A Cherry I never want to lose.

Since I first started Fulford School back in ye olde summer of '04, there was someone who instantaneously became the biggest pain in the ass ever: Cherry Smith.

Can we get a picture of me and Chez over here please?



Umm... No. Not quite.



Ahh... There we go. Honestly... You can't get the staff these days.

So anyway. This is Cherry, some 4.8 years after we first met. Please note that for about three of those years, we could Not Stop Arguing.

Not even to save our own mothers. No. Arguing came first.

But then, something magical happened. Something so magical I don't even know what it was.

We suddenly had the ability to get on alright. I have no idea how this happened.

And now? We are awesome. Completely and unanimously awesome. So awesome we can't ever come into close contact in case it causes too much awesome. That's how awesome we are.

So imagine the possibilities when Cherry joined Twitter.

Mwahahahaha...

Round 1: Cackling as I watch her try to work out how the hell to use Twitter...

First tweet: "wondering how the hell Twitter works and if I even know anyone on here SAVE ME!!!"

...And then read all her tweets as she tries to find my profile. NICOLE, WHERE IS NICOLE?!

Round 2: Exchange of in-jokes that probably make us look like Communist fuck-buddies.

In regards to our history exams: "Remember the hotness the Lub(b)e caused... And that Stalin was a Communist, not a fairy."

Round 3: ZE GOOD FRENCH CAKE.

(...And other ways to remember what you learned in class.)

Me: "Ja ja le gut FRAAANNNCE CAKE YOU EAT IT LIKE DOG AND SHIT IT OUT AND YOU EEET IT EGEN YOU PEASANT."

Cherry: "You cannot use the French and German language together, it is a crime, have more respect!"

Me: "THE DUTCH DO IT!!! And you'd better believe me and the Dutch have a v. good rapport after my last Amsterdam weekend..."

Round 4: Ya momma's so fat...

Me: "Ya momma so fat... when she walks out in heels she strikes oil! BOOYAH!"

Cherry: "Yo momma's so fat she has her own postcode! Suck on that!"

Me: "Ya momma's so fat I had to take a train and two buses to get on her good side, yo!"

Cherry: "Yo momma's so fat when she jumped off a bridge, she went straight to hell!"

Me: "Ya momma's so fat that when she fell in love she broke it!"

Cherry: "Yo momma's so fat she had to go to SeaWorld to get baptized!"

At which point I gave up and let her win because she probably has a whole Google search engine of Ya Momma jokes at her disposal.

Cherry: "Yay! WW3 has ended!"

Me: "Make sure you tell ya momma..."

Round 5: FINALE - Pulling a Britney.

So today it was widely broadcast that I would be getting my hair cut. Why was this so controversial? Because I never cut my hair. Ever. It was the best part of a metre long. So when I returned home with the second most short hair I've ever had in my life from 3 years onwards, it had to spread around.

No less than three hours later, I threatened to pull a Britney and shave it all off.

Literally TWO SECONDS LATER, Cherry had responded.

Cherry: "Nicole you look gorgeous, I absolutely love your hair, don't do a Britney please you will look ridiculous! You look gorgey, love you!"

Can you not feel the hysteria behind that tweet? The panic?

10 out of big shiny 10 for the single most passionate tweet of the year.

Except in July when someone proposes to their girlfriend over Twitter.

You know it'll happen.

And at this late point I have come to three conclusions:

1. I love Cherry.

2. I use Twitter too much.

3. Pulling a Britney is not cool, kids, not cool.

I rest my case.

Explicit content, and it's just SO good.

I was thinking today, when debating the importance of the word 'fuck' in today's vocabulary with Bena (you know, the stuff all normal teenagers talk about) how gorgeous the word actually is.

Fuuuuuck.

I mean, there's that fabulously fricative fff sound that stops the world and makes sure that everyone knows what's going down, and then there's that simple yet smartly placed uuu and then it's all sewn up with a marvellous ck which has not one plosive c-sound, but TWO, for extra kiCK.

And you can't even substitute the word fuck with something else, because fuck is fuck you know?

Say it loud and proud, fuck.

It doesn't even stop there.

Shit is just as good.

I hear the word 'shit' and I go 'mmmmm'.

It's the same principle really. The standard fricative 'shhhhh' that just moves me when I hear it, and then a nice 'it' on the end that just EXPLODES in your mouth and you're all 'I GOT THA POWER!' for a couple of seconds before someone else drops a better word and you're all meagre and then it becomes a competition which you refuse to lose. Ever.

However, there is one word I do not like.

The Big C.

Yeah.

There's something about the word 'cunt' that just bugs me. It's ugly. It's too plosive, and God help us all if there are TWO plosives in a word.

Generally I find 'poon' to be a better word. I spent years of my life meaning to order 'panini' from various shops and asking for poonani instead.

You say the word 'poon' and people bow down to you, because poon sounds epic. Poon is the name of gods.

Respect the poon, seriously.

However, on the subject of P-words, let me give you a fine example of a word that needs volume in order to have the correct amount of justice done unto it.

Piss.

Huuuhhuhuuhhuuu...

That word is the equilibrium of my life for sure.

So you see, I have single-handedly given everyone in the living, breathing world the excuse to scream these words with gay abandon, because really, the world is better for it.

I mean, I'm pretty sure that some of the world's most famous paintings have been inspired by such words...







Does anyone actually know what I'm talking about?

*Update*

Tilda has a little more to say on the matter:

I was contemplating the beauty of expletives after browsing over Nicole’s ‘Fuck’ episode… and I found I accidentally also caught the swearing bug.

As a consequence, I Tilda, would like to add a contribution to the world of (abusive) words

Bollocks, for instance…

{ One can roll the ‘l’ nicely on one’s tongue
{ There is a visually pleasing element of the symmetry of ‘ollo’.
{ 2 syllables, is always special- as you can glorify for longer when saying it
{ and of course Smith’s fabulous point, it ends with the Kick of ‘ck’
{ and an ss… to extend it off into the Unknown : )

Boollloockkssss!

Blimey...

What I go to school for.

Sometimes, well, a lot of the time, I grumble about school and WHY OH WHY OH WHY DELILAH? But sometimes it's not so bad...

Occasionally funning things happen at school. Sometimes the time arises when I can turn to Matt in physics and say 'use the force Luke, I've run out of lubricant', or giggle and clap my hands like a toddler when confronted with something called 'Le Prof Sadique' in French, which reads upon translation as:

1. His (teacher's) eyes are evil as he watches you.
2. He doesn't like you.
3. You can be really proud if you get good grades.
4. But if you enter a discussion with him you are always wrong.
5. It's best to avoid being noticed.

It's honestly like a word-for-word account of a run-in with my drama teacher.

Or maybe what I go for school for is being able to look back in my planner and school books and find notes scribbled down that were intended for my blog but never made it that far, such as:

"Having a Bill Bailey moment in which we discover that everywhere else has a news theme that you can groove to, whilst the BBC just has an apocolyptic rave."

... And...

"11.52am - French.

Reading about 'Sauvez Willy 2' whilst sitting by the oh-so-epic 'Airforce 1 Climate Control' machine, which means that all the disease in the room is being sucked up and blown onto me. FML."

Either way, there is something about school that makes it bearable once I'm out of bed, away from the crazies on the bus and actually there.

But if I were to dispell all that and pin the blame on someone, I'd say these guys are what I go to school for.



What will happen when Emma takes them to college?!

Some frustrations.

[Warning: The following post contains surplus amounts of angst with just a gallon or two of trivial complaining.]

I am teenager. Hear me roar.

For real, I'm chewing on my own angst right now.

• My sister is using every opportunity to complain. Currently she is crying because she had eaten too much, and is grumbling because she missed out on all the trite children's gossip at school last week and has to catch up. HA! Look at what I have to catch up on.


• I don't understand the whole university system and I really want to because given my choice of university, I really need to plan this one. I want to ask someone who knows these things from experience but can't for all of four reasons: a) My dad may or may not be in Turkey, b) My brother never attended university, or college for that matter, c) When I went to ask my mum she was too drunk to answer coherently and given that it was fucking Tuesday I think that's pretty damn frustrating, and d) I'm too shy and time-consumed to ask any of the adults I see on a daily basis.


• Once again I have to stay up (this was written last night by the way) until 2am because my sister insists on keeping the light on for no conceivable reason and won't let me turn it off whilst she's concious. Then, when I - sleep-deprived - complain, my mother says I should just back off and compromise and I'm all AND WHY THE FUCK SHOULD I TAKE THIS LYING DOWN IF I'M NOT SLEEPING?! and then I get called selfish and inconsiderate when really I'm just exhausted and long since past my mental capacity.


• The way people simply REFUSE to get along in drama bugs me. The Drama Woman is the kind of person who incites hatred by SUGGESTING THAT WE SHOULD ALL BE MAD WITH RYAN REALLY LOUDLY and making everyone wildly competitive, enough so that even the closest of friends will turn against each other. And I was so sure that friends came first...


• I wanted this week, month, year, decade to speed up, but now I can't remember where the last six months went and that unsettles me quite a bit.


• Universities have a wide range of just STUFF. I don't understand it. I can't even navigate the website properly. I wish they'd just tell me what on Earth they are talking about already.

But hey, I'm fifteen. Who listens to me?

It's all about us.

I have this fantastic RE teacher called Mr Molyneux (say molly-new). He's awesome. He conducts lessons through a series of utterly irrelevent anecdotes and is about as submissive with teaching as I am - meaning he will NEVER teacher people the way he's been told to (just as I'll never do as I'm told without a second thought, I contradict EVERYTHING). He actually told us to scribble out the 'Religious education' part on the front our books and write 'Life studies' because it sounded prettier. He also told us about the different chemicals in cigarettes whilst smoking out of a window. I love this man.

To quote my friend Evan 'I love this lesson... It's like lessons in life with uncle Molyneux...'

This week we were talking about inclusion and detention and crappy teachers (the odd thing was that we were actually learning about human nature) and he told us all that we as students were the most important people in the school, that we didn't have to be there and we should shout out and demand respect where we don't get it.

I really like this idea.

So next time the Taylor-woman banishes me to inclusion for breathing or the snooty cow at reception snaps at me for being late or ill I'll just take a deep breath, stand tall and stare them down. Then when they are cowering at my obvious awesomeness I'll remind them...

'Excuse me, but I think you'll find that I'm rather important around these parts.'

---

And so if you are at work/school/home and someone fails to appreciate your genuine one-ness, just bear in mind that, in fact, you are extremely important. You are you. And only you can be you. Let them try being you for a day, they'd suck at it.