Tag Archives: video

I Said What Kinda Man Makes Cappuccino…

I was randomly reminded, today,

(‘randomly’; I can hear my Dad flinching, then angrily ranting, at my use of that word. Like he does with ‘like’.  Like like like like like)

Of this:

Screw Katy Perry and her total lack of originality; P!nk’s One That Got Away came first, and was better.

I saw her on this tour.

In Sheffield. Someone somewhere had made her a papier-maché camp fire for this song, and it got passed all the way to her from the back of the crowd. ^-^

“I don’t really know how to wear dresses, yet. I’m learning.”

She’s so cute, I love her.

Happy Sunday; have some good new-fashioned fun, y’all.





Speaks for itself really.

I think that will be all for today.


Ed Sheeran Is My Soulmate

Because my Mum said so.

She said he reminds her of me.

And there’s a cat in one of his videos.

True Story.

In other news, I have eaten far too many M&Ms today. I have not written a sufficient number of words of essay, and am consequently feeling like a bit of a failure. I have appeared retarded in the library due to my Ribena carton not having a straw. (I hope you enjoy the image that brings to mind as much as I enjoyed the Ribena). I have pondered the meaning of life, the universe and everything a fair amount. And I have just received some quality advice from a mug:

Referring to ‘Lock your door… every time’, mostly. I mean… Duh.

I like to live life on the edge. I think I will continue to only lock my door sometimes. You gonna stop me, mug?

I repeat; it’s been a less than satisfying day.



*Because sometimes, the right words just aren’t there.

Things as I see them at this precise moment in time can be pretty well summed up thusly:

I care more than I should about things that I probably shouldn’t even know about. This is what I always do and never wanted to ever do again after the last time. This makes me angry, which makes me antisocial and impossible to deal with. This means that Apple Strudel has a very clean tank complete with new pearly glass stones, and it also means that I am finding myself utterly unable to focus for any length of time in order to write the article that I was supposed to have written on Tuesday or Wednesday, (failed miserably due to Migraine) or to do any reading for my essays.

…*deep breath*.

Because I have little more of any substance to say for myself, here is a minor rant:

Today when I was at work, a woman came to the deli counter with a little girl who looked probably around six or seven years old. The first thing that irritated me in all this was the fact that the woman was wearing fierce fake nails, heavy makeup, high heels and fancy clothes –  for grocery shopping. The little girl was dressed normally (thank god); perhaps the mother had just been/had to go soon to some kind of dressy occasion? I don’t know, but I can hope.  The second thing that irritated me was that all the time as the woman was telling me which and how much (etc etc) ham she wanted, the little girl was repeatedly trying to get her attention and being completely ignored. As I was putting the stuff on the scales, the girl was watching and  trying to read out the weight of it and everything else that she could see on the screen; mother continuing to ignore.

I left the stuff on there long enough for her to read it all out to me, (-One hundred and forty-eight… erm, 148 what? –Grams. 148 grams. *encouraging smile*-One Pound Seventy-Four? –Yep, that’s right-) before wrapping it up and handing it over to the mother. Having said individual goodbyes to both, I watched mother strutting away with her nose in the air, tugging daughter impatiently behind her and still ignoring her intently. (‘Mummy, look at this, mummy. Mummy, look…’).

Mummy. Fucking pay attention to  your child, you self-absorbed, vile bitch. You brought her into this world,  stop treating her like she has no right to be in it. She’s adorable, she’s intelligent and she’s talking to you; just answer her, for Christ’s sake. 

I read somewhere very recently that the parents who listen are the parents whose children keep talking. The children who keep talking are the children who grow up intelligent, confident, emotionally mature and happy. I can believe this.

I’m not saying I know everything (or even anything, for that matter) about parenting, but it just breaks my heart seeing people bringing up children when they probably shouldn’t even be allowed to own a pet. If you spend more time putting on your eyeshadow than you do listening to what your daughter wants to tell you then clearly you have your priorities hideously wrong, and no matter how middle class you are you just should not have children.


On a lighter note… Penguin Cafe Orchestra, folks.  : )

Sorry. Happy weekend to y’all.


And being able to breathe became a luxury…*

*Advance apologies for language. It’s one of those Don’t Mess days. Title track -> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8eDWo_ZIUs4


By way of an explanation for my recent failure to keep up anything close to one post per day:

-Third Year Student. Sociology student, yes, but one who would dearly love to kick this bullshit degree’s Sorry Little (at times really fucking interesting actually) Ass.

-2 x 4,000 word essays to be completed in the next few weeks. (Self-set deadline, in order to make it possible to meet the dissertation deadline).

-Dissertation of 10, 000 words to be completed by mid May. The fact that I don’t even know the exact date at this point is, well, Just So Typically Me.

(Ew. I apologise for that one and I promise I won’t do it ever again. No more Britney).

-Graduate job type things continuously being applied for. With an overwhelming lack of success.

(Bring on the unemployment, bitchez).

-Writing one thing per week for the Useful Times. 

(Admittedly, that doesn’t take up too much of my time, but y’know. Worth a mention).

-Keeping up something that still manages to vaguely resemble a social life, here and there. Lots of family members and close friends’   birthdays recently. Can’t just ignore those.

(I easily could, but I do actually quite like my friends and family).

-Going backwards and forwards between here and home in aid of the aforementioned family birthdays and the skydive which has yet to happen.

(Damn weather has been fine every day except for the one day we were meant to jump. Typical).

-The (Sort-of) Weekend (and Monday night) Job. Of which I only have 4 weeks left. While the thought of no longer having an income until Lord knows when does scare me a fair bit, (and I will might miss the deli counter ever so slightly) I cannot wait to finally be a FULL TIME Student, even if it only gets to last 9 weeks. Oh, and to sack off the stupidly early mornings for a little while. That’ll be sweet.

Did I miss anything?

-Oh, I had a migraine for 2 days. I forgot how much those hurt. My eyes still aren’t quite working properly.

Also, I’d like to add at this point that for a student I spend a disproportionate amount of time keeping my life-space clean and tidy because I’m OCD like that. I CANNOT WORK AMONGST MESS.

Anyway. Smiles.

I spent the whole morning singing, because my voice seems to be working today. I don’t give half a fuck who hears me and takes the piss. I like to sing.  If I can’t do that here without someone hearing and laughing at me, well then let ’em laugh. Laugh all you like, because it’s good for you and there are people who love me and they are the only ones whose approval I need.

Best song to come up on shuffle this morn? Has to be this:

Ah, the memories.  : )


Dead Letters*

*Not the 2003 album by Finnish pop-rock band The Rasmus. Although ‘In the Shadows’ will always be a classic and I always wanted to wear feathers in my hair like their lead singer did. I was such a cool kid. *puts on that song and sings along for old times’ sake*

Ok so I’m reducing, reusing and recycling, here. I wrote this a fair while ago and put it on DeviantArt, where pretty much nobody has, and nobody will, ever read it. I am seriously considering deleting my account – hence going through all my stuff on there. I have outgrown it. I made that page when I was 15(?) and following in the footsteps of a friend (or two). I’ve kept it this long because there are memories there, I guess… but now I’ve decided it’s going. I’ve also decided that I’m NOT giving you that link. Sorry.

Anyway, the point is that I’ve recently taken to passive-aggressively writing letters to people who have inspired strong feelings in me. Y’know, whenever I’ve been unable for whatever reason to say all the things I’d like to say to them. The following was the easiest, and the most therapeutic.

To Jungle Boy,

I would say something like, ‘Why Jungle Boy? You’re 25 years old…’
But you seem so very childish in your outlook, based on everything that you’ve shared so far, that it fits. You are just a boy.

You seem to think you know what you need, and don’t understand why it isn’t all just being dropped at your feet. I think if you could just grow the hell up, everything else might start to fall into place.
You go to great lengths to show how depressed you are. You make that crystal clear in every single word you write. You make it even clearer in the ones you don’t write. You write about how you bought a new jacket today, or went to a gig last night, but it’s always really about the way you say it. About how empty you feel, how little meaning anything that happens in your life holds for you, how nothing ever makes you feel good.

This is mainly because you went to university and are 25 years old and clearly carry with you the leftovers of a high opinion of yourself, yet you work in Morrisons and live with your parents.
I can see how that must grind, except you don’t seem to have tried all that hard to change anything. (Oui, J’accuse).
You’re far from alone in the situation you’re in, but not everyone who’s fallen in the same way refuses so stubbornly to pick themselves up. Most of them are at least prepared to look up. And smile, now and then.

You’re angry with your father for making you apply for, and not simply handing to you, a job at the office where he works. You accuse him of ‘leaving you to drown in a Nile of shit’. Is it his fault that that’s where you feel that you are right now? He probably earned his success. Worked for it, struggled for it, suffered for it. By himself. Just because he may be in a position to hand to you on a plate what he worked hard for, why should he? If you were as worthy as you seem to think you are, you’d get yourself there. Maybe you will, and Good Luck. Although your lack of attention to detail, which I’m inferring from the way that you don’t always spell everything right – in a blog, for god’s sake – leads me to think that you probably won’t try hard enough and all the luck in the world won’t help.
(By the way; Your = belonging to you. You’re = you are. DEFINITELY <– is spelt like that. De-finite-ly).

On a side note: If you stopped wallowing in whatever the snivelling, petulant child equivalent of self-pity is, just for a second, you’d realise that from some people’s point of view you’re fucking lucky.

I don’t know this for a fact, but I suspect that you’re an only child. I’m sure you are. You certainly talk, and seem to act, like the stereotypical spoilt brat. You’re the classic believer in ‘The World Owes Me A Living,’ throwing your toys out of the pram because they’re not the exact ones you wanted. While it’s not your fault that you never had a sibling to share with, I just can’t understand how you can be so utterly incapable of loving anyone, or even caring for anyone, except yourself. The way you talk it’s as though other people – even the ones you call friends – are to be derided, sneered at, used as examples of ‘worse than myself’.

You write without emotion, without feeling, without… anything. I haven’t actually met you so I can’t be sure, but if this is how you are with people in real life then there’s no wonder so few of them want to be around you. I was curious to see if there was a ‘real you’ beneath this incredibly hostile front. You were the same to me behind the scenes – me with my efforts to show an interest in your life, to be empathetic and yet optimistic in the face of your insufferable nihilism, to inspire some sort of reaction from you – as you are to the world at large. Cold, blank, unresponsive. Nothing to offer to anyone and nothing to gain from anyone. Just a guy who works, (and hates it) goes out and buys clothes, (and hates it) goes out and drinks and dances with friends, (and hates it) occasionally gets laid after one such night out (and hates it). A guy who finds a sickening amount of negative things to dwell on in absolutely everything that happens to him, even a holiday abroad with a best friend.
I mean, fair enough you answered my questions – but only barely. You were only being what you thought could be taken as polite. You asked me some questions in return, but it was clear that you didn’t care for the answers.

You objectify women – myself and ‘the Romanian girl’ being the only almost-exceptions. And only, I suspect, because you haven’t met either of us in real life. By the way, why doesn’t the Romanian girl deserve a name? Or if you’re protecting her privacy, at least a better moniker than the one you give her.
But then I suppose you do refer to your ex as ‘The C**t’ (see, I couldn’t even say it, and I’m not even saying anything out loud) and to one of your closer female friends as ‘The Moomin’; Romanian girl seems almost affectionate by comparison.
I’d say something about how broken this shows you up to be, but I think you’d revel in that. You want to be broken because you think it’s what you’re good at. You’re presumably convinced you could never be as good at anything else, so why try. Right?

Whether you need it or not, you don’t want help. If someone throws you a lifeline you either pretend not to see it and wait until it goes away, or you choke them with it. You like drowning in your Nile of shit.

You will probably never see this. I really wish I could say it all to your face, but that was never going to be an option. It would be an interesting conversation to have over unethical, unsatisfying coffee though. Branded non-coffee that I might end up just pouring over your head if you became too infuriating (being as I am one of those lower life forms who are capable of both fury and impulse).

If you really wanted to be saved, I think everything I just said would be good for you to hear. You think you’re better than everyone else because you can see through all the superficial crap that makes them happy. You’re missing the point. Which is that They’re Happy.
What the Hell are you?

And if by some bizarre twist of reality you actually just read all of this, feel free to prove me wrong and respond. I’ll be very surprised to find that you’ve been keeping an eye on me here, though. I read your blog and you know I do, but why on earth would you want to read things that I write?

So there you go, folks. Don’t ever get to me; I might just write a nasty letter for you not to read once you’re gone.


Eh, that was all a little bit emo. Smiles, smiles…

Hmm. I was at work this morning (the deli counter, with two women my mum’s age…) and for some reason this came into my head:

Let’s just say that when this happened I didn’t exactly *not* sing it out loud.



Friday’s Smile(s)

(Please Note: I am aware of how terribly written this post is in terms of grammar. I can’t think of a way to fix that whilst still sounding like myself. I apologise. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m sorry).

Took the dog for a walk this morning. Stopped off at the shop to get milk on the way home, and was confronted with the following headline:


Speaks for itself really. I’d say something like ‘only in Scunthorpe’, but I suspect that would be incorrect. There are probably a vast number of  – I fought off thugs with (insert relatively non-threatening implement here) – stories about. Still, I smirked like a wonky-faced creep at this one.

Another (probably better) thing that made me smile today was the following:


The smile came from not so much the thing itself  (I mean yeah it’s adorable and creative and… *^-^ faces* – and yes, I am always this articulate) but more from the fact that Dad came in from work, having just remembered he’d heard it on the radio the other night, desperately wanting to share it with me (‘Walk Off the Earth – Put it on Youtube, put it on Youtube’). Then he got all proud when it lit me up, and, well – ^-^

I feel grown up today. (Believe it or not).

Grown up, and yet optimistic and positive at the same time. This is new.

Seconds left of it being Friday, gotta hit the publish button quick –


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