lying in hospital strapped to machines on oxygen with numerous IVs in each hand:

"This never happened before I met Bill, it's all Eric's fault" - Apparently I said that. Lying in a Tenerifian private hospital somewhat pissed off that I'm in for a long recovery because APPARENTLY vampires don't actually exist and so I can't just siphon some blood off one of them. Crapola.

Reflections on being in hospital:

Two hours of my life spent thinking I was Sookie Stackhouse. So not only did I think the voices I was hearing where thought, I thought I was American, had no parents and was screwing at least one of two very hot vampires. Oh how disappointed I was to be.

Sitting by a volcanic beach contemplating nudity:

Climatising to public partial nudity the only way I know how = staring hard. Somewhat annoyed and insecure that my reaction is larger than those of the guys here. Maybe all Spaniards are celibate. I'm willing people's shorts into action just so I look normal.

How much the locals loved me:

Already renamed 'Señorita Loco' by the local locals after I invested in a particularly unbecoming hat.

Sat in a bar with small children screaming at their parents for money:

I am far too poor and humble to be around so many spoilt, whiny and rich children. When I have kids, we'll live in a trailer in Louisiana or Arkansas and a 'treat' will be a trip to WalMart where I'll buy them chocolate milk... IF THEY'RE LUCKY. Yeehaw.

The Presidente-lady of the apartment building visits:

The Presidente visited the pool today. Tempted to have a 'The Young Ones' moment and strut around in a motorcycle helmet with a baseball bat yelling 'VIVA EL PRESIDENTE!' - it's a pity I can't move.

Ruminations on the law:

One of the great things about Tenerife is the law. It's AWESOME. Hospital time aside, I've spent every night ordering drinks and being dared to down x amount of shots by bar owners. I think the USA's drinking age restriction is 21, in the UK it's 18 and here in Tenerife it's about 5.

Looked in the mirror:

Look like Frankenstein's monster's wife's second cousin-in-law. Feeling similar.

Decided bad things only happen to me when I do expensive things:

Furthermore, will not spoilt kids so that they know a good thing when they see it, unlike my mammon of a sister.

Setting affairs in order:

List of priorities:
- Have more vampire dreams
- Find purple hate
- Buy cheap but nice jewelry
- Buy stamps
- Send postcards
- Cause Cleo harm
- Get a decent night's sleep.

Must've written this in the dead of night because my handwriting is impossible:

...And on the ninth day, she arrested.

Must've missed English food:

...Ploughman's sandwich. And if you don't know what one of those is, I'm disgusted and think you should go assemble cheese, lettuce, cucumber, tomato, Branston Pickle (only the best) and a tiny splodge of mayo on some buttered brown bread and sink your teeth in. It's 400 calories of burning love.

I love myself:

Ten good things about me:

1. I am charming. Really.
2. I almost never forget to brush my teeth.
3. When I sustain blows to the head I talk funny.
4. I make the best mushroom stroganoff EVER.
5. If I freak out, I got the whole hog.
6. I don't do small injuries. At all. Ever.
7. I'm so allergic to everything at bread and water is good enough in ANY situation.
8. I can make you look skinny.
9. I can drink like a whale.
10. I'm very simple.

Oddly enough I can't remember writing any of this.

Can you smell burning?

I suspect that I am a culinary genius.

My cooking is wunderbar anyway, but it's just got even more awesomer.

Pity about the grammar, but the cooking is still good.

Anyhoo, today I may have been rushed into choosing between buying Ozzy Osbourne's autobiography or two student cookbooks.

It was close, but I now possess two tasty cookbooks. They taste GREAT.

So I'm giving you a warning, because I suspect that I will be making tasty things from now on.

And I'm afraid that I cannot do anything dynamic in this post because I am draining my laptop's precious, expensive internet fuel because my dad is hogging the computer and generally being uncooperative.

There was a moment where I thought I wouldn't be able to complete NaBloPoMo because of it. 3 days left, would've been gutting.

And I definitely need a break then or I'll be posting random crap with no real meaning every single day or something.

Ahem, yes. There you go.

Missing in action.

My sister has just totalled my laptop so I won't be around as much.

I'll finish NaBloPoMo and then I might now be back until around the 7th when I can get my laptop fixed.



My laptop has a monthly allowance on it so I don't have to pay insane amounts to use the internet but my lovely, delightful, charming sister used it all up talking to our neighbour on webcam whilst watching videos of shrieking cats (the sadist, I hate those videos) whilst I work myself into the ground, so now I have no free internet. I need to save what I've got left (not much) because I have to do research for the exams coming up on the 13th/15th of January and if I don't do that, I'll get less than a D in the exams.

If I get less than a C, Our Lord Archer will personally see to it that I get kicked out of sixth form.

I'd have to repeat the year anyway.

My sister is a dick.

So yarse... After Friday I'll be back around the 7th, because of that.

Just a head's up.

Looking backwards, reaching forwards.

Things I am looking forward to, 2010-2019

- Opening my 2010 Word Of The Day calender.

- Using my awesome diary thing.

- Getting school out of the way.

- True Blood Season 3

- Attending Lemon and Rob Pattinson's star-studded wedding.

- Earning £1000.

- Buying a new damn phone.

- Kelsi turning 16 in 2019... hahahaha...

- Moving out.

- Being old enough to buy alcohol without having my mum give me dirty looks as I do it.

- Pub crawling at 18.

- Visiting America (that's more or less sorted out now, anyway)

- The next three Southern Vampire Mysteries books (sounds bizarre but it's actually True Blood - suck it up, bitches).

- Hitting 10000 tweets on Twitter.

- Having better things to blog about.

Here's hopin'.

All that for a chocolate orange.

You may or may not know of the Chrimbo tradition of buying Terry's Chocolate oranges for everyone and their mothers regardless of whether they died twenty years ago or not.



Fig. 1 - A Terry's Chocolate Orange in it's prime.

It's something we do every year in the UK. I currently have three of these delights in my bedroom.

Today at work we were selling them for 25p as opposed to the usual £3-something and within ten minutes of arriving we noticed something... wrong...

The ticket machine was going apeshit, firing out reservations BY THE HUNDREDS of Terry's Chocolate Oranges.

We eventually realised that the system had cocked up and allowed people to reserve MANY more than we actually had in stock.

This was the beginning of the end...

Today I had my longest shift yet and it was an early morning. Everyone was hungover (or still slightly drunk, bless 'em) and generally dying, myself included.

The day was littered with "My friend phoned and said Argos were selling chocolate oranges?" "I'm sorry but we've sold out." "But I made a reservation!" "I can only apologise, the system allowed more reservations than we had in stock." "I don't believe that for a second! It's your staff! You've taken all the chocolate oranges." "Well you can speak to my manager if you like..." "Well it is VERY suspicious that it only happened in this branch." "Like I say, I can only apologise but we have no more chocolate oranges." "Right. I want a refund." "You haven't bought anything." "I- This is a bloody disgrace." "Sorry."

By the end of the day I was THIS close to snapping at the customers. Why do they have a go at ME?! I didn't even buy any damned chocolate oranges. But it happened anyway. I got yelled at over and over for a solid seven hours throughout the day by different people with a common goal...

It was like the search for the golden ticket or something. People are so greedy.

I was sorta glad to go home. You get a heavy dose of 'people' when you work in retail.

Buuuut, I'm back, front and centre at 12 o'clock tomorrow, and 10 o'clock the next day.

Keep calm and carry on.

This post is meant to be about Christmas.

I'm the worst neighbour in the world. My neighbours may be crazy and senile and scarily devout but they haven't come calling on me with a shotgun yet, perhaps because they are crazy and senile and scarily devout, but if I were them, I'd've ended myself a long time ago.

Instead, my neighbours much have heard me singing along to Barry White's "You're The First, The Last, My Everything" at 5am last week and interpreted thusly: They bought me a diary a la Bridget Jones for Christmas.

I LOVE YOU, YOU CRAZY OLD JOSSERS!

Seriously though, they're pretty great, even when they're inexplicably putting bricks in flowerpots.



The stone age must have been a pretty quirky time to be alive if this is any reflection.

For Christmas I got a lighter, a deck of cards and a fugload of alcohol, so I'm assuming my parents want me to start up a poker den of some variety.

Christmas dinner... Oh my God. I'll never look at a cheesecake again as long as I live. We meant to have pigs in blankets but we didn't have enough bacon so my sister cut it all up and wrapped up the sausages again. In the end we had pigs in flannels.

We drove to my grandma's... Had the shock of my life. I fell asleep with my neck in a funny position, and then woke up to my mum and sister yelling so I jerked awake, thinking we were going to crash or something. The jerk made my neck twist weirdly, my legs went tingly and all because a rabbit ran out in front of the car. It made a horrible popping noise as the car went over it.

On the way back home it rained like hell and the roads sheeted over with ice. It was pretty epic.

And now I'm here, drinking coca cola mixed with Cherry Sourz (it tastes like LIFE) and counting down the hours until I have to get up for work. Six hours left.

Hope you all had a fab Christmas and I'll invite you round for a game of poker once I've learnt how to stop sucking so hard at it.*

*The last time I played poker I won, but it wasn't because I was awesome at the game, it was because I'm so bad at it the stars aligned and caused a paradox.

A maths lesson.

Today:

Mince pies eaten - 0

Pork pies eaten - 5.5

Hours of sleep - 4

Hours spent shopping for food - 2

Hours spent wrapping Christmas presents - 4.5

Money spent on alcohol for everyone - £25.98

Money spent on alcohol for self - £22.48

Units of alcohol consumed thus far - 5

Minutes before I fall asleep - 4

= Merry Christmas.

It's like Jimi Hendrix doing adverts for WHSmiths.*

* My dad's latest metaphor (simile?) for highly unlikely events. I think "Kurt Cobain speaking for the National Health Service" is better.

I was woken up at the back-end of 12 o'clock this morning because I had to suffer a bi-annual check-up at the dentists. It all went well, though as I was walking out I mentioned to my mum that my teeth must have recovered from the knock my face got in Tenerife.

Five seconds later I was back in the chair getting a damn x-ray, only to find that I'd cracked the root of my tooth (one of the back teeth. They have deep roots so you can imagine how hard I must have landed when I fell down the stairs in order to fracture that). Then the dentist started questioning how extensive the damage was on impact and I mentioned that I have no feeling in the left side of my face now. So now I'm paraleptic or paraplegic or something. I can't remember the exact term but it means that my face is partially paralysed, possibly with a cheekbone fracture thrown in with a certain case of extensive nerve damage.

Joy.

When it first happened I blamed Eric Northman from True Blood because that was all I could remember after I had a seizure but now I just like the idea of Alexander Skarsgård owing me a favour.

Om nom nom nom.

Is it me or does he look vaguely Kurt Cobain?

What is it about me and Kurt Cobain?

Why is he so awesome?

Anyway.

I've been referred to something like a maxio-facial-spatial-reconstructional clinic to get my face fixed or something. I spaced out when I saw someone with a pork pie walk past.

Eff to mince pies. Even if I have definitely been the one eating all the pies every this year, at least 70% of all pies have been pork-related. I had the most intense pork pie on my break at work today. It was the balls. It opened up a whole new world of happiness, starshine and rainbows for me.

So my dad picked up me and my spaggy face up from work and after perhaps a minute of listening to Christmas carols he decided that fission sounded better, and then went onto say that the guy on the radio used to be the greatest revolutionary socialist speaker in the UK and was now talking about train times in Derby. Like Jimi Hendrix doing adverts for WHSmiths. That's the great thing about my dad. He looks like The Crow and comes out with even more random witty crap than me.

His awesomeness does not end there. I'm feeling oddly purposeful now because I'm listening to this band called Anti-Product who are performing at The Duchess in a couple of weeks and I'm helping to do the lights again. My dad's got me a funky little set-up that involves seeing live bands all the time.

I am in flavour country right now.

Barry White + industrial metal = I win.

I'm not even remotely listening to Barry White right now.

Not even a tiny bit.

I may have had an awesome time at Mo-Balls' house last night, with much Shloer, nibbles and Anner-made risotto (it tasted like Jesus). I may have watched Bridget Jones: The Edge Of Reason and then the final episodes of The Vicar Of Dibley (judge not... it's spectacular) before crashing on the floor.

I may have gotten paid and went wild in the Borders 90% off sale (so gutted it's closing) before trying on tons of clothes that didn't fit, went on a bender in HMV and came out with the following after deciding at the very last minute not to buy the Buffy The Vampire Slayer soundtrack (don't ask):

- Bridget Jones' Diary soundtrack
- Bridget Jones' Diary second soundtrack
- Bridget Jones: The Edge Of Reason soundtrack
- Love Actually soundtrack

Christmas rom-coms are the shit, make no mistake there.

Anyhoodle. I'd been listening to combos of Jamie Cullum, Amy Winehouse, Barry White and The Darkness all day and THEN I was thrown into The Duchess to see my one of my dad's bands (currently sitting at no. 20 in the Amazon UK singles chart) which just happens to be an industrial metal-ish affair. The urge to headbang was actually crippling. At one point I ended up working the lights and lit some of the show pretty nicely. I have never been so nervous about fucking up. Apparently I'm going to be lighting more shows from now on. Heaven help us all.

And I've just discovered that the Love Actually soundtrack has the Billy Mack (Bill Nighy) version of Christmas Is All Around.

This is going to be a very good Christmas. Hahaha...

There is nothing cute about freckles. At all. Ever.

Today I'm giving you the gift of knowledge.

You're welcome.

A few months ago Our Lord Archer was spreading (that word will never look the same again) the word about how he is OH SO MUCH better than us and that we can try REALLY FUCKING HARD if we like but WE WILL NEVER be as good as HIM.

And then he stopped abruptly to see two people in my class playing gay chicken. (love that game)

He THEN went on to say that when he was in the army, he spent his time doing much better things.

What sort of things? We asked.

He grins. It's the kind of grin you see when the person giving it is about to Break Your Soul.

"Freckles."

What's that? We all ask in awe.

"Well..." He says. "Say, for example you have a soft, brown substance on the floor..."

*A collective 'ewwwww...' goes here*

"And then you get a large flat object, put your face down here" *his face is now about 2 feet away from the floor* "and slam the large object down... and then count the freckles on your face."

We're all hanging onto his words so hard that it takes a moment for the idea to sink in.

And then...

Silence.

We all digest this.

One brave, broken soul pipes up "but then... you get... poo... on your... face."

"Yup." Our Lord Archer says without a blink.

There's a moment where we all swallow our revulsion. But he carries on: "It's best to keep your mouth closed. It's not really worth fifty points to get it in your mouth."

"..."

I think we've all learned something today.

"Fist in the air in the land of hypocrisy"

Rage Against The Machine have officially won the top spot on the Christmas singles in the UK.

Huzzah! The music charts haven't been spoon fed sappy pop ballads created by talentless televised talent contests (I hate The X Factor with a fiery passion) for once.

I spent most of the day at my brother's house today. I've discovered many things... the top four artists this Christmas (Peter Kay - hahaha -, Lady Gaga, JoeFromTheXFactor, Rage Against The Machine), just how vile drinking lager, tea and Shloer at the same time is, and also the fact that- FUCK, I left that book at my brother's again. Shee-ite.

I also made a list of my top five favourite songs this month, I know you-all are just DYING to find out...

1. Don't Fear The Reaper - Blue Oyster Cult

2. Breed - Nirvana

3. Rev 22.20 - Puscifer

4. Empire - Queensrÿche

5. The Cross - Within Temptation (Rachey'll love that)

Happy Sunday, whatever's left of it.

Shiny happy emptyhead

Five hours of being Smiley Cashier this morning has left me with bugger-all to write.

"I'd like to return this?"

"What is it?"

"Sellotape."

REALLY?!

Also,we have an offer on this weekend that involves fuckloads of gift vouchers, so my mind was BLOWN when I signed on to the tills at 9am and handed out nearly £200-worth of vouchers within the space of 10 minutes.

I also walked to the hospital in a blizzard, only to be sent halfway across York (to The Groves, to be fair) to get her some damn orange juice and then fell over in the most theatrical way possible. Excellent work, Nicole.

I'm worn out today. I'll be back tomorrow with tales of God only knows what because I'm going around to my brother's house for the day.

Keep... breathing...

In other words, it's really fecking cold.

Allow me to demonstrate in pictures what the past 24 hours have been like...

Fig. 1


Fig. 2


Fig. 3


Fig. 4


Fig. 5

Fig. 1 - Yesterday's 'Oooh, snow! Bit cold isn't it?"
Fig. 2 - Walking home in the snow, blizzards and general bollock-freezing conditions.
Fig. 3 - Epic rigger boots that kept my feet uncharacteristically toasty. Sadly have no grip despite having steel toe caps, distressed leather and other signs of being HARDCORE. Being designed for oil rigs might also have given me the impression that they'd at least put up some defense against the snow, but NO, I fell flat on my arse twice instead.
Fig. 4 - Nearing school... Thought this was a pretty nice scene.
Fig. 5 - A side street near my house. Salters didn't bother to clear it so it was rather nice/horrendous to walk down.

And apparently it's going to get worse and carry on snowing until Monday.

Lemme just stress that it is FREEZING COLD, as in, MY HAIR FROZE TO MY HEAD THIS MORNING.

That bad.

I can't wait.

(In other news, I got my contract at work extended. Woop!)

On Christmas cheer.

York puts up the Christmas decorations at the end of October. Halloween mix-ups lead to a Zombie Santa knocking at my door for sweets once - excellent statement, kiddo.

Anyhoo, at school we wait until the 1st of December to put up the decorations, but I'm known to've been singing Christmas songs since early May (hey, Slade is timeless).

Tonight is the sixth form Christmas party (no booze = no fun = no Nicole present), and today we were all sat in the common room sticking Guns N' Roses posters and the like to the walls (go Year 13, go!) when very suddenly...

IT'S SNOWIIIIIING!

There was pause enough for everyone to stop what they were doing, pull up the blinds, turn down the music and look out of the window, and then a cheer went up.

People were dancing, pushing up all the blinds, wearing tinsel, hugging, cheering, and then the speakers threw out Mariah Carey like never before.

SNOW!

We don't get snow here much, but when we do it's a big deal. Especially in the lower school. We'd had a few flakes of sleet-ish stuff this morning and the year sevens went apeshit, but now? Actually flakes of white snow and stuff. I wasn't sure it'd settle but Will AWESOMEFACE Torgerson, our unofficial wrong-75%-of-the-time-and-so-still-kinda-reliable weatherman said that it'll snow through til 8am tomorrow. And then I got home to see the whole of Yorkshire is on a severe weather warning (CODE RED, WEAR A COAT - England stops for no snowman, big or small).

Another thing is that you always now it's Christmas in the UK if the Coca Cola advert has been on TV. There's a Facebook group for it as well. It's a BIG. DEAL. if the Coca Cola advert comes on.

However, one sure way to kill the Christmas spirit (somewhat literally) is as follows.

1. Make a chocolate Santa, rap it up in Santa-looking foil with a ribbon and bell around the waist.

2. Put a stonking great sticker on the bottom reading "WARNING: BELL AND RIBBON REPRESENT CHOKING HAZARD".

3. Leave poor customer wondering what part of Christmas choking to death symbolises.

4. Allow customer to weep over the realisation that it must be the number of cold turkey sandwich-related deaths each Christmas.

5. See to it that customer becomes disaffected and becomes a whole different level of cold turkey in time for Christmas.

Learn from Whittards' mistakes, people.

Ariba ariba!

Everyone knows I'm very passionate about my work. As in, I LOVE IT. I particularly love the shorter shifts and the times I become the manager's personal cashier maestro (oh, I got the mick taken out of me for that, I assure you). Working on the tills today I met a very nice man with a toaster.

You know, a normal day.

Nicole: Hi there!

Toaster Man: Hey! I'd like to return this toaster.

N: Ahh... broken?

TM: No, it's just too small for the bread I buy.

N: Oh you like the big crusty bread?

TM: Ahh, we get Warburtons, you know, in the blue packet?

N: Oh, me too!

TM: High five!

*high five*

N: It seriously doesn't fit in the toaster?

TM: Nope.

N: What a crappy toaster.

And then when trying to refund it I button-mash the till by accident causing the receipt to run out and the drawer to come flying forward. One of the managers laughs from across the store, I look utterly bewildered.

Fun times.

Eventually me and Toaster Man decide that Warburtons should make their own toasters, because there's no bread like Warburtons, you know?

--

Another moment not to be forgotten was when the stock manager noticed how clumsy I was. He was balancing the contents of the till drawers and I dived to get out of his way, crashed into a chair and fell over. Then I was taking the piss out of one of my... uhh, peers... and he ran at me with a ladder, I jumped back and fell over a cappuccino machine. Fun times.

--

And finally me and [redacted] were stood at the check out at closing time watching customers browsing the catalogues. [redacted] claps her hands and marches over to the customers, I tidy up the tills and can only hear [redacted] talking very loudly before looking up to see all the customers walking out in one long uniformed line.

"Uhh, are we allowed to do that?"

And then we reset the doors so people can get out but not in.

And dimmed the lights.

It's consumer-speak for GET THE FUCK OUT, WE'RE TIRED. Simple, yet effective.

--

But nothing, nothing beats serving people on the till, running off to catch their ticket and then picking their item before they've even had time to sit down. Their expressions are absolutely priceless. I am the Speedy Gonzales of the shopping world.

--

I loooove my job.

Just leave him alone 'cos the boy's bad news.

(I Want You So Hard - Eagles Of Death Metal = great song)

First of all, are you all conquering the crapness that is The X Factor by buying Rage Against The Machine's Killing In The Name. Christmas number one, surely! (Muthafuckeeeeeeerrrr! could be the new It's Chriiiiiiistmaaaassss!)

If you're not in on this, be in on this, immediately.

What are you still doing here? Go!

Done? Good.

This evenin' I went to see Lemon in her first play after running off to college to join the circus study performing arts and her character was a prostitute.

This is particularly hilarious because Emma happens to have enormous boobs. She puts the 'tit' in titans.

We were worrying all night that she'd fall out or bend over and we'd all be doomed but nothing happened, and she had a strategically placed feather boa to cover her up, but just as the very end she ran across the stage and me, Chez and Kirsty (one of Lemon's sisters) got an eyeful.

Five years of boob-related jokes and now I can say I've seen the light.

Me, Chez and Kirsty were in silent fits of giggled, I was gnawing on my hand to stop myself howling with laughter, Lemon was dispensing evils in our general direction.

All in all, it was a great night. Lemon is a fabulous actor/singer/dancer and I'm sure she'll go on to do great things with THE LOVE OF HER LIFE: Robert Pattinson. (I don't understand what people see in him... mostly.)

Anyhoo, I'm going to take off before the raging Twilight fans come and torch my house...

And if I'm flying solo, at least I'm flying fr- aww, fuck.

My favourite subject at sixth form is probably film studies. We watch films, analyse and compare them, write for a little while and then make our own films and that's more or less the whole course. The exam is just a couple of essays and there's only one exam which is great because exams make me ill (I get really bad colds when I'm stressed... I don't know either).

However, my favourite subject at school was English. I still do English but it's so wildly different that I'm no longer good at it, which makes me feel bad. (Can I get an 'awwwww...' please?)

Whilst the work's kinda crappy (bar the fact that I get to do tons of creative writing which I love) I still have insane amounts of fun in the lesson with my class.

Take today... We're studying Dubliners by James Joyce which is an insanely boring book (though the writing is pretty awesome) and we've all be been doing presentations on the short stories in them. A few months back, Evan, henceforth to be known as Smelly, put our names down to do a presentation on the last story: The Dead.

All the other stories in Dubliners are about three or four pages long, but this?

64 pages of utter boredom.

StupidbloodySmellyandhisbigmouthgonnagetmekilleditissoboring...

There wasn't a snowballs chance in hell I'd be reading the whole story.

And so after being given a date to do the presentation on, I forgot about it for a few months...

Fast forward to last night. I had a presentation to do on a text I hadn't read and I'd be telling the whole class about this story. Which I haven't read. At all.

Doooooooooooom...

The day went by fast enough, even with a psychology test and an essay to write, English came along sooner than expected. I sat around in the classroom waiting for people to filter in when someone said "I haven't actually read the story."

"Oh, no worries. Me neither." I said, hoping the teacher wasn't within earshot.

"But.. uhh... isn't it your presentation?"

"Well... yeah."

My morbid, evil-awesome friend Simon chips in. "Haha, you're fucked. Royally."

"Oh no, Simon. You're about to witness the biggest and best blag-act in the history of the known universe."

Smelly wonders in. "Hello, have you done those essays?" I ask, knowing the answer already.

"No."

"Have you done something for the presentation then?"

"THAT WAS TODAY?!"

"I TOLD YOU LAST NIGHT!"

"Yeah... last night... great timing."

The teacher walked in to see me whacking Smelly over the head with someone's notebook yelling "You're such a pain in the arse!"

At this point half of the class think that we haven't got a presentation and the news reaches the teacher's ears... She comes over to my desk and picks through my notes.

"Why are people saying you don't have a presentation?"

LieLieLieLieLie... "Oh.. uh, Evan's just despairing."

Smelly pipes up "We've got one, it's just not very good because she said-"

"NOT VERY GOOD? Don't say that. I wrote it you bell-end."

Teacher goes apeshit, yelling at Smelly for not doing his work AGAIN, and I get off lightly with a "Sorry Nicole. I know you've done the work."

She walks away and Smelly grumbles "It's like you're an angel or something."

"Dude, I am an angel as far as these people are concerned."

After a little while I'm left to do this presentation solo ("Hit it, Queenie!") because Smelly is evil. I pick my way though my notes, carefully copied and pasted from Enotes and I get a reasonable round of applause afterwards.

Teacher picks up afterwards and starts talking about epiphany and stuff and says "The only things certain in life are taxes and death."

Smelly says "Unless you live in Monacco."

Then Max Power - LEGEND - completely deadpan, says:

"You mean... people don't die in Monacco?"

Well done Max. Well done.

I think I's got punked.

I had this amazing dream this morning that I was allowed to stay in bed all day with a good book and just relaxxx... I know. Ridiculous. What kind of world do I think I live in? Sleep? Every day?! Madness!

So of course at 9.30 my stupid bloody sister and her friend woke up and started playing on the Wii really loudly, and then I hear "your sister was snoring all night".

"Shuddup, I hab a blockedeh nose-uh." And hoo boy... what a blocked nose it was. You know when you have a cold and you feel like your head is going to explode? It was like that. I try to get to sleep again when Cleo and friend go downstairs, and ten minutes later Cleo bursts in saying "Someone from work is on the phone for you".

Oh balls. I've cocked up too many times, I've done something terrible at work and having realised it or SOMETHING or else why would they call me?

"Uh... hellob?" Blocked nose - no help whatsoever.

"Hey Nicole, can you come into work today?"

First reaction: Phew...

Second reaction: So... sleepy... have to say yes... homework... will suffer...

So an hour later I was sat in the staffroom popping cold and flu capsules and fighting to keep my eyes open, and then the caffeine kicked in.

ohmygodohmygodworktodoohmygod.

Thankfully, I only cocked up twice on the tills as a result but I dropped some flat-pack shelves (those really thick ones that jut out from your walls without supports) on the foot I hurt yesterday leaving me hobbling around the shop floor accumulating pet hates as I tidied the place up:

1. People who pick up brochures and catalogues and leave them lying around on counters, seats or just the floor.

2. People who throw pens and/or draw all over the order forms, AND THEN LEAVE THEM FOR ME TO PICK UP.

3. People who hide all the pens in the catalogues.

4. People who let their kids rip up the damn leaflets.

5. People who pick stuff up and then put them down on the wrong shelves, and messily, at that.

6. People who come to the collection counter when I DID NOT SAY THEIR NUMBER, GRRR. (people who do it deliberately, that is)

7. People who judge me as trouble/unqualified because I'm so very obviously under 18.

8. People in general.

It's a vicious cycle.

Anyhoodle, I left work and trundled over to the bus stop where I found that buses don't actually run on Sundays.

Cue despair of the nth degree.

I waddled down to McDonald's and had my first Happy Meal in 10 years to ease my suffering. I can't say I missed much. (The gherkins/relish though? Top notch. I tip my proverbial hat to you cretins of the McDonald-iverse).

By the time I got home to my bro's kids I found that my nephew can crawl, my nieces are still awesome (there's that word again...) and that Ice Age 3 truly is the funniest film released this year. ("I feel... tingly." "Don't say that when you're pressed up against me!" "Not THAT kind of tingly!")

And now I'm trying to analyse a story by James Joyce for a presentation in English tomorrow (*gulp*) and revise for a test that my raving Feminist psychology/sociology teacher is making me do. Fun fun fun.

Just five more days and I can stop hitting deadlines for a little while...

Falling off the social ladder - oof, that was awful.

I'm 75% sure I've broken my foot.

We use ladders at work to reach the top shelf and some gosh-darn fool ordered something that was on the top shelf because they are mean and instantly the kind of customer I don't like picking items for. But I really shouldn't complaining about customers on the internet.

It's not the customers that I don't like, it's the tickets. Please don't Dooce me.

Anyhoo, I was at the top of the ladder and I was talking to someone, then I forgot I was stood on a ladder and stepped back and took my full weight (half a whale, give or take a horse or two) on one heel and it's been aching like a bitch ever since.

I wouldn't mind having a screwed foot if it wasn't for the fact that I already have a bum leg from summer. I don't have a good leg to stand on. I tweeked the tendon in my right knee whilst trying to limbo under an automatic garage door earlier today and now I just feel rather crap.

In other news I did more Christmas shopping today. It was AWFUL. Uno, I couldn't walk, then my wallet was raped of £30 leaving me with half of my shopping done and no money to do it with, and then I couldn't buy Anner the after dinner penises (little mint fondant-filled chocolate penises) that I wanted to get, keeping in key with our relationship's firm, penis-shaped food-related foundation with delights such as penis pasta (Bonus: Jassie's Penis Cakes), so that trip was just doomed from the start, really.

Anyhoodle, I'm going to go watch one of my favorite films now: Bridget Jones' Diary.



I was so born to be her.

Seriously. If you haven't seen this film, or the film's sequel (Bridget Jones: The Edge Of Reason), do so, immediately.

And I just totally forgot that I have a bottle of WKD next to me. Weird night.

I always remember Christmas shopping for walking around town in the dark in my school uniform, looking around for presents for everyone whilst freezing my nads off.

Different this year... It didn't get dark so quickly, I don't wear a school uniform anymore and I wasn't shopping for everyone.

There are only four friends I'm buying Christmas presents for this year: Lemon, Hooker, Anner and Mo-Balls. I lovelovelove shopping for these guys. On my birthday I dragged Lemon around town with me and bought her lots and lots of stuff which left her despairing over how much I'd spent on her (to be fair I bought stuff for Mo-Balls, Anner and Hooker as well). I went clothes shopping with Hooker and discovered that yes, shopping with a gay is a rare delicacy, but shopping for a gay is an absolutely Nightmare with a capital N, even if he's only half a gay.

Mo-Balls is especially hard to shop for because she's like... vintage and stuff, and likes strange things like old opera glasses and garters (her dad bought her boyfriend a garter a few months ago for The Rocky Horror Picture Show - très amusant) so I asked her and got THE most ambiguous reply ever: "Just get me something cheap from the Borders closing down sale."

Excuse me for a moment... AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

Ahem.

I trecked across down in the fog and cold for two hours and found lots of little things for other people, but Mo-Balls? No. I ended up heading towards Cath Kidson, which is a big mistake if you are on my somewhat limited budget.

Cath Kidson... Very twee, quite nice and most of all very expensive. The first time I went past I stopped myself before I went in, but then I decided I might as well take a look...

Tiny weeny rubber ducks - £4.99 (normal price, 75p, tops.)
Strange tacky hair clip - £7.99 (I've had people give me them for free on the market)
A single hair bobble - £6.50 (Normal price, 30p for 20)

What the hell is wrong with that place?

And of course I couldn't have a shopping trip without having a run-in with the staff of one store or another...

Imagine the scene: Scruffy teenager stood in Cath Kidson - high-end, v.plush shop - with hoodie bought on sale at H&M, jeans that were bought in the UK's equivalent of WalMart and are now ripped and worn beyond repair, shoes that are faded and scuffed and a bag that has definitely seen better days. The staff - pretty, primped and straight-laced twentysomethings who had a humour bypass at birth and have a silver spoon rammed up their arse. One of the clerks sees me looking at a flowery tape measure and sniffs. My eyes narrow, she goes bug-eyed. I put down the tape measure, bury my hands in my hoodie, scowl like I mean it and say "I wouldn't be here if I was buying for myself."

The lady doesn't even try to look apologetic. Stuck up bitch.

And I have a full day of working in a shop and extra Christmas shopping tomorrow to cause more problems. Yippee...

"We thought this was a real quiet and educated town... and then this happened."

My sister has learnt to do owl calls with her hands (I dunno... I could never do it) which turned out to be hilarious after a solid 24 hours of mating calls.

Yesterday when I was lying on my sofa weeping for humanity recuperating from work, my sister came in looking very high and mighty and announced to everyone that she knew the difference between male and female Teat Owls and bet you don't know, Nicole.

"Teat Owls?" My mum said slowly. I snort. "I think you've been conned, Cleo."

Could not stop laughing.

"Hate you break it to you, Cleo... But tea towels aren't a form of owl. At all. Ever. That's the oldest joke in the book apart from- Oh! Cleo! Someone wrote GULLIBLE on the ceiling!"

She went apeshit. She stormed off into the kitchen and emerged ten minutes later when me and my mum were mid-discussion about the primal habitat of turtle-neck sweaters and said she'd found a Teat Owl in the kitchen.

This is what we found:



I'm gonna call him... Arnie.

Danger! Danger! High voltage!

Ahh! Amazing night. This is actually a terrible month to capture the boring-ness of my life because I've seen seven bands live this week. Most recently was Electric Six, you know, of 'Gay Bar' fame.



That one.

I'm suffering something FIERCE though because I was at sixth form this morning, work in the evening (bought Harry Potter 6 for £6.73 - the economic *wet noise* just got tastier) and then down at The Duchess for the rest of the night.

Anyhoodle, it's four minutes to midnight and I'm lying in bed with my fabulous signed set list from tonight stuck up on my wall looking lovely.

And tomorrow I promise I'll tell you about how me and my mum took the absolute piss out of my sister when she came in bullshitting and it backfired hugely. It's ace.

Which reminds me, I learnt to play poker today. I won £18 (fake money, sadly) and Simon's left foot before losing EVERYTHING.

But for now I'm tired and midnight it approaching... So I'll be back at a better-looking hour.

I'd totally be asleep right now if I wasn't such a trooper.

Yawwwwn.

Long day. Good day. Tired though. Had three lessons with Ms B which is basically awesome because she's just lovely. Got stared at for not loving thy Bruce Willis with all thy bloody heart but I think I got away with it...

Today's theme is OPTIMISM, because I tried giving today (this month's NaBloPoMo theme, betcha couldn't guess) by giving someone a pen to borrow and they BROKE IT and covered my white hoodie with black ink. Scum.

Awesome things about this year before I collapse of exhaustion andyesIknowit'sonlyTuesdaydon'trubitin:

- Stopping being a vegetarian. Had my first pork pie in ten years yesterday and I'm still experiencing little aftershocks of happiness.

- Chunk a.k.a. Rhiley turning one. He's so damn huge.

- Surviving summer against the odds. Technically should have needed facial reconstruction after Tenerife... Having no feeling in one side of my face seems like a small price to pay in contrast.

- Being told that I could apply for extra time in my exams because I have recall problems since I broke my brain.

- True Blood. SoDamnGood...

- That last weekend. Best weekend of my life, fo sho.

- Getting a job, even if it's only temporary.

- Buying my niece some Sea Monkeys. She's only tried to drink them twice for far that I know of.

- Deciding that the best way to keep focused in English was to eat FUCKLOADS OF STRAWBERRY WHIPS all through the lesson, leaving me with the mother of all sugar rushes to contend with.

- Seeing Franz Ferdinand live. Seriously, how amazing are they?

- Feeding my WKD Vodka Blue/"The Nicole Cocktail" habit continually all year round.

---

Roll on next year!

They said there'd be snow this Christmas...

An amazing thing happened today. I actually slept through sociology without being caught. I woke up feeling a little like I was dying after four hours sleep (after the weekend I've had? Shocking) but now I'm just a strange shade of green because I stayed up until 3am doing essays and then when I got to the damn lesson no one had done them anyway.

Pfft... At least I have the moral high ground for now. Assholes. (Not really! No! Please don't ostracise me again! AHH!)

I can't really remember what I did today. I think I spent two lessons watching The Magnificent Seven or Teh Mag-nee-fee-cenn Seh-veeehn so I now know how to shoot bald guys and sombreros. You know, vital life skills.

I'll just take a moment to tell you that in true Northern English style, the weather is terrible. Cold, wet, windy, icy - the very last thing I need when I'm trying to make it through the year without shooting someone. I pity da fool that comes across me when the weather gets even worse. Blergh.

How I long for this weather:

Ahh, Tenerife! Where the heat would literally knock you out, send you down a flight of stairs ON YOUR FACE, make you have a seizure, lose all your memory and wake up as Sookie Stackhouse (true story) and leave you with epic sunburn that cracked and blistered your skin until you bled dry and left you scarred TO THIS DAY with strange pink/brown/white scars all over.

Actually, on second thoughts I don't miss that so much.

I do miss summer though. I remember when everyone (myself included) got all hyped up over Autumn and everyone was all OH EM GEE LOOK AT THE LEAVES and everyone else was all Jesus it's a leave for fuck's sake and all I was left with was that video of the suicidal leaves that I posted about in May which was hilarious so you should definitely click that link.



In Summer I'll think of Winter as snow and icy fresh air and the smell of burning wood and the cool clean smell that comes from the countryside when the city cools down, but it never is like that. Most years there is no snow and we just see endless rain and flooding.



This was taken exactly a year ago yesterday. Nothing's looked like that in a very long time.

Getting that sinking feeling...

Room to breathe.

This space is reserved for when I get out of the shower.

---

Right, back. And I'm making my own rules up so I definitely published this post before midnight.

I'm right. Shut up.

I'll have to keep it sweet because it's now nearly half past twelve and I've still got this bee-ee-ay-utiful essay to do on the sociological explanations of family diversity and shit, so I'm on borrowed time tonight.

Right: Friday, I went to The Duchess and had the most awesome night watching Parade and Josh & Co. which was a great start to the weekend. Had a few sentimental moments but we've already been there.

I spent Saturday morning working and I finally learnt to use the tills in the store so I'm fully trained and everything which is cool. Had a few problems with customers, one wanted to complain because the camera she'd bought was full of suck and didn't work at all and she wanted us to take it apart and find the problem and I was like "Lady, I don't work for Toshiba" but of course I didn't say that because then my butt would be OUT of that job faster than a bat from hell, so yeah.

Saturday night: Mostly Autumn. I see them every year and I love it every time. I had an episode after where I was trying to find my dad, talked my way backstage, ran around the damn venue looking for him, couldn't find him, left, walked home and then got a call saying "Were you looking for me? I was hiding behind a van because I kept getting mobbed but I thought I saw you go past." and it was all very complicated. Practically fell into bed and enjoyed my first lie in in two weeks the next morning.

Felt like CRAP on Sunday. Went shopping whilst hating everything and everyone, unable to stand up or focus, dizzy, slightly sick, craving sausage casserole (that was shortly rectified) before heading to my grandma's where she insisted on showing me this EPIC bruise on her butt/down her leg from where she went to sit down on her bed in the dark and missed by miles. Ouch.

And then finally I tottered (Literally. High, high heels and cobbled streets. Why does this keep happening to me? Why?) down to The Duchess and saw everyone for the third day running (we all go to the same shows... Gives me a twinge of nostalgia) before being flooded by drinks and "OH MY GOD is that you Nicole?" and "Remember me? We did an album together when you were seven." (no shit) and general awesome things. The show started with the support, two people I've known for a while, Anne-Marie Helder and Chris Johnson doing their thaang and then Breathing Space came on and put the cherry on top of the proverbial cake-ish weekend.

The band finished and everyone was screaming for more... The band came back and dedicated the song to the singer's mother (the singer's father died last year. He was great, we all knew him) and sang this ah-may-zing song. It was winding up to an explosive end when...

The whole bar was plunged into darkness. My dad was on lights so I assumed perhaps it was intentional. And then the fire alarm sounded. The damn smoke machine was too dense. We all started clapping and laughing. It was a fantastic way to end the night, and the weekend.

And now back to my normal, boring life.

Except I'm seeing Electric Six on Wednesday, just on a whim.

I really should count myself lucky. Because I know all these people I've been to three shows this weekend, had numerous drinks and snacks and stuff and spent absolutely nothing.

So here's a shout out to everyone who's been lovely, funny and rock-y all weekend with me. I love you all and I'll see you next year.

Reaching out and giving in.

Everyone take a deep breath, this probably won't make sense unless you are me, and I don't think you are. (Or are you...?)

Over the summer my parents came to blows because my mum found out that my dad had been seeing someone else. Sucks big time, right? I suppose so. I'll admit there were a few days weeks where I'd lie in bed listening to mum crying, or mum shouting, or my sister working herself up into a state, and by the end of it all I was left holding everything together.

This makes me very bitter.

I've always been oddly detached from my family. I don't really know my dad (I'm 90% sure he's awesome) despite living with him all my life, I don't get along with my sister by any stretch of the imagination and I spend half of my time arguing with my mum. I spend a lot of time shut away in my room. I don't mind it, particularly because it means that when my parents did split, or whatever they did, I felt like it didn't affect me. I was just holding up for someone else whilst they got back on their feet.

I had actually suspected that my dad was doing the dirty with this women. I can't remember why because that was all pre-Tenerife and I lost all that memory when I got amnesia but I remember suspecting it. And then I turned out to be right.

This women, I should point out, is great. She's gorgeous and lovely and funny and friendly and cuddly and also an amazing singer. I don't want to hate her because she's so amazing, and I thought so before it turned out she was sleeping with my dad. But I've always felt conflicted because when Hooker found out that his dad was sleeping with someone else, he hated his dad and stuck by his mum, and hates the women his dad went off with even more. Every other case I've heard has a similar result.

But I don't feel anything. Nothing close to that.

I'm a little frustrated that my mum has been cheated by a guy she's been with for 20 years, but I don't feel for that anywhere near enough.

Last night I was at one of the better venues in York watching a friend's band (I've grown up around the York music scene, I know everyone) and I saw tons of people I know from different bands and the fans of different bands that I see at all the gigs and conventions. I love this time of year where the bands and fans come home and play Christmas shows, because we all get together and make a weekend of it, as we are this weekend.

I was stood on the platform by the lighting decks watching the band when I saw her. I was stupidly interested in what she was doing and just watched her going around hugging people and dancing. A tiny, melodramatic voice in the back of my head was saying "She's the one that broke your home. She split your parents up." but like I said, it just seemed melodramatic. I wanted her to see me, I wanted her to recognise me and look nervous so I could tell her it's okay and buy her a drink, because for some stupid reason I'm the one that feels guilty.

What's wrong with me?

I should've be angry. I should've shoved her and screamed and shouted and thrown my drink at her. I should have been hysterical. Instead I smiled at her and watched her dance with a plump old lady to the last song. I danced along with her from the platform, laughing as people started to join in.

It's the kind of thing that makes me feel defective. Am I a terrible daughter or a compassionate being? I can't explain myself.

And I don't try to. When I get home I look at my mum, asleep in my sister's room, and go to lock up, wondering where my dad is. This is my lot and despite my complaints, I deal with it.

I started this post thinking that I'd give this woman a pardon and hope that she didn't let me down, but now I don't know where I stand.

And I forget just why I taste -
Oh yeah, I guess it makes me smile
I found it hard, it was hard to find
Oh well, whatever, nevermind

I don't want a lot of Christmas... no, really. I mean it this time.

Christmas is going to be gluuum this year. I spend most of my work hours around awesome things like stacks and stacks of shiny toys and games and TVs and consoles and.. umm... full body waxing kits and I give customers all these fabulous things and I know that they are going to have a massively better Christmas than me because even with my staff discount, I can't afford squat.

Bah humbug, all I do around Christmas is worry about money and torment my brother, but even he is going to Paris this Christmas, the bastard.

Anyhoo, in the interest of saving money (I have £20 to buy presents for all my friends and family this year - fail) this is what I want for Christmas:

- Word of the day calendar: because seriously, those things are awesome and Our Lord Archer is forever telling me to expand my vocabulary because I'm working class and I can't let the middle class win by out-smarting me or something.

- Awesome keyring: My keys are currently the nosiest set of keys ever, with a digital photo frame, two keys, two huge Nightwish keyrings and a USB stick. The colour is all wrong. I want a REALLY BRIGHT KEYRING.

- More photo frames: I have this amazing five-panel one that Lemon got me for my birthday and now that it's filled with pictures of me, Anner, Mo-Balls, Lemon and Hooker (alternative name for BFF Main Gay.5) it sits around on my shelf and winks awesomeness at me.

- The Resistance by Muse: I've been waiting to be able to afford this album for three months = TOO LONG.

- Lots of AAA batteries: My MP3 player chews through these in minutes.

- A deck of cards: I'm forever borrowing other people's cards.

Bonus: The strength to withstand my ASSHOLE SISTER for another year.

No worries, I think she might get better with time.

Anyhoo, I have to go to my primary school's Christmas fair before heading down to The Duchess for muchos music and drink, so I'll be off now.

Happy Friday, peeps!

Red card.

I was walking around Monks Cross yesterday with fabulous hot chocolate when I thought to myself: "what would happen if you shaved the queen's head in her sleep?"

What would happen? Would you have to donate your hair to a wig, buy the wig, leave the country? Maybe you'd get beheaded. Anyway, it'd be a close shave (hahahaha - oh, nevermind).

Then I thought I saw Prince Philip (not likely, let me make that clear) so I started walking much faster before this very, very poncy guy started demanding I take his coat or something. I cannot deal with posh, toff-ish people.

Anyway, that's not what I was going to write about, because really, who would want to see the queen bald? She's not that good-looking to begin with.

(Shh... I didn't say that. That's like... treason or something.)

Today I'm going to tell you all about cards.

I usually have an hour or two free every day at school, and I always, always play card games. I'm pretty crappy at some games. I don't understand Hearts, for example. I'm okay at Snap, Irish Snap (believe me, there's a difference...), Shithead, Solitaire and Old Maid. I am, however, TOTALLY AMAZING at Spit and Bunty.

They're the faster games, slamming down cards and getting totally high on adrenaline is more or less how I spend my free periods. I'm good at Irish Snap and Snap when I play against normal people (note: my friends generally aren't normal).

So today, I managed to sustain an injury whilst playing Irish Snap against a first-time player.

Irish snap is like snap except you place down a card and say a number even if it isn't the same number on the card, the next person places a card down and says the next number (eg. 7, 8, 9, 10, Jack...) and so on. If the number called is the same as the card or you get two cards the same, you snap them and keep the cards. If you put your hand down at the wrong time, you place your hand in the middle and every player takes turns to hit your hand.

This isn't how I ended up covered in blood (some not my own, to be fair) though.

My friend Ginny is insanely competitive, p'haps more than me, and so when it came to the actual snapping we'd end up with red-raw hands from it. One time, we both went to snap the deck and her fingernail got caught between my fingers. Her fingernail snapped off and embedded in my hand and we were both left bleeding.

Cue calls of "Oh my-fuck, oww!" from both of us.

Fun, fun, fun.

I suffer in order to be a total pro at these games, believe me.

So today I gave someone an injury for being so totally awesome. That's the only conclusion I can come to.

Night'all.

I'm trying to help you, you dirty bitches.

I find it really, really difficult to level with people when they are being stupid.

Our Lord Archer is the same, he says it hurts his head to work as slowly as we do, but he's an asshat. And I mean that in a good sort of way.

Usually today I'd be helping P.Daddy with a year ten bottom set in maths but I really cannot deal with them anymore. They are stupid, cocky 14/15 year olds who think they're really, really tough but are insanely stupid.

I'd win in a fight, that's for sure.

I wouldn't mind if they were just a bit behind with maths or whatever, but instead they are stupid, socially inept children who actually cause me to fear for the future generations.

Instead, today I took off from school at lunchtime and went to work instead. So much better. 'Sides, I get paid.

Me and this guy at work have a running joke that he is incredibly active (hell no he isn't) and I'm insanely lazy (am SO not). So today I took over his usual position: reclining in a comfy chair with 20 Questions and my feet up on a ladder.

Instant reaction: "OH MY GOD YOU'RE SAT IN MY CHAIR, BITCH!"

"Damn straight I'm sat in your chair. Go look like your doing something, it's your turn."

Fun times.

Customers at Argos generally restore my faith in humanity. When an order goes well they're all smiley and funny and happy and when an order goes badly they're always understanding, or at least oblivious to my internal dialogue sending the one-in-a-million evil customer to the fiery pits of Hades.

Good people of Argos: I love you. Free DS Lites for everyone.

Also, one of the managers came in today and announced she was pregnant. Awesome. Congrats.

Whilst I'm being fairly optimistic I'll add that I have the single most awesome (I really love that word, don't I? Any suggestions for better words?) weekend lined up. Josh & Co. at The Duchess on Friday, Mostly Autumn at the Grand Opera House on Saturday and Breathing Space at The Duchess on Sunday. It'll be like one big bender, and I only have to work Saturday afternoon. ('Sides, work owes me some more money - SO making this weekend memorable, or otherwise)

The only downside is that it is now 10.30pm and I still have two essays to write for tomorrow. Being in full-time edu-ma-cation and working part-time means that I am living life-and-a-half. Time doesn't drag like it used to, and this is totally fine by me.

Bring it ooonnn, byotch.

Nearly totally forgot I was meant to be pretending to be a nice person today. Whups.

Well today I gave someone my Mars Bar. Not sure I really 'gave' it to them. More, I put it down on the table and when I looked back at it, it wasn't there and his breath smelt of chocolate.

Bastard.

At any rate, that wasn't all I gave today, because today I gave someone wings. Yes. That's right. Wings.

But I'm not going to go on about that, it was a last-ditch attempt at giving whilst I was still feeling friendly.

Instead I'm going to tell you about... ZE GREAT WINTER OF 2009!

Remember back in February when it was sensationally cold and there were blizzards n'shit?

Of course you do.

Well it's got cold again. It's not even a respectable kind of cold. It's an oh em gee it's so fricking coooooolllld - kind of cold. It's the kind of cold where you breathe and your head disappears.

Brrrr.

Not only is it cold, but York has flooded too. That's just peachy. The main road to get to school was flooded, so the buses were canceled, I was stood at the bus stop for a half hour before someone had the heart to tell me that I'd be walking all the way to school.

Damn it.



(Ice would be surprised how cold it was)

Long story short, it took an hour to navigate around all the iced-over puddles before showing up in film studies half way through the lesson. The best part was that my teacher was more worried about that fact that I was more or less blue than the fact that I was massively late. Win.

It took me three hours to warm up, and for all of those three hours I wanted nothing more or less than a Starbucks caramel hot chocolate with muchos whipped cream.

One word: Nom.

Tough because usually I don't give a damn.

Alors... I'm jumping on the bandwagon for NaBloPoMo this December.

QUOI?! You all say? I don't blame you. I'm terrible at being consistant with this blog these days. I'm a terrible mother, I get it.

Anyhoodle, the theme for December is MITZVAH, and which I'm pretty sure is a Jewish celebration of some sort but apparently it means giving, too. This is kinda a good topic for me because I'm pretty generous (or I think so, anyway) when I can afford to be, and sometimes when I can't, which leads to muchos trouble with my mother, and by that I mean that she breaks me.

Tsk. The things I do for humanity.

Also it's Christmas or something like that this month so I'll be giving pretty much all month.

And also my job includes giving out items to the good shoppers of Argos.

Ha. I've got this thing bagged.

See you-all tomorrow.

It's beginning to smell a lot like Christmas...

So yesterday I was suckered into babysitting my brother's kids. Go me.

I actually love my brother's kids. Kelsi, Eboni and Rhiley are perhaps the funniest kids of their age (6, 4 and 1 respectively) I've ever met. Kelsi is loopy, shy-but-loud and giggly, Eboni is absolutely feral and cheeky and Rhiley is just quirky and hosts some of the best facial expressions everrr.



(Eboni [3, now 4] Rhiley [0, now 1] Kelsi [5, now 6] - I don't know what Rhiley is wearing here. It was his Christening [not my idea, or anyone elses, it just happened one day] but I think he looks like the marshmallow man from Ghostbusters)

I had the ingenius idea of buying Eboni some Sea Monkeys for her birthday last week, but according to Kelsi and her shiny new pink DS Lite, Father Christmas has already been this year.

I look at my brother, then shake my head. He does these things in style. He left Kelsi an I.O.U from the tooth fairy.

Anyhoo, babysitting my nieces/nephew always starts out the same. Eboni and especially Kelsi scream and shout "Nicoooooooooole!" when they see me, waking Rhiley up, before my brother, Golden Balls, and sister-in-law go out. I'm then stuck with three kids, two of which are bouncing off the ways, one of which would be if he could walk.

The only difference in the first five minutes was that my SIL poked her head through the window and said "By the way, Rhiley's been eating prunes. See ya!" before I'm left with a baby who is now growling and visibly straining.

Oh. Dear. God.

Cue slight hysteria, with me begging Rhiley to keep his nappy clean and Kelsi and Eboni shouting about the smell.

Crap. Literally.

"He'll, ah, be okay, I think..." I say to the girls, who are now dragging my laptop out of my bag and trying to set up some music (Eboni is convinced it has a touch screen, dun dun duuunnn...) before ABBA starts blasting out and the girls start dancing to Mamma Mia like only small, hyper kids can.

"Dance, Nicole! Dance!" Three minutes later I'm caught up trying to keep both girls happy, because one sulks if I dance with the other for two long.

Half an hour later all I'm hearing is "Dance monkey, dance!" and Rhiley is growling again. Joy.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes and say "Kelsi: Wipes, nappy. Eboni: Find the changing mat." They're off like a shot. Rhiley is grinning up at me with an air of triumph. I look down at him, biting my lip. This is going to be horrible.

The girls come back, place all the stuff on the floor and try to get Rhiley to lie down. He won't.

"Pleaaaase, Rhiley!" The girls say. He wriggles and whines.

"Be careful he doesn't wee in your face, Nicole." Kelsi chimes in quietly.

"...Thanks Kelsi."

Eventually I decide I'm going to try and change him sitting up. I spin him round, then turn around to grab a nappy. I turn to find him with his back to me again. I turn him round again, he shuffles back round. It goes on like this for a solid two minutes, with the girls cackling hysterically. Eventually I manage to get his nappy off, and straight away he puts his foot in it. Before I can say "wolverines" he's stuck his hand in it and the smell is just cruel. "Nooooo..." I croon. "You pain in the arse."

"Ohmmm! You said 'arse'!" Kelsi chimes.

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did."

"No, you did."

"Only because you did."

"Yeah, but you did."

I sit there, up to my eyes in baby crap with a baby who is now smearing the fucking floor with poop whilst arguing over whosaidwhat with a six year old and then...

"No, Kelsi, I said farce which means like trouble, you kno-OH MY GOD!"

Rhiley is now sat in a puddle of pee, as well as poo.

"How does your dad make it look so easy?!" I whine. Eboni shrugs.

I sigh. Fine, then. Eboni gets me a towel and Kelsi starts mopping up the mess, whilst I struggle on with Rhiley until I finally get him dressed.

After the whole episode I get the girls some cookies, show them that the Sea Monkeys have hatched ("But they don't look like monkeys!") and send them off to bed before sitting Rhiley in his cot. He starts giggling like a maniac.

"Oi, you're meant to be going to sleep, mister." I say, tucking him, still giggling, in.

After a while I decide he'll eventually wear himself out, so I go out and close the door. The giggling stops immediately.

I consider opening the door to see if he'll start up again but then decide that no, actually I need a cold shower and my good friend Stella (Artois).

No one can say I didn't try.

Me and my sister do not get along by any stretch of the imagination. People used to despair over this, but now it's just a source of amusement. I find it vaguely hilarious and then acutely depressing.

My sister Cleo is, in my opinion, a spoilt, attention-seeking, idiotic, whiney, pathetic, dirty, hateful, egotistical hypochondriac. She is also very, very annoying and generally an unnecessary person (go figure).

To her, I'm probably a nerdy, bookish, mean asshole.

It's probably worth pointing out that I am a nerdy, bookish, mean asshole.

At any rate, we don't get along. She's a terrible person in my eyes, I'm an unsupportive clam in hers, it's a long since done deal. My mum loves nothing better to blame me for the way Cleo turned out, and that does nothing to help our relationship at all. There is no understanding between me and my sister. She doesn't like music, it's the climate I live in, she likes to talk about herself to anyone who will listen (and those who won't) whilst I prefer to keep quiet, she has no sense of humour, I find everything funny, she'll make herself out to be a victim ALL THE TIME, I'll find her kicking the ever-loving shit out of some poor kid when I pick her up from school. The girl is a terrible human being.

Though I know that I'm no better. I know that I'm terrible to her, just by the way that I ignore her. But I have to. She doesn't bring out any good side in me, and I don't feel good around her, or around home, so I block her out along with everything. I'm a terrible sister to her. I get this.

We share a bedroom, which is separated by two wardrobes and a few pieces of cardboard that I nabbed from the council. Since she discovered that I can't sleep with the light on, she's been 'scared' of the dark and has had the hall light on all the time. I can't sleep, making me grouchy and tired and generally very hateful towards her, and then my mum for being so blinkered. Even my brother, who can sleep through any situation, complained about the light getting into my room when he crashed on the floor.

Sometimes I get so frustrated with her and everyone that I just walk out. I usually get into trouble which never helps, but I need the space that I don't get at home.

But I do try sometimes. I'll take her out into town, alone or occasionally with my friends (usually with BFF Main Gay.5 because she's a massive homophobe and must learn). I'll write up lists of songs she might like to burn to a CD, but then she'll do something that pisses me off and I'll tear them up. I might find a film or a book she'll like but then she ruins them. It always ends the same.

I said I'd take her to the cinema this weekend, which I think will be good for her. I like taking Cleo to different places, mostly because she's less of a shit when she's on her own, and I'm feeling more forgiving. I'm dragging BFF Main Gay.5, Cherry, Lemon and Anner and Mo-Balls with me too (I have strange names for my friends... I know. Though Cherry is actually Cherry's real name) if they're not busy. Work, school and hours of blogs, books and music aside, I'm the only one who isn't perpetually busy. I spend a lot of time rotting away at home, and I think we all know the amount of good that does me (hint: it begins with Z- and ends with -ERO).

I get tired of people saying I don't make and effort with things, because it's not true, at least not to me. I'm so exhausted with all these little things that if I've done something, it seems like an effort to me.

If, as I hope, I leave home in a few years, go onto better things and things at home go wrong, no one can blame me anymore. No one can say I didn't try, because I've been trying all along, in my own way. They just have to accept that.

The hand of frog is collecting your items.

I have never laughed so hard at a newspaper as I did this morning:

THE HAND OF FROG

God bless Thierry Henry and all who sail in him. (Though, seriously... It's FOOTball, not HANDball, son.) In case you missed it there's been a big controversy with Thierry Henry (Ex-Arsenal[YEAH!], now playing for Argentina) hitting a ball with his hand when playing against the Irish in football. D'oh.

There's lots going on in he blogging world at the moment, isn't there? Crissy's Big Pussy introduced us to a mouse that looked like it'd seen the inside of hell, Andy started dating a (lovely) French guy, Jay's beard is preparing to undergo a FIERCE transformation (Mutton chops? Please?) and Jassie graduated.

Phwoar. Busy busy busy.

Me? I've been working.

This is actually very cunning timing on my part. I chose my hours based upon when I was most likely to go apeshit with my mum's money and go see New Moon a million times like I did with Twilight, and so when everyone else was out watching awesome hair being all emo-ish, I was picking tickets at Argos.

Sounds thrilling, no? No sarcasm: it actually WAS awesome. I have my own locker and badge and shirt and ID and everything.

I spent last time learning the layout of the warehouse and scaling the dizzy heights to get top shelf items (I instantly hate orders that require me to go to the top shelf at any time - it's 15ft high) and generally had a great time just doing stuff. This morning I went in and worked on collection, which is amazing because when 30-part orders come through we all congregate, get tickets and then bolt in different directions. Awesome.

The best moment had to be last night when we were tidying up the stockroom, and I was putting away ladders. One was huge and didn't have a second set of wheels so I went to let it stand, it fell, I tried to grab it, got dragged down and landed with THE LOUDEST CRASH I've ever caused:

Me: Shi-ouch... Erm. WHUPS!

Person: *across the storeroom* You okay?!

Me: Yeah... Where do I put the big ladders?

Person: Just on the floor will do.

Me: Ahh ok. That's where it landed.

Person: Umm... where are you?

Me: Under it.

Excellent moment in my own personal history, truly.

I'm working again tomorrow, which is great because you get paid half again on Sundays, and then me and Lemon are going to see New Moon, because Lemon is my amazing Twilight buddy who doesn't do anything dickish whilst the film's running, unlike SOME people. *cough, cough*BFF Main Gay.5*cough*

Sadly - or not - I haven't had chance to do any homework this weekend, but hey, at least I'm not bored.

Let meeeeeme entertain you. (do, do, doo...)

Well well. I wrote in my planner of undisguised awesome (everyone else's are black and gold, mine's black and green with two holes in the front - yeah!!) that I was going to write a blog tonight, but honestly? I'm dying a little bit this week, so I'm going to reply to a thing Jassie tagged me on Facebook because hell if I'm not tired.

25 Things But I'm gonna pretend my finger slipped so now it's just "15 Things"

(If you can't be arsed with this, just scroll to the bottom where there is a picture of something I discovered this week which was just... SOUL SHAKING...)

1. Actually, I can't think of anything. Let's make it 10 Things.

2. I'm in love with really simple stuff. Sleep, authentic Coca Cola, a bar of Galaxy chocolate and a decent film is all I need to recover from the world's worst week, month, decade.

3. The smell of my parents' farts makes me cry. They fart depression. I lose my faith in humanity for a good couple of hours.

4. I'm the world champion of the card game Spit. Ditto Snap.

5. I once conspired to get into America by marrying my half-American friend. Didn't work and now I have no grounds on which I can apply for a visa. Daym.

6. My brother used to handcuff me to our balcony and shoot me with a BB gun. My parents confiscated both and I haven't seen either item since. Good, character-building stuff.

7. I taught my nephew to say 'asssshoooooole' a la Meet The Fockers because my brother had already taught him to say 'Arse-nool', after Arsenal, our favourite team.

8. I'm unusually awesome at baseball on WiiSport. I have stamina and a stammer (only a little one).

9. I use the words 'chebly', 'lober' and 'meathead' way too much, even if they aren't actual words. My friends are strange and wonderful beings...

10. I have a crippling fear of spiders that covers cuddly, fluffy toys that vaguely resemble spiders. The word 'spider' makes me feel ill. I have arachnophobia of the nth degree.

Oooeeeefff. Effort. It burns.

And now... This here Tuesday I was a-mindin' my own business, playing chess and the sort, when I looked down to discover something... epic.

Behold...



I think we've all come to the same conclusion...

Jesus is coming. Hide the pawn.

I best be on my way now.

Lately I've been bogged down under everyone else's problems.

My parents still fight and argue all the time. My mum has become a raving feminist, blaming men for EVERYTHING and trying to drag me down into her little celibate lesbian club for one (that's what she named herself) which as of yet has been and will remain an unsuccessful gambit. My dad keeps to himself as he always has (we do not have much of a relationship, or any relationship, come to think of it) and goes off to be with other people and all that crap. Sucks. I can't leave the house for more than ten minutes with my parents together without them exploding into arguments and my sister hiding in my bedroom.

My brother's marriage fell flat last week. He can't see his kids or his wife and this time he didn't actually do anything. He's been pretty much inconsolable since then. I had to go sit with him at my grandma's house yesterday, only to find him hugging a cushion in the foetal position and not eating/drinking/saying anything. Last night I was told I might have to take his place and go to Paris for Christmas with my sister-in-law and the kids, but I don't want to because he was so looking forward to having Christmas with the kids again.

My sister is a relentless shithead who goes out of her way to make me feel awful.

I have a stupidly little amount of money, meaning I miss out on school books, extra reading stuff and occasionally my lunch.

School is difficult, the workload is too much and I have no motivation to do anything. I'd happily drop out.

Everyone makes out that I've got it easy.

I appear to have adopted the status of 'taker of shit'. They don't seem to realise that I cannot deal with their crap. I have my own crap and it is great and bountiful. I've got things I want to do, places I want to be and things I want to try, and I cannot do any of that when I'm scared to leave the house, never mind the country, in case something goes wrong.

And apparently I don't even have to leave the house now. My sister-in-law called to say my brother is sat on the side of the motorway threatening to jump in front of a car. Stupid twonk. (He wouldn't do that)

Ohh, the drama.

So forgive me if I'm ranting, which I am, and forgive me if I'm being selfish, but I cannot deal with everyone else's crises right now.

Just call me Harry Potter.

I woke feeling weird this morning. Wide awake, nothing in my head, comfy. Not usual things for me. I checked the clock... 7.19am. I closed my eyes and settled back down again.

And about two minutes later my eyes flew open again.

First day at work today getthefuckoutofbedfuckshitcrappissandbollocks...

I'm a tad neurotic first thing on a morning.

At any rate, I ended up being twenty minutes early. If I knew I was being paid today I would've gone straight to the store, but instead I headed to McDonald's were I had the shock of my life...

"Hey, a small fries please?"

"Umm... We don't have any fries."

Since when have McDonald's not had any fries!?

*hyperventilating* "What... the hell... happened?"

"We're on the breakfast menu at the moment."

Oh. OH!

Whew. Almost had a moment there.

I got covered in grease and salt and walked into the store feeling pretty crumby. Apparently it didn't show.

Let me describe this particular store to you lovely American/Australian people. Basically, instead of having of having shelves of products on the shop floor and stuff, you have a big catalogue, and you choose what you want, pay for it and then suddenly, out of the tens of thousands of items that are hidden away - presumably in a hole in time and space - you receive your item. It's amazing.

It's like... one of the biggest mysteries of the modern world - it defies science. Probably.

Anyhoo, you have to imagine that all these items are stored somewhere. You can't just conjure these things out of thin air the way I thought they did for SO long it's embarrassing (up until I was about eight I thought this place was magical. Now I just think it's awesome).

Today, I came face-to-face with the single most daunting warehouse I have seen in my short history of seeing warehouses (though anything that looks like it requires effort is a daunting prospect to me).

Have you seen Harry Potter And The Goblet Of Fire, where they're in the maze?



To my mind, that was EXACTLY what it was.

Sadly I don't think vines are going to start shooting out of the shelves and rip Rob Pattinson's clothes off, though for a moment there I could've sworn it was about to happen.

Anyhoo, I snacked on muffins and cookies whilst watching videos about how to deal with fires (apparently "run the other way" isn't quite right) and violent customers (ditto "sock 'em one") and then I went on my way.

Awesome, easy day of non-work with funny people that I get paid for.

I love this place.

There is, sadly, one little detail that renders this post bittersweet...

I may have signed up to work hours next week that totally wipe out any plans to go see N-N-N-New Moon on Friday or Saturday.

So it'll be Sunday before I get to see it. That's crap. That's two days after it'll be released. When Twilight came out in cinemas, I'd seen in three times before the third day of release.

This will not do.

Anyways, I've got it planned to go with the lovely Lemon, who I have already dubbed as an ah-may-zing Twilight cinema buddy, and we will be great.

I'm totally wearing my Twilight t-shirt next week. (Oh yeah, I have one of those = SAD)