College.

..I know. I rock the titles.

In the last two months I’ve gone from holding two jobs to barely having one. Sod’s law, my hours were cut at Job #1 just after I quit Job #2. So I’ve gone from having two days off in as many months to working six hours a week.

..Leaves a helluva lot of time to do a lot of nothing. I’ve spent the last month in and around my bed, waking up at 3pm, eating shit, watching crap TV, forgetting to get my hair cut, bored but not motivated to do anything to change that. Basically, about three levels away from the circle of hell I was in this time last year. But there’s no point flogging a dead horse.

So, what do we propose, reader(s)?

Let’s go... To College!

I’ve been toying with the idea of going to college and doing a production arts course (think lighting/sound technician meets stage design) at some point and here whilst I have the time, I went to an open evening at college to check it out.

Looks. Frickin’. Awesome!

There’s a tiny problem involving applications, references, interviews, deadlines, only-three-remaining-places and, aw hell, a big wad of problems, but I’m being optimistic.

I’ve been stepping in as a lighting technician at some local venues for extra money and it’s all good experience. It’s something I enjoy doing, and getting paid definitely helps.

I've been staying awake until 4 or 5am every night/morning so when Mum woke me up at 9am I wasn't all that happy about it. First thing I said this morning? "I can't see."
 
..I function so well on four-and-a-half hours of sleep.
 
But this morning I phoned up my old school and asked for a reference, coke in hand, expecting to have to talk my way into it. Aaaand I didn't. The conversation was over in less than three minutes. That's the least time I have ever spent arguing with a teacher. (Much appreciated)
 
So it's all out of my hands now. Just have to sit around and wait to hear back from the college.
 
*Gulp*

Someone thinks you've failed.

"This is the right decision."

"No one thinks you've failed."

"No one is judging you."

"No one thinks any less of you."

"No one thinks you're incapable of achieving these things."

"You're not dropping out, you're moving on."

I haven't been to school since January. At first it was just a sickness, then it was a weight, and then it was paralysis, and I'd fall and fall and just when I thought I'd hit the bottom, I slipped and I kept falling.

I went from Under The Weather to Under The World in a very short space of time.

I remember squeezing my eyes tight shut against the feeling in my head, in my hands, behind my ribs and under my hair. I remember waking up feeling voided. I remember my head being too swamped with this thing to feel anything. No grief, no happiness. I lost the ability to retain information. I couldn't percieve what people were saying. I couldn't remember the slightest things and some days I couldn't speak.

There is no feeling like depression. It's not grief, it's not pain. The way it creeps in, slows you down, smothers you and soaks "you" up. It's like walking through oil.

And recently with some medical help the consistancy is changing into something a little more manageable.

The pills help. The talking, not so much. Both are absolutely draining.

Today I went from being on sick leave to actually dropping out of sixth form.

"No one is judging you."

"No one thinks any less of you for this."

I've spent months killing myself thinking that I have to go back, that I'll get nowhere without passing those exams and that I have years of the same thing sprawled infront of me.

I don't.

I don't have to do what they say. I don't have to do everything their way.

I can do what I damn well please, and it has taken me ages to realise this.

So here's so me ending my time in school and moving onto something else.

I'm not fixed yet, that's not even on the horizon. But I'm on my way.

About Fucking Time.

Disaster.

Today I came home from a raaather interesting day in and around school (I have a DIRECTION now, y'all) to find my room in this state:

The shelf fell down and my books? EVERYWHERE. How many times did I croon "Oh My Gawwd..."? Sixty seven.

Luckily I had my trusty Denny with me, so we broke out the shot glass chess and drowned our sorrows (well, half of them. Half of the shots were water).

And that is the highly editted story of my day.

Quote Of The Day: "I'm wet and hungry and it's hot and long and I want to eat it and I don't like it!" - "Well, that's not something SHE would say."

Oh My God I Hate That Song.

Here in L'Angleterre our children (I have four) are subjected to singing assemblies at school.

NB: This is where we are all forced to stand up, stare at terribly cheesy lyrics and sing along to terribly cheesy music whilst hating ourselves and watching our lives glide away as fast as they can.

Example:

Conkers, lots of lovely conkers
I'm trying hard to find the biggest and the best

A particularly quirky tune about conkers. I hate conkers now.

Then there was 'cum bi arrrrr' that eventually turned into '2 pi r' in year 10 maths because we all want to know the circumference of a circle. It's definitely preferable.

Then there was a particularly haunting song about school rules.. Which was hysterical just because it was terrifying.

Don't tell tales and don't tell lies
Don't be cheeky or unkind
...We're learning...We're learning...

Scary as hell, even without the tune.

I'm only saying this because my household is finally free of these horrors. Cleo, God rest her soul, has started my terrifying school that made me all depressed and shit and let me tell you, singing in assembly? Punishable by death.

Good luck Cleo. May the odds be ever in your favour.

Round-up.

So what's been happening around here?

I went to Slovenia for eight days.

I got my exam result (note the singular). I got a U, but it was a high U so it was more like a U* and overall it comes out as a C so I've passed, which really makes no difference to me.

I'm still working on my mum to give me £3000 for body-piercing-training reasons.

I'm back at work. Joy to the fucking world.

And yesterday I gave my nephew a makeover.

I keep having panic attacks, I need my meds taking up a notch.

And finally... The return of the penis pasta.

A bit... objective, maybe?

Good question. Bad question. Let's face it. All exams are are bad questions.

So I have an exam in two days that I can't find the motivation to to any work for. I tried for three hours earlier, and as a result I reverted back to my still-in-school self: Grim, morbid, angry, breath-y (seriously, I physically can't breath when I try do this 'school' thing) and generally just RARRRRR.

And who can blame me really? Look at the evidence. (Yeah, I totally planned this post whilst pretending to read a textbook)

There is no escaping the obvious in this exam.

I haven't been in school for.. oh.. four months and I've missed E V E R Y T H I N G, so I really don't know what the exam is about.

And.. judging by my epic newfound lack of ability to absorb information and write neatly, here's another question that I can't answer:

So, I guess the moral here is that I'm gonna be here tomorrow whilst I try to pass this exam with no prior knowledge whatsoever.

Bon chance, Nicole.

The day the tigers- I mean, the cake, broke free.

Happy birthday to Mo-Balls, who is getting old.

So yesterday I made a cake and was killed execution-style with an icing gun.

Today the cake tried The Great Escape.

I've been zipping all over York today (I've been on a bus six times, my life expectancy has dropped to 50, those people do not smell healthy). At 9.30am I bussed down to the surgery and was given shiny-happy-pills which have made me go strange already because the side effects include falling into a coma, stroke, heart attacks and moments of extreme ecstasy but so far I'm just hyper has anything and breathing funny. Seriously, I'm typing so fast I have to keep going back over everything I've written to correct it all.

I got home and packed the cake into a bag, I donned on my favourite (not mine) boots which are awful for walking in (as shoes, that's a pretty big issue) but never mind and took off to school to see my brethren.

I got down the steps to my house in one piece.

I walked towards the ran and was halted by a loud metallic bang which snagged the attention of most people on the street, and the bag flew up in my hand like a big weight had been taken off it.

The first thing I noticed was that the cake tin was on the floor.

The second thing? It was upsidedown.

Third thing: Buggerbuggerbuggerbuggerbugger...

I looked around, Walmgate wasn't particularly busy but there were still enough people who saw me debating whether or not to leave the cake behind or bend down to pick it up sheepishly. I did pick it up. Eventually.

I didn't get a chance to check it over before school (I was running late... angry messages on the phone from BFF Main Gay.5 aplenty) but 'hell in a handbasket' was close.

Still, I got praise for a bad job done well that made it all worthwhile.

Have a nice weekend.

My friends are the spawn of awesome.

My friends are awesome. All of them are just inexplicably, irrevocably awesome. With knobs on top, and on the sides.

Interesting mental image.

Anyway.

It's come to my attention that awesomeness must be genetic (except in my case, seeing as my parents are far from awesome when they are together) because Friend Who Will Go Unmentioned's Dad did something SO FAR beyond the valley of awesome, that I kinda want to eat his mind.

And I have to leave Friend and her dad unmentioned because it's also slightly naughty/illegal/vandalism.

And also situated outside the police station. Rock on.

In the UK there's this campaign called Change 4 Life that is about losing weight because we're all FAT FATTY MCFATTERSONS and Friend's Dad couldn't hardly help himself when he saw the advert on a phone box outside the police station.

Click to enlarge, it's easier to read that way.

It's official, we're all the spawn of awesome.

(PS, I went into school today and collected my exam results, you know, the ones I didn't revise/study for. Got an A in each one. Suck it, logic!)

Awesome count: 7. Oh, wait. 8.

Hole in the head.

I really don't know how to sum this up.

I'm not at school anymore. I'm not happy or sad about that.

I sleep until 2pm, wake up, walk around a little, and then stay in my room. I feel weighted though I don't have many things to worry about anymore.

I didn't want to go back to school. I had no motivation to do anything. I remember just thinking 'I don't want, I don't want' because I couldn't trap it down to just one discernable thing.

I've been put on indefinite leave from school because I'm suffering with major depression and if I carried on being there, I wouldn't have held up for long.

I wasn't allowed to just leave like I wanted to because people have now decided that I can't make my own decisions. That annoys me more than anything. They talk about being 'fixed' like I'm a bike or a horny dog.

I feel awful. I go to school feeling bad, I get home feeling so much worse. I go home and lie in bed. I talk to people because I have to. If I go out to see people I come home feeling blank.

Today's just a bad day. I've just been feeling really bad.

I can't think of anything else.

I could be a heist-ish person. I can be sneaky. Look: Shhh...

I hate shopping at any time around Valentine's Day. But it's a necessary evil, I live (conveniently) in the middle of town (the general term for where the shops are in York) and I happen to be a strong believer in retail shopping.

Yesterday I'd sank into one of my black moods and I left school at lunchtime, I'd pulled that string thing in one leg (hamstring? Hammerstring? Something like that) and I couldn't walk all the way home easily, so I took the bus into town with the sole intention of going home and lying in bed for the rest of the night.

Then just randomly I thought I needed to buy another DVD for film studies.

And maybe a couple of other DVDs...

And a Indiana Jones box set (so sue me).

And then I went to Lush. Lush is amazing. Lush is the shop that you can smell from the other end of the street. It's a shop full of bath bombs and soaps and face masks and yum. I stopped at a counter. Something smelled INCREDIBLY of chocolate. On a whim I bought shower jelly, which I love because you can hurl it at the bathroom mirror and it explodes everywhere (Don't tell my mum that... Jesus...) and it's a nice change to a normal shower when you rub jelly into your hair and you smell kind of like what I imagine Jesus would smell like if he took a shower.

And then I went to Starbucks. Every time I go into Starbucks I always try to convince myself that I'm not being stripped of my hard-earned quids every time I take a sip, but when a cheesecake and a coffee to go add up to £4.80 (Approx. $8.50), I feel kinda like I out to have someone feeding me my amazing blueberry swirl cheesecake.

By this point I was feeling a little less like I wanted to die, and despite the fact that EVERYWHERE I was seeing smug couples holding Anne Summers bags (lingerie galore), I felt kinda great because I was walking through town with a HMV bag and a Lush bag, and I basically looked like any stereotypical, perpetually single person does at this time of year: Rough around the edges, with a bath bomb in one bag and a romantic film in the other.

Well they were WRONG because I actually had shower jelly and The Italian Job.

I really want a Mini Cooper.

Anyway, I am being utterly oblivious to Valentine's Day this year as I am every year and because my B-E-A-Utiful True Blood calendar also tells me that it is Chinese New Year on the 14th so I'm celebrating that instead.

SUCK ON THAT, HALLMARK!

"Complication, aggravation is getting to you."

Just one of the many products of being dragged up raised by a punk and a heavy-metal/hard rock bassist guy who looks like The Crow is that I have a hot, raw love for every aspect of music.

Last night it was Aerosmith.

I work to music, I live to music and there are probably endless hours of CCTV footage of me at work singing whilst handing over change, which is unfortunate because the music at work is usually rather shoddy, though it still makes me happy. Music doesn't have to be deemed 'good' for me to enjoy it. I have easy ears.

Anyhoo, last night I was working away on my film studies coursework and I started typing up a storm to "Love In An Elevator" by Aerosmith. I forgot about it, checked the word count and was staggered to see I was 200 words over the limit.



Then I deleted all the lyrics I'd typed and I was suddenly short of 500 words.

Balls.


So, despite that, here's a fabulous video of Aerosmith's Ragdoll because they gave me hours of procrastination last night. It's a totally awesome song and fabulous to play on Guitar Hero.

(Ignore the first ten seconds...)



Baby won't you do me like you done befooooore?

And I've seen all I'll ever need.

Brrr...

So I'm back.

Hello.

I would've been here sooner but I've been very busy doing nothing. Seriously. I've done shit all, no school, no work, no anything, and the time has flown.

I'll summarise.

I did my film studies coursework, which involved making up a storyline and taking loads of photos showing the sequence of a film. Piece of piss, really. I nearly got shot at one point because my mum thought it would be funny to take me to Strensall Common where the snow was really picturesque and stuff but then the gunshots started and I turned around to run see a sign saying that it was a sniper range owned by Her Maj's army.



My sister is one scary bishe.

I cooked EPIC MEAL for my mum's birthday.



Stuffed peppers, garlic/lemon chicken pasta stuff (tasted better than it sounds) and then fruit crumble.

It was the shit.

Last week school was more or less dead because of the snow. I had an exam this morning, it sucked.

And now I'm just hating on humanity because I'm trying to drop sociology (exam on Friday - two 24 mark essays, 3 other questions IN AN HOUR) and every teacher who's mentioned it is telling me aaaaaaaaaaaallllllll about exam nerves and I'm all "OI!!! TEACHER!!! NOOOOOOOOOO!!!" because it's not the exam I'm bothered about, it's the subject.

Meh.

Fuck that shit.

I'd really love to be able to get it all sorted before I take the exam on Friday but if not I'll just carry on hating on humanity which is basically what sociology is about anyway.

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.

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...

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'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.

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.