One Way Ticket To Neverland, Please!

I got to sleep at about, hmmmm... 3?? On what was technically Tuesday. I was then woken by a knock on my window at HALF PAST 8 by John Lewis delivery men delivering a mattress for Amy (who was in Liverpool with her sister overnight) so I had to get out of bed. I'm sure the guys LOVED my barely there Mini Mouse PJ shorts, bed head, Amy's work shoes, sexy Red Riding Hood coat and general arse-headedness/frowny face for being woken up so early. Also, thanks to our pig-headed land lord, we now have a mattress on our landing. Goddamn idiot. A mattress that I had to move myself while the 2 burly delivery guys PAID to throw mattresses and the like around all day watched as they 'weren't insured to pick up such weights'. You must be joking.

(I must admit, the mattress is an eyesore and a total pain in the arse and in the way and just generally stupid, but it comes in handy. Ish. I was waiting for the bathroom at about 7 Wednesday morning, and was still half asleep, so I was leaning my head against the top of it and resting my eyes for a bit. When Tom came out he found me sprawled on the floor, fast asleep, and hugging my towel.) But anyway, we got fishies!! (Is that even a word???) Well, fish. I called mine Reno, and he is lovely. He swims and swims and... well, that's about it. Naturally, as soon as Dakin walked through the door later that night he ran over to the food tub and ran away with it so as to prevent 'Mean Old Leah eating it all up'. ¬_¬

I don't think I'm going to grow up. Come (tee hee) Wednesday night I found myself sat with Amy in the cinema, looking somewhat like a lesbian couple, to watch a film starting at 10. What film? The Lion King. In 3D. So naturally, I had to physically rip my tongue out in order to stop myself from very loudly singing along to all the songs/saying EVERY LINE OF THE FILM! I didn't mean to go to the cinema, I swear! There we were, doing uni work (read: I was actually doing work for once, Amy was asleep on the sofa) When I read on Facebook (come on, it's like my newspaper!) that Lisa went to see The Lion King earlier. My squeal/groan of complaint woke Amy, who immediately told me to check the cinema times. We left the house 10 minutes later. We are several kinds of Win. I added elements of 'Fail' when we were going up the escalator and I had a panic attack when it jolted and almost sent me flying backwards. Not one to confuse my priorities though, I gripped extra tightly on to my jalapeños instead of dropping them in order to hold on to the railing. Instead, I held on to Amy's coat with my teeth.

To update: Reno died on Thursday night. Fuck. Well, I say 'died', I mean I put him out of his misery. Basically - I killed him. He wasn't doing any of that swimming or breathing stuff that fish usually do. In fact, he was stuck in the filter, which was an awful thing to witness. Well, awful and funny. Woops. I decided to put him out of his misery, but not in my usual way i.e. leaving him out of water to die a terrifying death of slow suffocation, so I went to flush him down the loo. Normally, when you take a fish from water, it thrashes around and attempts to survive. Reno just flopped there. The only moving he did was when I waved him around in Amy's face a bit. When I flushed him, because our loo is broken. he didn't go down first time. O_______O. I'm going to Hell, aren't I?

Karma delivered its blows today though - I was in a towel when I heard someone banging on my window, so I leant over to open my curtains and have a look. It was the postman holding a package for me that couldn't fit through the letterbox. To thank him for my DVD, my towel came off my boobs for him. Lucky postman. I then had the house to myself, so as I was getting ready for work and ironing my uniform in the living room, I was totally naked (keep it in your head, guys! :P) It was at this moment that my landlord let himself in to the house. I took a tip from The Road Runner at this point.

Basically, I'm awesome at life. Yup yup yup ^____^

Slip and Slide

Picture the scene - I'm driving to work, wearing my angry wig of course, and by that I mean I have my roof down and my bright red hair flying all over the place. Why do I have my roof down? Naturally, I got out of bed at the last second and then had a shower, so my hair is still wet. I use my open roof as a hair-dryer on the way to work. Always have done. Anyways, I'm driving to work, singing/bellowing along to this song:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YWEddEroJH8

(It's a grower. It grew on me. This is a snippet of it. GO AND LISTEN TO IT AND WATCH THE BEAUTIFUL ANIMATION!!!! And notice I said 'singing along to' - Hells yeah I am awesome at Japanese singing now ^_____^ *TWACK* *Ahem*) My driving song, which I can never listen to again due to what happened as I went round the smallest roundabout in the entire known universe. I'm not particularly sure what happened, but all of a sudden I found myself mounted on the damn thing, facing the opposite direction to the direction you are meant to move on a roundabout. Direction.

A man and his girlfriend came running over as they saw me 'slumped over the steering wheel unconscious'. Nay, try 'slumped over the steering wheel in absolute hysterical tears'. I was shaking so much he had to drive the literal few feet to work for me, where I went inside, collapsed, calmed down, collapsed, calmed down, did half an hour of work, collapsed and got sent home. In that exact order. Mummy was proud - I got straight back on the horse, so to speak. As in 'I drove home' (which is more than can be said of what I actually did when I fell off an actual horse - I limped off, crying and haven't got on a horse since. I'm now slightly frightened of them. You be the judge.)

I went to my aunt's house to be around family. I would have gone to my Dad's, but naturally he's an arse and moved to Scotland a few months ago. Interesting trivia for you - I grew up in Derby, and my dad still lived there once my parents divorced and we moved away, which is one of the reasons why I chose Derby uni, my literal thoughts being 'Oooh, I know the area and I can spend a bit more time with my dad!'. As soon as I stepped FOOT in Derby he turned round and said, and I quote, "Oh yeahhhhhhh, I'm kinda moving to Scotland at the end of the year." Arses. I still love my daddy ^_^

Oh yeah, the short and short of it is: I'm fine. No damage at all, to me or the car, which is good. I don't understand my body sometimes when it comes in to contact with cars at high speeds (or slithering round a roundabout at 10mph) and there is no damage. Remember last December? When the snow hit Derby? A car skidded on to the pavement and hit me. Not a mark on me! I think I must be bionic or something... It is odd though - I can get hit by a car several times and come out with either nothing or a bit of light bruising, but I go and shut my hand in a freezer door at work and break my thumb. Answers on a postcard please :)

Plan wise at the mo, things are awesome - I have my dishes planned for our little Come Dine With Me competition. I've had to go with a proper vegetarian dish and not a fish one - Katie is a proper veggie (unlike me haha) and Amz eats anything. We also have a fish tank sat in our living room. It's getting filled with fish on Tuesday. To say I'm excited would be a total understatement.

Sha-TING!!!!

It's official - I am 'bang tidy'. Yup! The master of Northern comedy (and by that I mean he's actually trying to be funny. Unlike those fuckers in Corrie - they're trying to be serious, and it's hysterical. Anyways...) Mr Keith Lemon said, very loudly to a store full of shopping people, that he would love to smash my back doors in. The rough English translation of this phrase, as defined in his pant-wettingly hilarious book, is: "I would go to any lengths to seduce that lady/ she is a total looker." I did a bit of sex wee I was so excited.

Naturally, because Lincolnshire is a boring as arse place and nothing ever happens there ever, you should be able to tell that I'm back in Derby. I have 2 jobs - KFC, of course. I'd like to know what Jason said to Ant, my new boss, in order to make him so excited to have me in his store. I've never seen a man so happy to see me before. And that's saying something! I'm also an Ann Summers rep, which many believe is my ideal job. Yup, an Ann Summers rep. People's literal comments seem to be along the lines of "That job is PERFECT for you as you've always got sex on the brain/you're sex mad/ you're sexy." Whereas they SHOULD be saying things along the lines of "Leah, you are so good in lectures and tutorials and your grades are really impressive, you will certainly get a job within the Criminal Justice System!"

I now live in a little house in the centre of Derby with Amy and Katie, which is awesome! The house is so sweet and our garden backs on to Lisa and Georgie's so we're constantly climbing over the wall to visit/they always climb over to nick my Disney DVDs. The wall climbing comes in handy, as on Monday I found myself sitting in a 10ft swimming pool in their garden in the middle of the night, pissed as a skunk, before being dragged to my own house to shove on a pair of heels (and to change out of my bikini of course. Fools.) Emily then got in to my shed for a bit. I'm not kidding. This year is going to be a fantastic year.

Living on the main road is a bit of an interesting experience in comparison with living in the literal dead end of nowhere - last night I had to listen as someone stopped and vomited outside the front door. Loudly. The front door opens in to my room. Essentially, a man vomited outside my room. And I just looked out of my window to watch a man punch my car. Erm... Why the fuck?

Yup, interesting experiences mounting up already...

Not Suitable For Adults

I wandered in to work the other morning, humming a merry tune and trying to make my trousers not look as though they'd had an argument with my ankles, when I literally bumped in to my boss, who greeted me with, I kid you not, "EH OH!!" and offered me some "tubby toast" in the form of a slice of cheese. Yup, that's my big boss man! Conversation that morning was about The Telletubbies. Thankfully, we didn't change the topic to sex until quite some time afterwards. Talking about a child's TV show and sex in the same context just reeks of 'Paedophile'.

The Tubbies of course, consist of Tinky Winky, Dipsy, Lala and Po, 4, er, children-esque creatures of unknown species with TV screens on their stomachs, funny shaped ariels on their head and each with their own special item. The main message that this show seems to give across to children? 'TV GOOOOOOOOOOD!!! IMAGINATION BAD!!' Which contradicts what most parents should be telling their children, which is a fantastic start.

Next, the names of the damn things - Tinky Winky? The male tubbie who is quite clearly a raving poofter as his special item is a friggin' handbag! Judging by his name, he has a tiny penis too. Dipsy? With a straight ariel, which is quite obviously a symbol for him being a total knobhead. Lala? A ditzy blonde who is always in 'Lalaland' and finally Po. All the tubbies were blatantly named by children, Po was probably originally christened 'Poo' and censored. 'nuff said.

Tinky Winky has a handbag, a clear expression of his sexuality, and Dipsy has a hat. With a hole in it, rendering it useless anyway. The male tubbies have fashion statements, and the female ones have toys. Again, the males are clearly massive homosexuals - not that it's a bad thing, I just think it'll make children confused about how they should act when they get older. No wonder there are so many 11 year olds claiming that they're gay or bi. Lala has a massive bollock, sorry, BALL, clearly demonstrating her slaggish tendancies and she obviously is a fan of balls. Po is clearly on something - there's no normal way for her to be able to move so fast on that scooter.

The sun with the baby face is just terrifying, all the characters have OCD or ADHD or are on the autistic spectrum, or all 3 (Christ, my spelling's taken a tumble, hasn't it?) and there is a scene that has scarred me for life - a puppet running around a house and turning lights on and off. That's the sort of thing I have nightmares about.

But yes, I spent the rest of the day singing "Hat, hat haaa-aaaaat, hat!" with Sarah. We are adults. It was a lovely last day, seeing as I return to Derby on Saturday! Yeeeee!!! Oh, wait, did I say saturday? I meant to say "I was meant to enroll today, despite having already done so online!!!" So, it was up at 6 to get to Derby for 10 in order to just sit at a desk with some random woman, say "100147846", look at a picture of myself, and say "Yes, that's me." I spent 5 hours using almost a full tank of petrol covering almost 200 miles in order to say a mere 2 sentences.

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I'M A HAPPY CAMPERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh, and I'm back on Plentyoffish.com. Again. Fishing is fun, and some conversations with a certain Mr provide a wonderful pick me up ^^ (No, of course I'm not writing this because I know he'll read it... :P)

My mum just came and presented me with a new sticker for my car. It says 'POTATO!'. My mum is awesome.

That's What She Said

Y'know, I think I have a mind that is not capable of anything other than turning everything I ever see or hear ever in to something rude or dirty or sexual or sexual. Or sexual.

Whenever someone says so much as "oooh, that's a big one!" (i.e. my mother in reference to a spot on my brother's nose) I immediately start grinning like a baffoon. Just last night as I was stood hideously sober in the middle of a club, my GORGEOUS new high heels slowly eating away at the balls of my feet and steadily snapping my toes in half, without even the pain-numbing qualities of vast quantities of alcohol to stop tears from being brought to my eyes, I turned to Sarah and asked her what she was drinking. "Sex On The Beach." She replied with a smile. Yes, that drink title obviously has the word 'sex' in the title, but my mind immediately started babbling away about "how much fun that would like to be.. Wouldn't mind trying that some time..."

Every conversation we have at work seems to work its way back on to the topic of sex in one way or another. We are massive fans of 'pub dilemas', such as "If you could sleep with any male celebrities. Repeatedly. Who would you pick?" I've even earned a nickname of 'Mrs Bucket' or 'Sex Machine' at work, which are delightful titles as you can imagine. I don't help myself, but then again, why should I try to?

I'm just being me, and that person just happens to be very comfortable with her own sexuality and expressive in her mannerisms about it. Feel free to take this any way you want (oooer). But yes, sex is fantastic (well, depending on who you're sleeping with of course,) although it is rather like eating a Pringle - 'Once You Pop, You Can't Stop'.

I've Never Killed A Man Just To Watch Him Die

I haven't. Although, some of the plebs that I have to deal with on a daily basis have come pretty close to causing me to change the title to something like "I once killed a man because he threw a chilled hot wing at my face because he hadn't eaten it within half an hour of purchasing it because he was an utter moron." That, of course, is a true story.

Naturally, I'm not capable of having a normal day at work. Last week I collapsed after I pulled a box of fries on to my head. The next day I walked in to an open (hot) cress door and got a nose bleed. The day after that a customer threw a drink at me. The day after that my shirt burst open, yet again, and I didn't realise for about 10 minutes. The day after that Daniel thought he'd slap my ass with full force while I was serving a customer causing me to scream in their face. Finally, yesterday Chubbs thought it would be absolutely HYSTERICAL to demonstrate how loose my work trousers actually are and pulled them down infront of the entire store.

Ah, I do love my male work mates. It's like they've never seen a woman before! There is actually now a small percentage that look me in the eye when they talk to me, which is nice. It's an improvement from virtually none of them. Male customers are the same, which is incredibly irritating. Today I had some of our friends from 'Across The Big Pond' i.e. America who asked me, I kid you not, literally 6 times for mashed potatoes. I told them at least 9 times which side orders with have, which doesn't include mashed potatoes. Every time I looked at them there was a slight pause while they looked up to find my face again.

People get so touchy about their chicken. I'd normally say it's absolutely hilarious but when you're on the recieving ends of threats, insults, throws and physical grabbing, the situation somewhat loses it hilarity. It is fun when you are faced with an extremely red-faced customer screaming blue murder because he "didn't want fucking cheese on his fucking burger" and you are an "ugly skank who needs a breast reduction" and you can smile and wave as they are escorted out of the store by your boss and banned while the entire restaurant claps.

Pet Shop of Horrors

Everyone has pet hates, right? Here are some of mine. I doubt you will disagree with me on them. Of course, they mainly span around the two things I hate most in my life - people of the road, and my job.

1. The Expectant Hand

I know everyone has dealt with The Expectant Hand. What is it? Well, has anyone asked you to pass them something? The Expectant Hand appears in most occasions after this - as soon as you consent to passing said asked for item, a hand from the asker just WAITS in limbo for you to hand over the item. I HATE it! Just be bloody patient - I said I'd pass you the damn thing, so I will. I didn't just say I would so that I could actually NOT pass you what you wanted and watch your face crumple with sadness. This is something I get at work a lot. To deal with The Expectant Hand is simple - simply look down at it, then take longer to do whatever it is you're doing before handing it to them. The Hand soon gets tired of hanging around and buggers off.

2. Your/You're They're/there/their too/to - uh, WHA????

People not being able to use the correct spelling of these certain words. Seriously. How is it difficult?!?! For example - You're is obviously 'you' and 'are' combined. You can SEE IT! I learned this in primary school for Christ's sake. The worst one is when people write "Your such a twat". What? I'm a 'such a twat' belonging to someone? I thought as such. Fools.

3. Wet socks.

Just Ew. The worst feeling EVER. I have a new puppy that pees EVERYWHERE and the other day I accidentally trod in a puddle of it and did a massive scream. Not at the fact that I'd trodden in urine and it was gross, but because I had obtained wet socks.

4. Road Hogs

Just generally people driving like knobs. Mainly, those that overtake A LOT. 60 mph not fast enough for you? Or those that overtake 38768 cars at once (Obviously they lack a penis). Wheel spinning out of drive thru is a good one too - I'm not impressed. You're just making a lot of noise. The ABSOLUTE worst are the people that overtake you, then immediately turn off the road. WHAT THE HELL?!?!? I could understand if your wife was in labour and I was blocking the way to hospital but if you're just impatient... What the hell is the matter with you?!?!?!?

5. Get Your Own Book

People reading over my shoulder. Just bugger off. I know what I'm doing must be SUPER interesting but seriously - I will stop doing it for just long enough to punch you in the face before continuing again.

6. Sticky Hands

Do NOT touch me with them, and I will not touch you with mine. You are gross.

7. Throat clearing

I may just not be listening to you fullstop. Clearing your throat is just going to make me ignore you more. I guarantee it.

8. Slow - people moving? I dunno, I CAN'T TELL!!!!

Wandering down the street in a huge, wide MASS going at -2 mph, driving along at 40 in a 60 zone, getting to the speaker box at the KFC Drive Thru and taking a minute to READ the menu. Everything in this day and age is made so we can live faster and get things done quicker. This means, we need to sodding well catch up first!!!

Exit, Stage Left.

Or right. Whatever you do, just get off the damn stage. Quickly. Unfortunately, I had one of those moments when I didn't exit from the stage quick enough and found myself covered in old eggs and rotten tomatoes thrown by a hysterically laughing audience at my feet.

A few days ago I had a conversation with my mother about our worst fear in the world, a fear we both share. No, it not technically a phobia of sorts, though I guess if it had to have one of those ridiculously long names just to fit in with all the other phobias and so they don't take the piss out of it, then it would have to be Lackofmoneytopayforhugeamountofpetrolaphobia. In English (or, with the spaces put back in) a fear of not being able to pay for your petrol after filling up. Sweet Jesus, just the thought of it made us wince. We couldn't work out what you would do - it's not like you could go and get some money on your own, as surely you would bugger off never to return. So what? Get someone to come and bring you money? Hope some passing millionaire feels pity for your pathetic situation? Fortunately for us, I learned today exactly what happens. Holy Hell.

Yup. Picture the scene: I've had a looooooong hard day at work, done extra hours and am heading home. Unfortunately, the amount of petrol left in my petrol tank means that, if I don't fill up before setting off for home I'll find myself half way there, at the side of the road looking like a total knob, weeping in to my work shirt and hitting my head on the horn repeatedly. Hard. Sooooo... Petrol time!! Easing the petrol pump from its holder and gently sliding it in to the hole leading to my petrol tank I apply slight pressure to the handle to get the juices flowing (Yes, I cannot even put petrol in my car without making it sexual.) £35 in later and I head for the tills, a massive queue forming behind me and myself resisting all urges to call out about being in a Michael Mcintyre sketch. Smugly, being in the queue before it got too big, I thrust my card in to the machine with gusto and swiftly tap in my PIN and flash a quick grin to the people behind me. "I'm sorry, young lady, but your card has been declined." "Oh. OK then... Could we try it again? I've been having some trouble with my card lately" (Woe is me for risking it.) Gingerly I put my card back in, heart thudding so loud I could hear it over the general groans and tuttings coming from behind me. Nope, card declined again. I resisted the urge to throw my wallet at the cashier's head and turn and plough through the queue behind me in an attempt to escape but naturally, I had instantly become trapped there.

Instead, I found myself on the phone to my mother, asking for her card details to 'break the usual rules and pay over the phone' and hearing her scream of abject terror when I told her she had to spend £35 on petrol that wasn't even in her own car. Finally, I was free. I ended the phone call to my mum with "I'm racing home to sob in to your arms, now." turned to the cashier and lightly said "Well, that was my worst nightmare. At least now I've experienced it once I won't have to again. Like chicken pox. Toodles!" and all but ran from the till, knocking over shelving units with gay abandon as I went (ok, I made that bit up). So what happens when you can't pay for petrol? You all but die of embarassment and have to have money sent to you somehow. They should have a pen of shame in the corner for you to stand in while you wait, where people can freely mock you and show you how smug they are that they have money and aren't a penniless git.

On a brighter note, I got home to find a wack wack sitting in the garden. Yes, I am the proud owner of a frigging DUCK!!!!!!!!!!! XD My mum had gone out and got her for me to cheer me up. My mum is awesome.

Talk to The Boobs, As Apparently the Face Isn't Listening

There is no real reason why women have bosoms, well, apart from the whole 'need to feed your infant' thing, but other than that they have no real purpose. Decoration, of course, is a consideration and I'm sure millions of men everywhere will have to admit that they believe thatv they are there merely for decoration. Their 'dribble' stains cannot speak otherwise.

Ok, so let me rephrase slightly - there is no real reason why women have LARGE bosoms. Women that do have to cope with so much and they really don't get anything in return for their troubles. I myself, am one of those women, and by writing a blog about breasts I get the feeling I may write myself in to peoples' thoughts as 'one of those women that has sex with other women.' But with that aside, what is wrong with large boobs?

A lot, I think you'll find is the answer.

1. They get in the way.

Yes, they do A LOT. I haven't seen my feet for about 9 years now, and my feet are a rather large size 9. That is what I am up against. I'm sure there are many women out there who, like me, long to see what has become of their feet.

2. They knock things over.

I have lost count of the number of times I've sent objects/shelving/people flying thanks to turning round too quickly and throwing them a glancing blow with my numga numgas. Small children and short adults alike bounce off in all directions. I once knocked an entire rack of nail varnish off a shelf and it shattered everywhere. What knocked them off? Well, have a guess, but as Mazi always reminds me, it was one of the most amusing and emabarassing moments of MY life.

3. They weigh a tonne.

I am approx. 5"7 tall but I have a slight hunch. Slight, nay, enormous. If I were able to stand up straight I believe I may reach heights of about 6"3. The way I look at the moment I feel like I should be ringing bells in ye olde French cathedral and rubbing shoulders with gyppos and magic statues. And a goat.

4. They are impracticle.

Forget about running. Just forget it. I have actually given myself a black eye when jumping once. Just ugh.

5. They're embarassing.

In the fact that I have to wear a size 18-20 on top, even though I am a mere size 10. Also, in the fact that my work uniform consists of a shirt that buttons up at the front and a shirt that is too small. So, imagine my horror when I was busily serving a man and his family consisting of young and old children alike and I eventually look down for some reason and discover that my shirt has been wide open thanks to over-thrusting of bosoms and my manky bra is on display. I actually cried a bit.

6. They attract unwanted attention. A lot.

There I was, 'happily' mopping the lobby at work as the last bloke walked out of the store. He yelled a farewell as he left. Well, a farewell of sorts. What did he yell at me as he left? "Bye, Tits!!!" How charming. I also believe that it has been almost 10 years since a man has looked me in the eye while having a conversation with me.

7. They're expensive.

Bras to support breasts of such gargantum proportions cannot be found in normal shops (Even though the AVERAGE bra size in the UK is now a 36D) most shops only stock up to 38DD. So step up, specialist shops and step forward hideous huge price tag. My bras cost £40 each. Case = rested.

8. They're painful.

Back pain, chest pain and chronic snoring thanks to the weight of the damn things.

9. They'll change.

Eventually, large breasts will, um, sag, to put it lightly. Shocking images of spaniel ears or a couple of snooker balls in socks come to mind. Followed by the viewer of said images vomiting politely in a corner. Ahhh... I don't know which is the more attractive image - the old boobs or the polite vomiting.

I know I'm not the only one who suffers with things like this, I'm sure. This is why I find women who pay for bigger breasts slightly laughable. Yes, let's pay for pain and scorn and embarassment. Fools.

And for one, why are men so bloody interested in them? All they are are literally just lumps of fat. With nipples attached for added sensation ;) All my complaints aside, I do love my boobs rather a lot. ^^

Sex, Drugs and Rock 'N' Roll

There comes a point in everyone's life when you wake up in an obscure location, clutching the last remaining can/bottle/random object from whatever happened the night before and think one of two things: either "Hmmm... Things got out of hand FAST! When can I go round again?" or "Omg... OMG is this my LIFE?!? Jesus, I gotta get a new one. Fast."

I mysef experienced this situation only on sunday morning - I awoke in a friend's bathroom, topless and clinging on to a tube of toothpaste as if my life depended on it. My initial thought was not "Jesus Christ, where is my crucial article of clothing?" nor was it "Woops, my shift started 2 hours ago." It was infact "I think I might allow that cat to finish licking my hair, I don't have time for a shower." And it was only then that I thought to myself something that made more sense - me being me, it was the first thought.

I'd like to think that I'm one of those people that does not do things in moderation. If I'm gonna drink, I'm gonna down that entire bottle of vodka and then eat that damn fish food. If I'm gonna try weed, I'm gonna smoke that stuff until 5 in the morning and spend at least 10 minutes laughing hysterically at a damp rose bush. If I'm gonna practically eat the face off that bloke I've known for only a few hours, I'm damn well gonna grab the next taxi back to his and fuck his brains out all night. If I'm gonna get a piercing, I'm gonna get as many as I can in the most unusual places I can find. I could go on, but I think you know what I'm talking about.

It is with this revelation that I consider myself truly to be living life to its fullest. Yes, blackouts are extremely frightening and memory loss can serve as either a fear-inducing drug or as a God send (in my case, my memory loss has still not returned and is a God send. I do not feel the shame I should feel about eating fish food and puking all over some guy's living room simply because I do not remember doing it.) I've come a long way since my days of only being able to drink half a glass of cider (or so it seemed) before people would find me weeping in the corner over the fact that I realised that my curtains and bed sheets clashed. No, I am not kidding. 13 is an age at which you are much too young to drink, as I keep telling Christian, but I'll be damned if he ever so much as considers listening to me.

Where was I? Oh yes *Ahem* Yes, people may consider me stupid for drinking until I black out, or dangerous for mixing alcohol and drugs, or slaggy for sleeping with someone I am not in a long-standing relationship with, and to these people I say "Fuck. You." It's my life, I will make my own decisions and mistakes, and I'll bloody well enjoy myself while I'm at it! I don't want to grow up to ANY age and look back at my teenage/early adult years and think "My God, what a boring arse I was." This is the way I'm choosing to live - I'm immature, spontaneous, rude, crass, crude, and dare I say it, sexy to boot as well?

You may wonder where this sudden revelation came from - after all, I'm not really known for such deep thought unless required but it may sometimes take an emotional knock to encourage such thoughts. I learned about a month ago that a family member had been told that he had throat cancer - not pleasant, but sometimes survivable. Something I could easily cope with. I am not naive - I was quite aware that he could die. I even prepared myself for the eventuality that the cancer had spread and it was indeed terminal, but you always have that hope, don't you? That stereotypical 'it won't happen to me' thought process? It was in vain. Throat and lung cancer. An eventually lethal combination. A 4 month sentence given to a man in his 60s, whereas his parents will still be alive and kicking in their late 80s.

Safe to say I shut down emotionally for a while, continuously weeped internally and externally and refused to speak to people for ages. Well, minutes. Life is unfair, and short. As shitty as some of the situations I have found myself in have been, there have been many, I don't intend on wasting any more.

I've never really been one to care about what others think about me, fickle words don't bother me, but after an emotional shut-down of sorts, even more of the once subtle 'fuck you' attitude tends to surface. Don't like it? Well, I believe you might already know the answer to that question. :) In all seriousness though, live life while you can - you never know when it can be taken out from under you, like a table cloth expertly ripped from a laden table. Only death doesn't leave the settings quite as neat for the people left behind.





^^^^^^^^^^^ Goddamn, who knew I was so poetic?? ^_________^

Over Haulin' My Ass Off.

That I am. Soon to follow will be picatoors of meine neues hair colour, as well as my new hair cut, complete with its fringey goodness. Yes, I have a fringe again. I haven't had a fringe since I cut all my hair off (well, bobbed it) in year 9, so it has been a while.

Also, have purchased a fitness DVD and will be joining the gym. "But why?!" I hear the masses cry! Well, It is because I is a wobbly fat fuck teeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeebh. Did some of the good ol' fitness DVD earlier and spent most of my time on the floor trying to catch my breath. No, it wasn't a particularly difficult work out, it was due to the fact that the man leadin the routine was actually the campest man on the planet. My mum was rolling on the floor with me (Holy fuck that sounded better in my head). Laughing, that is. Oh please.

It is a good thing I am doing all this too - I sat down on the sofa in the den earlier and broke part of the wooden frame O_O. Sweet Jesus, I've actually broken a piece of furniture with my arse. The prospect of using running equipment is horrifying as running is sooooo painful for me. Care to guess? I'll give you a hint (or, the answer in other words) - my boobs. All 38GG of them. There is no sports bra big enough. FML.

I now have a grand total of 5 Blue nose animals. I am addicted. They are so FUCKING CUTE! Adam says I can be sweet when I want to be - give me a kitten or a puppy or something, and I actually act like my sex for once. It's true.

Aaaand to end yet another 'Fuck, it's 2 in the morning and I start work at 9 shit shit shit!' shitty post, a story:

A while back, Jadey and I went through a phase of loving Diddy Dick and Dom (you know, who live in the cupboard. They've lived there all their lives and never been discovered? Oh, forget it.) The best moment? Dick screaming "It's CLEANSING MILK!". This caused us to say it constantly. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAanyways. I was sat in the doctor's waiting room the other day, happily not watching the TV as it is CBBC and I is mature and that :P I was occasionally tutting and rolling my eyes to show my maturity. That is, until Diddy Dick and Dom came on. I turned to watch it. The first episode? CLEANSING MILK! There was so much noise in the waiting room caused my myself roaring with laughter, that I could actually feel the atmosphere in the room shift ever so slightly when I was thankfully called for my appointment a mere minute later. And everyone else lived happily ever after, whereas I looked like a twat.

:)

Ahaha, Woops...

Yeah.
I missed the normality of a 'OH Em GEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IT was Christmas and now it's over and going to be a whole new year and that!' - type post, basically outlining that I stuffed my fat face for a few days then got insanely drunk and lost at a New Years Eve party. Or something similar. It's me. Jesus. (Notice that it is a full stop and not a comma. No, I have not just admitted I am the Son Of God. This is because God does not exist, so how could I be his son? Also, my lack of penis would prove the son part to be extremely difficult.)

But no, there has been good reasonings for no regular postings as of late. I know that as soon as I go back to uni (in 3 weeks), the posts will return to being daily occurances. But, for now, as I sit in a darkened room in my blatantly haunted house, possibly with a ghosty peeking over my shoulder (which I hate. Fuck off and read something else!), I shall take the time to explain and reflect on what I have been up to lately, and through the year as a whole.

I intended to post on Christmas Day, and even started writing it. I then got so drunk (so much so that I fell down the stairs. ¬_¬~) and started enjoying watching my Jackass DVDs too much, so the blog post got abandoned. The Jackass thing? Mazi got me the boxset for Crimby. My family had the choice of watching several family suitable movies, like Toy Story 3, for example. What do we choose? Jackass. That is my household. Ah well. Since then I have basically been living at Adam's, only taking breaks to go to work under the control of a vicious COCKHEAD who's more Bi-polar than the North and South Poles (Geddit?! Oh, naff off then.) I'm 'Princess Leia' one minute - Leia, not Leah, so this doesn't work, and then 'silly bitch' or something similar the next. Fuck you, with your cheesy OTT "OHHHHHHHHHHHH! Your own Hans Solo is in the kitcheeeeeeeeeeeeennnnnn!!" ("Let me just go and yell at him for fuck all reason, sending him in to a horrific bad mood that I will then blame on you and make you cry and want to stab me in the eye repeatedly with a particalarly sharp chip.")

KFC is back in my life, Oh glee, and is full of new workers who won't talk to me. At all. Fuck you. I was there first - people know and like me. They are mostly foreign, and have NO MANNERS! One of them is so rude and arrogant it is unreal. She's the kind of person that makes me want to purposely wrap my car around a tree to avoid having to interact with them. I greeted her with a 'hello' one morning, I recieved a sneer and a 'hmph!' headtoss kinda thing in return. She didn't hear my "I do hope I get the opportunity to slam your head in to a wall today! :)" Well, either that or she didn't understand me.

I spent new years at Adam's, and will have some lovely video footage to share with you soon. We had intended on spending the night in. After getting pissed by 6 pm (I as drinking wine and cider, and hadn't eaten in about 3 days. Have mercy with your slatings) we arsed around for what seemed like days until 9 or so and wandered down to a party in the village. At one point me and Adam walked in to one of the big tent things (I have no idea what they are called tbh. Begins with 'M' methinks. Anyway) *ahem* and I found a woo woo fountain and a tube of pringles, so I stayed there for a bit. God, have just realised that joy of pringle tube makes me sound similar to that thing from Big Brother one year. Yuck. Adam wandered off somewhere, but then when I came out of the house I was grabbed by one of his friends telling me he was frantic and had been looking everywhere for me for the past hour. I thought I'd been in there 10 minutes. I am fail.

Welcoming in the New Year with the man I love was a lot better than last year, although screaming Aude Lang Syne (Or however the fuck it's spelt) in the living room with my mum was rather entertaining, but making a promise to that special someone is so much better <3 I'd like to think I've come a long way in the past year - I've turned 18, left school, joined university, moved miles away from home and started living alone. I've passed my driving test, held down 3 jobs (2 at once), successfully purchased and funded a car, got several tattoos and new piercings, met celebrities, drunk endless amounts of alcohol, seen so many new films, read so many new books and listened to so much more music. Most importantly, I have managed to find someone able to love me, and I have been able to love them back. :)

Don't get me wrong, there have also been low points - personal crisises concerning my personal health, both mental and physical, separation issues and possible divorces, insane amounts of debts and money worries, police incidents, assaults, depression, stress, bitchiness... I could continue, but that would be depressing. So I will leave you on a high (of sorts.)

I turn 19 in a week, so please don't judge me too strongly when I say that, as soon as this blog post is finished and posted, I will be sprinting through the living room out in to the garden and in to my room to avoid our lovely haunter, who has taken to violently rattling the door to what was once my room and the kitchen doors. This both scares and intrigues me. Part of me wants something to happen, but I know for a fact that if it does happen, I will quite possibly shit my pants, scream loud enough to wake up Long Sutton, which is 7 miles away, and trample all 3 of my dogs to death in my efforts to return to the little girl I once was, frightened by the sounds the house makes after dark and running to jump in her mummy's bed.

Wish me luck - hopefully I will have something oh-so special for you next time ;)


P.S. "Fuck me." "Suck me." Makes me LOL rather a lot. Kinda a mood killer, though.