Cider or Wee? You decide.

G’day maties,

I have risen from the ashes. And by ashes I mean bed, because that’s where I seem to spend the majority of my time.

I have been having serious holiday blues, spending every moment wishing I was back looking up at the pink castle with a cookie in each hand. (Yes, those cookies cost about €10 each, but it’s hard not to be carried away by the magic.

I could talk about Disneyland forever, and I will, because for one of my uni projects I am making a vlog. It will probably be recieved really badly, and I will make an idiot out of myself, but I know if I don’t do it for uni, I never will.

I’m also writing lots about Disney for the other Blog I’m part of. It’s actually got a lot of different content, from my strange shananigans to game reviews to Misgendering, it really is an odd ball of interesting articles. That’s mostly because it’s written by an odd ball of different people.

Check it out here:

https://thejistmmu.wordpress.com

So, apart from being sad that I’m not at Disney, I’ve been up to a few things.

Yesterday I went with Natalie to see Neil Hilborn (with special guests Rudy Fransisco and Sabrina Benaim.)

Who are they? You ask. Well, they are very famous poets who have come to the UK from the US and Canada. They came all the way to Manchester (why Manchester?) to perform their poems about depression, love and… Greggs.

They were amazing, which is no surprise. What was less amazing was that I spent 4.90 on a cider, and the plastic cup had a hole in it.

I had no idea at first, and as I was drinking I was just like: ‘Well, this is embarrassing. I’m missing my mouth more than usual.’

But then it got to half way through Sabrina’s perormance and I picked the cup up again. It had got worse. It was leaking out like a waterfall, to try and stop it I tried to press it against my leg. But instead of solving the problem, it made it worse. It soaked through my edgy ripped jeans and then they started to leak too. So in essence,

It looked, and sounded like I was wetting myself.

The cup was about half empty (or half full?) when I noticed a used, empty cup on the chair next to Natalie. I asked her to grab it, and after getting a strange look from the woman who had used it, she gave it to me and I placed it under the cup. That was the first problem solved.

The other problem was that I was now wet and sticky. During the interval I went to the toilets and was trying to dry my legs with the hand dryer, which raised other dirty looks.

Not only was I the girl who ‘pissed’ herself, but I was also the one that did strange yoga underneath a hand dryer, trying to dry my pants. It worked to an extent, but it didn’t get rid of the smell.

I decided to sit as still as possible, so that no more disasters would occur. Luck was on my side for once, and there were no more Lucie incidents, lucky for Nat.

I don’t want to bore you, so I’ll leave that there. The image of me sat in darkness, the sound of streaming liquid breifly interrupted by my swearing.

Have a good night!

(Just a note: I didn’t take any photo’s yesterday but the picture is the last photo me and Nat had together. It’s bad quality, but then again, so are we.)

Why I avoid mornings.

Let’s kick this off with a story from 8am yesterday. I am not a morning person, but I still decided to get up early and do some chores before lecture. I hoovered, mopped, did the washing and…

I emerged from the flat hesitantly.

I could feel each tiny stone stick to my odd socks as I took a step, one foot at a time. I only had to make it around the corner to Ian’s work, but it seems like a trek up the Himalayas. I could feel the eyes of passing drivers burning into me, but I decided to hold my head high and pretend I was proud of the fact I locked myself out of my flat in nothing but a pair of shorts and a bra.

When I had heard the door click shut behind me, I just shrugged, sat down and told myself: ‘Okay, so this is my life now.’

I spent twenty minutes accepting my fate as a half-naked hobo before I came up with a plan.

I had gone outside to hang the washing up, so shoved a wet top over my head. It was still see-through, but at least I wouldn’t be arrested for public indecency.

This is the struggle I face, I make disasters happen every single day. It’s a miracle I’m still alive, I guess I have Ian to thank for that.

After what seemed like forever, I arrived at Ian’s work (and my dental practice.) I took a deep breath before I knocked on the door. I was hoping Ian would answer but instead I was greeted by the receptionist. She didn’t say anything. She just gave me the once over, sighed and yelled ‘Ian. Your girlfriend’s here.’

I heard him mutter ‘For fuck’s sake. She’s done it already. We’ve only lived there two days.’ But when he saw with my transparent top, odd socks and frankly revealing shorts, he couldn’t help but laugh.

He gave me his keys, and I went home, got changed, and hated myself throughout the whole of my lecture.

ProBlog

As in Prologue. Problog. Get it? Nevermind.

So, you clicked the link that bought you to this awfully girly, pink site. Well, let me tell you, I’m not here to post in-depth analysis’s (analysi?) of the world, or preach about stuff that matters. No, if I did that, it would give you the idea that I know what I’m doing.

The entire idea of this blog is that I have no clue about anything. I just like to stumble about pretending I know how to do life.

Now, if you’re young and wild and free, good for you. It won’t last. It seems like only yesterday I was at the pub turning seventeen, (Wow, I sound like a granny.)

But when adulthood hits you, it hits you hard. You are thrown into the dark chasm of being a grown up, and as soon as you learn to navigate, a rock lands on your head and you have to start over. And then there’s the people that seem to be perfect at every god damned thing. The only thing I’ve been able to master is the art of making a milkshake.

So, this Blog is for those of you who have disasters follow you around and can relate to my pain, and for those people who just want to point, laugh, and say ‘Hey, at least that’s not me.’

Screw it, this blog is for anyone, I’m wholesome enough to have enough love for you all.

Hopefully my misadventures will bring joy to someone.