I recently spent 4 decades with my family at my grandparents' house in Somerset.
Oh hang on... no, I just checked my diary, apparently it was only 4 days... The West Country must work on a similar time scale to Narnia because by the time we returned I had definitely gained several grey hairs and that 'oh i give up' look that can only normally be found in the eyes of 50-something year old mothers of 5.
Herewegoooo
Thing 44: Teach Your Grandparents Something New
I taught my grandfather how to use an iPhone. I'm not sure why I thought this would be a good idea, because he doesn't own an iPhone. So after he'd got the hang of it, he used mine to read the paper and check the weather and watch youtube videos and search google for 'Bill Turnbull date of birth'. So probably not the wisest idea I've ever had.
Although now, the man who has received 2 text messages since Christmas, only turns his mobile on when he wants to phone someone and started with £10 credit in September 2006 and still has £7.50 left, is 'looking into' buying himself an iPhone... Fair enough, I guess.
Other than eating breakfast at 5.45 in the morning, admiring expensive chinaware and repeatedly telling people that we're related to Barbara Windsor, one of my family's favourite activities to pass the time is Going For A Drive.
A few years ago, somebody bought Grandad a satnav, which he loves more than most members of his family BUT there was some sort of a mishap involving France and speed-cameras and a €1500 fine that nobody entirely understood nor was willing to listen to the explanation again in order to understand.
Thing 90: Get From A to B Using A Map
'A' was the charming industrial estate that is Bridgwater and 'B' was the city of Bath that is not only one of my favourite places in Britain but also held the beautiful promise of a few hours to myself whilst I went shopping and my family admired the architecture (in case they'd forgotten it since last summer).
This journey shouldn't really take more than an hour and should be relatively painless. Pah.
The thing is, not only do i get so incredibly travel sick that i sometimes have to lie down after the 15 minute bus journey to school but recently being in a car accident on the M25 has left me with an OHFUCKNOPLEASEICAN'TLOOK attitude to motorways. Naturally, this made me the perfect candidate for map reading.
At least, I would be, if my Grandad believed a word i said:
"You need to turn right here"
"No I don't" *20 minutes later* "Where are we? What did you do? I haven't seen this before"
"Okay, you need to take the second left and we'll be going the right way"
"Don't be ridiculous that'll take us to Higgedy-upon-Cow"
"Go straight on at this junction"
"Oh there's a traffic jam, I'm going to go right"
This is the man who regularly goes on 6 week driving holidays across Europe, and i genuinely believe that the last 60 years of his transit has been largely trial and error.
To top it all off, my small cousin seems to have recently decided that he is A Man, thus requiring him to sit with his legs 3 meters apart and wear so much Lynx that you can practically see it dripping from his clothing.
His favourite in-car pastime is 'the meat game', where he makes my grandmother (who has never set foot in a fast-food establishment in her life) guess the price of different chicken meals from various fried chicken shops until she gets it exactly right.
HOWEVER, we did get to Bath, finally, and we got home again, so I'm counting it as a success.
Saturday, September 01, 2012
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
The Lion, The Witch and The... Lamppost?
In my last post I claimed to have been busy. Here, you will begin to understand why.
You may know that i quite like theatre. You may then also know that I spend a bit of time at a theatre. (Just, you know, every spare waking moment I've had for the past 2 and a half years)
Therefore, Thing 17: Act in a play and even Thing 86: Sing in front of an audience, are pretty easy to say that I've done. In fact, I feel I've done them enough that any blog post I write about them will be exceptionally dull.
Instead, I will tell you about this: I am part of the aforementioned theatre's youth group. As one of the 3 or 4 older members of the youth group, I had quite a large amount of input into this year's youth production which was The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. In fact, this much input:
Although I'm not sure if the programme quite shows the 2 full weeks we spent getting to the theatre at 10 in the morning and locking ourselves in a room until midnight making sure that the set, costume, props, tech and whatever else you care to name was ready in time for the performance nights.
We had some help from people who did actually know what they were doing, and that was lovely (especially when it got to 4 days before the opening night and our wardrobe was delivered in pieces, without a door, or wheels and painted bright orange and we genuinely had to consider doing the play without it) but it really and truly was a 'youth' production, and I'm really proud of that. I love theatre because it's so massive, a play is not just acting, it's more like an enormous multi-dimensional creature for the audience to experience and live in for 2 hours rather than just watch. Alright, enough of my pretentiousness, here are some photos of wot we done:
In the background is what the other side of the flats looked like - a house interior complete with wallpaper and wood panelling. In front is our amazing wardrobe which a lovely man called Phil spent almost 3 entire days perfecting.
If you feel like this is cheating, here's proof of a play I did actually act in, and sing a little bit. And rap, actually... not that that will be happening ever again:
Whilst looking through my book, I realised that during this process I also managed to complete a few other things.
Thing 20: Stay up all night (I assume this was meant to be in a fun, going to a party, having a laugh with friends way, not a eating risotto at half 1, sewing up fur coats and being too stressed to sleep way, BUT IT STILL COUNTS)
In the same vein - Thing 21: Sleep all day (Not actually the day after the last night - that was the set strike, or even the day after that - I spent that at the Olympic Park watching hockey, but I got home at 4 that afternoon, went straight to bed and didn't resurface until 1 the next afternoon)
Thing 21: Paint A Picture Good Enough to Hang on The Wall. I painted the picture for the poster, I probably wouldn't agree that it was good enough to go on a wall, but it did. I spent 20 minutes painting it a few months ago when I probably should have been doing something else, like revising for GCSEs, but it did its job:
Thing 19: Make A T-Shirt. (I didn't stitch it with my own hands, it wasn't really my idea and I'm never going to wear it, all the same:
And now I am quite happy to never go near a theatre, a fabric shop or a pot of Atlantis blue paint, ever again. (Until September, obviously)
You may know that i quite like theatre. You may then also know that I spend a bit of time at a theatre. (Just, you know, every spare waking moment I've had for the past 2 and a half years)
Therefore, Thing 17: Act in a play and even Thing 86: Sing in front of an audience, are pretty easy to say that I've done. In fact, I feel I've done them enough that any blog post I write about them will be exceptionally dull.
Instead, I will tell you about this: I am part of the aforementioned theatre's youth group. As one of the 3 or 4 older members of the youth group, I had quite a large amount of input into this year's youth production which was The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. In fact, this much input:
Although I'm not sure if the programme quite shows the 2 full weeks we spent getting to the theatre at 10 in the morning and locking ourselves in a room until midnight making sure that the set, costume, props, tech and whatever else you care to name was ready in time for the performance nights.
We had some help from people who did actually know what they were doing, and that was lovely (especially when it got to 4 days before the opening night and our wardrobe was delivered in pieces, without a door, or wheels and painted bright orange and we genuinely had to consider doing the play without it) but it really and truly was a 'youth' production, and I'm really proud of that. I love theatre because it's so massive, a play is not just acting, it's more like an enormous multi-dimensional creature for the audience to experience and live in for 2 hours rather than just watch. Alright, enough of my pretentiousness, here are some photos of wot we done:
One of our two 8x4 flats which took a long time to paint. They were double sided and on wheels so could be moved and spun to create different scenes.
Our little production team, with the most of the stone table which took DAYS of discussing and sketching and cutting and stapling and painting until it was exactly right - you might not be able to see how much of an achievement it was by the picture but the joy on our faces might give you some sort of clue.
If you feel like this is cheating, here's proof of a play I did actually act in, and sing a little bit. And rap, actually... not that that will be happening ever again:
Thing 20: Stay up all night (I assume this was meant to be in a fun, going to a party, having a laugh with friends way, not a eating risotto at half 1, sewing up fur coats and being too stressed to sleep way, BUT IT STILL COUNTS)
In the same vein - Thing 21: Sleep all day (Not actually the day after the last night - that was the set strike, or even the day after that - I spent that at the Olympic Park watching hockey, but I got home at 4 that afternoon, went straight to bed and didn't resurface until 1 the next afternoon)
Thing 21: Paint A Picture Good Enough to Hang on The Wall. I painted the picture for the poster, I probably wouldn't agree that it was good enough to go on a wall, but it did. I spent 20 minutes painting it a few months ago when I probably should have been doing something else, like revising for GCSEs, but it did its job:
Thing 19: Make A T-Shirt. (I didn't stitch it with my own hands, it wasn't really my idea and I'm never going to wear it, all the same:
And now I am quite happy to never go near a theatre, a fabric shop or a pot of Atlantis blue paint, ever again. (Until September, obviously)
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
52, 67, 72: Life Update
Well... Hello there. I haven't written a blog in a while. I've been really busy, okay? Don't look at me like that, I haven't had time for all this writing stuff.
Really really busy.
I HAVE been doing things, very busy things, promise. Those 101 things I've been trying to do, remember that? Yeah, some of those things got done.
I'll start with Thing Number 52: Swim and 67: Build the ultimate sandcastle
About a month ago, we went on holiday. 'We' of course means my ENTIRE family, plus some extras. 13 people in total? Maybe? I don't remember. We filled two houses and a beach hut, whichever corner of Southwold you looked in, there'd be some ancient member of the friend family lurking there, probably eating a slice of sponge cake.
Luckily I was not the only person under the age of 50. When not playing scrabble, drinking tea or riding up and down the road on a mobility scooter, my cousin Emily and I made the most of our youthfulness by cycling and shopping and swimming. Swimming in the sea. (The North Sea) Most days. Despite the fact it rained non-stop the entire week and each time we got out the water my lips were actually blue and it took 10 minutes until I could feel my legs again. Hmm... now I put it like that, it doesn't sound so great. But it was fun at the time! I think... Ah who am I kidding, to put it quite simply, there's nothing else to do there if you're not into sitting in an octagonal room, silently wondering what might be for dinner.
Another thing we did though was building the ULTIMATE sandcastle. Here it is, pretty ultimate, I think you'll agree.
We drew inspiration from Hogwarts and Cair Paravel, it even had a proper little archway for an entrance. Whilst creating our masterpiece, we discussed if a 16 year old and a 23 year old are too old to be building a sandcastle. Our conclusion: No. Although we are too old to be carrying spades without looking like frenzied murderers. Proof:
Whilst we were in Southwold, Latitude Festival happened, in Southwold. So we went (Not all of us, obviously, that would have been a ridiculous exercise which would probably have resulted in at least one fatality).
Here is where I completed Thing 72: See A Music Idol Perform Live. I'm not sure who I would consider to be a music idol but my favourite band at the moment is probably Alt-J. and I saw them. And they were fantastic, if you haven't heard of them, go and listen now. The way I see it is: if you like music, then you can't dislike Alt-J.
Some of my other highlights included:
-seeing a band called Breton in a tent that smelt like a rabbit cage, admiring the bassist's crazy dancing then seeing him later, running at him and telling him how much we loved his dancing, like two insane fangirls.
-getting a poem written for us by this poet
-wandering into the Cabaret tent and seeing Adam Kay being all hilarious.
-watching middle-class, middle-aged festival goers getting more and more agitated as we queued for a minibus.
-walking through some woods that were so perfect and pretty, I felt like I was in Twilight.
-unexpectedly seeing Simon Armitage reading a load of poems that I studied for GCSE English and finally appreciating how good they actually are.
Really really busy.
I HAVE been doing things, very busy things, promise. Those 101 things I've been trying to do, remember that? Yeah, some of those things got done.
I'll start with Thing Number 52: Swim and 67: Build the ultimate sandcastle
About a month ago, we went on holiday. 'We' of course means my ENTIRE family, plus some extras. 13 people in total? Maybe? I don't remember. We filled two houses and a beach hut, whichever corner of Southwold you looked in, there'd be some ancient member of the friend family lurking there, probably eating a slice of sponge cake.
Luckily I was not the only person under the age of 50. When not playing scrabble, drinking tea or riding up and down the road on a mobility scooter, my cousin Emily and I made the most of our youthfulness by cycling and shopping and swimming. Swimming in the sea. (The North Sea) Most days. Despite the fact it rained non-stop the entire week and each time we got out the water my lips were actually blue and it took 10 minutes until I could feel my legs again. Hmm... now I put it like that, it doesn't sound so great. But it was fun at the time! I think... Ah who am I kidding, to put it quite simply, there's nothing else to do there if you're not into sitting in an octagonal room, silently wondering what might be for dinner.
Another thing we did though was building the ULTIMATE sandcastle. Here it is, pretty ultimate, I think you'll agree.
We drew inspiration from Hogwarts and Cair Paravel, it even had a proper little archway for an entrance. Whilst creating our masterpiece, we discussed if a 16 year old and a 23 year old are too old to be building a sandcastle. Our conclusion: No. Although we are too old to be carrying spades without looking like frenzied murderers. Proof:
Here is where I completed Thing 72: See A Music Idol Perform Live. I'm not sure who I would consider to be a music idol but my favourite band at the moment is probably Alt-J. and I saw them. And they were fantastic, if you haven't heard of them, go and listen now. The way I see it is: if you like music, then you can't dislike Alt-J.
Some of my other highlights included:
-seeing a band called Breton in a tent that smelt like a rabbit cage, admiring the bassist's crazy dancing then seeing him later, running at him and telling him how much we loved his dancing, like two insane fangirls.
-getting a poem written for us by this poet
-wandering into the Cabaret tent and seeing Adam Kay being all hilarious.
-watching middle-class, middle-aged festival goers getting more and more agitated as we queued for a minibus.
-walking through some woods that were so perfect and pretty, I felt like I was in Twilight.
-unexpectedly seeing Simon Armitage reading a load of poems that I studied for GCSE English and finally appreciating how good they actually are.
Thursday, July 05, 2012
Thing 57
If you start your morning sweeping a mouse out of your house with a copy of the Radio Times, whilst wearing your pyjamas and being stared at by a selection of confused/amused friends, neighbours and delivery men, you know it's going to be an interesting day.
It was a pretty interesting day.
Most exciting of all was that I completed Thing 57, which is: Plant a tree.
If you read this blog, you'll know that I went to my Prom last week. If you follow me on Twitter, you might know that I returned from prom with a tree. This tree:
I can't remember why. But it isn't stealing if it doesn't actually belong to anyone, right? Anyway, I'd prefer to think of it as rescuing. I rescued this tree.
My dad said that it was cruel to keep it in my room and I had to set it free. So I moved it to someone else's room, where he wouldn't see it. Then yesterday I bought a big plant pot and today I put it in the big plant pot.
Well, I say I put it in the plant pot, I was a bit clueless, so Jess stepped in to assist with removing snails and bits of stone and other mysterious garden type things from the soil.
Then we watered it and put it in the sun. Then we named him, Toby. Toby the Tree.
And here he is, looking splendid:
Monday, July 02, 2012
Thing 63
I've had an insane couple of days and now I have the plague. For this reason, I have spent the last half an hour sitting under my duvet, drinking lemsip and trying to find a thing to do that will be relatively easy and I can complete without leaving my room.
Thing number 63: List the things your parents say they'll tell you the answer to when you're older.
This is easy because my parents never ever said 'I'll tell you when your older', about anything. At least, not that I can remember...
Instead, if I ever asked an awkward question, they'd just lie. Therefore, I believe much of my childhood was based upon complete falsehoods told to me by, not just my parents, but other people in general.
Technically, I could leave this here. But that would be no good.
So instead, I thought I'd tell you 5 of the stupid things that I believed as a little'un:
1) If you don't brush your hair twice a day, it will get so tangled that it will all have to be shaved off.
- my parents
This was a particularly horrible concept, I had really, really long hair. It stopped at the top of my legs and, like any sane child, I hated having it brushed. Understandably, this lie was pretty effective but I can confirm it is complete rubbish. My hair is still pretty long, I lost my hairbrush about 4 months ago and haven't got round to looking for it/buying a new one. So I wash my hair and leave it to do what it wants. And it's fine.
2) If you eat more than 3 biscuits in one day then you'll be so sick you'll have to go to hospital.
- my parents
ha. HA.
3) I'm dyslexic
- my primary school.
I wasn't, I was just so short sighted that I couldn't read or write with any great skill because I couldn't actually see the page. For some strange reason dyslexia was the first conclusion... and tests for that are somewhat more time consuming than an eye test. I also wasn't too happy, I could read really well! But only if my nose was actually touching the book.
4) If you lose a library book, you have to write a letter of apology to the government.
I don't even know who told me this, I might have made it up in my own head... In fact, it concerned me so much that I've never lost a library book. So maybe it's actually true?
5) A woman gets pregnant when a man and a woman take all their clothes off and kiss, in a public toilet.
- my best friend when I was 9.
At the time, I knew there was something wrong with this explanation. The logical parts of my brain told me that it was simply too oddly specific and completely impractical to be true. But still, I was 9 and she was 11, what did I know?
(I only believed this for a few weeks before asking my parents if it was true - the exact answer I got: "no." And I was happy enough with that)
So, there you go. Another fascinating insight -_-
I'm off to blow my nose and eat strepsils.
Thing number 63: List the things your parents say they'll tell you the answer to when you're older.
This is easy because my parents never ever said 'I'll tell you when your older', about anything. At least, not that I can remember...
Instead, if I ever asked an awkward question, they'd just lie. Therefore, I believe much of my childhood was based upon complete falsehoods told to me by, not just my parents, but other people in general.
Technically, I could leave this here. But that would be no good.
So instead, I thought I'd tell you 5 of the stupid things that I believed as a little'un:
1) If you don't brush your hair twice a day, it will get so tangled that it will all have to be shaved off.
- my parents
This was a particularly horrible concept, I had really, really long hair. It stopped at the top of my legs and, like any sane child, I hated having it brushed. Understandably, this lie was pretty effective but I can confirm it is complete rubbish. My hair is still pretty long, I lost my hairbrush about 4 months ago and haven't got round to looking for it/buying a new one. So I wash my hair and leave it to do what it wants. And it's fine.
2) If you eat more than 3 biscuits in one day then you'll be so sick you'll have to go to hospital.
- my parents
ha. HA.
3) I'm dyslexic
- my primary school.
I wasn't, I was just so short sighted that I couldn't read or write with any great skill because I couldn't actually see the page. For some strange reason dyslexia was the first conclusion... and tests for that are somewhat more time consuming than an eye test. I also wasn't too happy, I could read really well! But only if my nose was actually touching the book.
4) If you lose a library book, you have to write a letter of apology to the government.
I don't even know who told me this, I might have made it up in my own head... In fact, it concerned me so much that I've never lost a library book. So maybe it's actually true?
5) A woman gets pregnant when a man and a woman take all their clothes off and kiss, in a public toilet.
- my best friend when I was 9.
At the time, I knew there was something wrong with this explanation. The logical parts of my brain told me that it was simply too oddly specific and completely impractical to be true. But still, I was 9 and she was 11, what did I know?
(I only believed this for a few weeks before asking my parents if it was true - the exact answer I got: "no." And I was happy enough with that)
So, there you go. Another fascinating insight -_-
I'm off to blow my nose and eat strepsils.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Thing 3
My brain has taken three almost unrelated events from the past few months and combined them, into something that makes sense... In this blog, I will attempt to explain them to you, through the medium of origami.(Bare with me)
The three events were this: I finished school. I went to prom. I saw The Glass Menagerie.
And thing number 3 is this: Make an origami crane.
I really like origami cranes, they're pretty and in large number, supposedly a bit magic
"A thousand paper cranes are traditionally given as a wedding gift by the father, who is wishing a thousand years of happiness and prosperity upon the couple. They can also be gifted to a new baby for long life and good luck. Hanging them in one's home is thought to be a powerfully lucky and benevolent charm."
With this knowledge, as a leaving gift to our from tutor who had been so dedicated and supportive (and brought us chocolate fairly regularly) for the last 2 years, we decided to make 1000 paper cranes for her. This was slightly relevant as, during form time, she had forced us to do origami as some sort of bonding, enriching, stress relieving activity. We never actually progressed to anything as complex as a crane, I think we managed a goldfish once.
I hated origami, I am too impatient. Anyway, I think I had underestimated how many 1000 cranes actually is, or maybe I overestimated the amount of people that would be willing to give up their time to make them.
But even though there were about 4 of us and 5 days, we made tiny little cranes until our fingers were actually bleeding and we got there! (I think... we ran out of time to re-count them)
Thus, paper cranes, in my mind, have become sort of a symbol of determination. Also, of things turning out quite well.
This is why I spent hours, on weekend, sitting on the floor with my friend Jess, making paper cranes and running through her lines for The Glass Menagerie. This is when I first realised how fantastic the play is, I'd seen bits of it before and was entirely aware of what it was about but hadn't realised that, given your full attention, Tennessee Williams' writing is utterly incredible. Last night I went to see it properly (with Jess in it) and I fell even more in love with the play.
I am a very fidgety sort of person, I can't sit still, I can't focus on one thing for more than about 45 minutes. I also watch a lot of plays (you wouldn't think those are two personality traits that go together...) for this reason I (and people sitting near me) are acutely aware of how much I am enjoying a play. I can go to see a very good performance with great acting/set/tech and whatever else a play needs to be great and though I like it, I will fidget: I'll want to know what the time is, accidentally kick other members of the audience, bite my nails, wonder how long until it's finished and i can have a wee, etc. If I see a really good play then i manage to ignore the time completely, I'll be absorbed enough to not be fussed about the outside world. Then if I see a really fantastic play, I'll sit so still that I'm barely breathing because I don't want to miss even one second of it and I'll will it to keep going on for longer. As soon as it's finished, I'll want to see it again, immediately.
And The Glass Menagerie was one of those last sorts of plays.
"People are not so dreadful when you know them. That's what you have to remember! And everybody has problems, not just you, but practically everybody has got some problems. You think of yourself as having the only problems, as being the only one who is disappointed. But just look around you and you will see lots of people as disappointed as you are."
I like that quote. I think it's what connects the last of the 3 events: prom.
I've always been a very self conscious person. This has been a massive problem for me, sometimes just being alone on a bus I get paranoid, thinking that people are looking at me and judging me, sometimes it's so bad that I have to turn around and go home. Silly, I know.
This is made so much worse in situations where I have to make an effort with my appearance. That sounds bad... It's not like I ordinarily aim to look like I've stolen my clothes from a homeless person and slept in a tree, but I don't usually wear make up, I wear the clothes I want to and leave my hair however it wants to be. This is how I am happy. As soon as emphasis is put into looking 'nice', I start to freak out and get stressed and unhappy and grumpy then people hate me. This should have happened with the prom... but it didn't. For the first time in my life, I used my brain, in a logical way: "Stephanie, why are you so special that people will be judging you more than anyone else? Even if people are thinking bad things about you, or saying them, what does it matter? Really, why are they any better than you? They have their insecurities too, in reality, they'll be so fussed thinking about what they look like, they won't even notice how you look"
So, although I wasn't entirely happy, it was better than it's ever been before. And although I didn't have a fantastic time, that was more to do with my complete lack of interest in eating cheesy wotsits and squash whist dancing to dubstep. I just enjoyed seeing my friends without feeling sick with worry about what people were thinking about me. And this, although it won't seem much to you, feels like an enormous achievement and some sort of milestone for me.
Here's a photo:
However, I did realise that without my glasses, I look like some sort of a woodland creature. Hmm... Oh well, I guess there are worse things to look like...
The three events were this: I finished school. I went to prom. I saw The Glass Menagerie.
And thing number 3 is this: Make an origami crane.
I really like origami cranes, they're pretty and in large number, supposedly a bit magic
"A thousand paper cranes are traditionally given as a wedding gift by the father, who is wishing a thousand years of happiness and prosperity upon the couple. They can also be gifted to a new baby for long life and good luck. Hanging them in one's home is thought to be a powerfully lucky and benevolent charm."
With this knowledge, as a leaving gift to our from tutor who had been so dedicated and supportive (and brought us chocolate fairly regularly) for the last 2 years, we decided to make 1000 paper cranes for her. This was slightly relevant as, during form time, she had forced us to do origami as some sort of bonding, enriching, stress relieving activity. We never actually progressed to anything as complex as a crane, I think we managed a goldfish once.
I hated origami, I am too impatient. Anyway, I think I had underestimated how many 1000 cranes actually is, or maybe I overestimated the amount of people that would be willing to give up their time to make them.
But even though there were about 4 of us and 5 days, we made tiny little cranes until our fingers were actually bleeding and we got there! (I think... we ran out of time to re-count them)
Thus, paper cranes, in my mind, have become sort of a symbol of determination. Also, of things turning out quite well.
This is why I spent hours, on weekend, sitting on the floor with my friend Jess, making paper cranes and running through her lines for The Glass Menagerie. This is when I first realised how fantastic the play is, I'd seen bits of it before and was entirely aware of what it was about but hadn't realised that, given your full attention, Tennessee Williams' writing is utterly incredible. Last night I went to see it properly (with Jess in it) and I fell even more in love with the play.
I am a very fidgety sort of person, I can't sit still, I can't focus on one thing for more than about 45 minutes. I also watch a lot of plays (you wouldn't think those are two personality traits that go together...) for this reason I (and people sitting near me) are acutely aware of how much I am enjoying a play. I can go to see a very good performance with great acting/set/tech and whatever else a play needs to be great and though I like it, I will fidget: I'll want to know what the time is, accidentally kick other members of the audience, bite my nails, wonder how long until it's finished and i can have a wee, etc. If I see a really good play then i manage to ignore the time completely, I'll be absorbed enough to not be fussed about the outside world. Then if I see a really fantastic play, I'll sit so still that I'm barely breathing because I don't want to miss even one second of it and I'll will it to keep going on for longer. As soon as it's finished, I'll want to see it again, immediately.
And The Glass Menagerie was one of those last sorts of plays.
"People are not so dreadful when you know them. That's what you have to remember! And everybody has problems, not just you, but practically everybody has got some problems. You think of yourself as having the only problems, as being the only one who is disappointed. But just look around you and you will see lots of people as disappointed as you are."
I like that quote. I think it's what connects the last of the 3 events: prom.
I've always been a very self conscious person. This has been a massive problem for me, sometimes just being alone on a bus I get paranoid, thinking that people are looking at me and judging me, sometimes it's so bad that I have to turn around and go home. Silly, I know.
This is made so much worse in situations where I have to make an effort with my appearance. That sounds bad... It's not like I ordinarily aim to look like I've stolen my clothes from a homeless person and slept in a tree, but I don't usually wear make up, I wear the clothes I want to and leave my hair however it wants to be. This is how I am happy. As soon as emphasis is put into looking 'nice', I start to freak out and get stressed and unhappy and grumpy then people hate me. This should have happened with the prom... but it didn't. For the first time in my life, I used my brain, in a logical way: "Stephanie, why are you so special that people will be judging you more than anyone else? Even if people are thinking bad things about you, or saying them, what does it matter? Really, why are they any better than you? They have their insecurities too, in reality, they'll be so fussed thinking about what they look like, they won't even notice how you look"
So, although I wasn't entirely happy, it was better than it's ever been before. And although I didn't have a fantastic time, that was more to do with my complete lack of interest in eating cheesy wotsits and squash whist dancing to dubstep. I just enjoyed seeing my friends without feeling sick with worry about what people were thinking about me. And this, although it won't seem much to you, feels like an enormous achievement and some sort of milestone for me.
Here's a photo:
However, I did realise that without my glasses, I look like some sort of a woodland creature. Hmm... Oh well, I guess there are worse things to look like...
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Thing 33
Last week was pretty productive. I was proud of myself, I woke up early and went out and did useful stuff. This week... less so. I did another thing on my list of 101 things to do. Here we go:
Number 33 is 'Bake a Cake'. And as it is my lovely friend Izzy's birthday tomorrow (@parcmaison on the Twitter), I baked a cake for her. It looked like this:
And I left it outside her house today. I didn't leave any sort of note saying what it was or who it was from, which I realised about an hour ago, probably wasn't my best idea ever.
If you like the look of that cake and would like to make one for yourself, here is the bit of the book where it says to fill in the recipe.
Yeah... I haven't tasted it, obviously. But maybe I'll ask Izzy what it's like and report back. Maybe, provding she didn't assume the anonmous parcel on her doorstep wasn't from a stalker or a terrorist and throw it away/phone the police. Also, hopefully it didn't rain and melt it or get too sunny and melt it. And hopefully she doesn't die from my lack of proper sensible recipe.
I also discovered that at the back of this book, there's a page of little star stickers. If you don't know me well then you probably won't know that I LOVE STICKERS.
There's just, such a sense of achievement with a sticker. If I did something good in Primary school and the teacher gave me the choice between sweets and a sticker, I used to always chose the sticker. Of course, I was the only child in the world who did this, which probably puts me into some sort of 'freak' category, all on my own, BUT I'M HAPPY.
Anyway, at the top of each page there's a little space to put the sticker when you've achieved the thing! How good is that?!
Why don't all achievements in life get a sticker?
Anyway, at the top of each page there's a little space to put the sticker when you've achieved the thing! How good is that?!
Monday, June 25, 2012
3 months and 4 days.
I'm bored. BOOORED. Hello.
I lasted a week of summer before getting all ineedsomethingtodoNOW.
I'm just no good at not doing anything.
I was meant to be doing things this week. But that didn't happen for... reasons.
Well, I'm making sense.
Today I drew this:
Because I know how to use my time efficiently. I'll send you a present if you comment and can tell me who it's supposed to be.
I also went on Pottermore for the first time since making my account then thinking "NO. Exams come before Harry Potter." Which I thought was pretty sensible/admirable/incredible.
I'm in RAVENCLAW. This is fantastic, since my parents first read me the books when I was 4 I've been a Ravenclaw in my head and now i'm a Ravenclaw... FOR REAL. Well, no. Still... in my head, but also on the internet. And the internet is Truth.
And here's a life update for you. For two weeks, I've been drinking my tea out of this mug:
Don't worry, I didn't buy it, I'm not insane. I made it, on a school trip about 4 years ago. (What is it?... Not a clue)
This is because my mother decided to clear out our entire house, this included all of our mugs. Except for this one, found in the back of a cupboard and deemed too terrible to give it to a charity shop. Nice.
Whilst protecting a handful of my belongings from my mother's Charity Shop Box, I found this book.
I got it 2 Christmases ago and at the time I thought "I'm nowhere near being old and boring, this does not concern me" and put it away.
Today I looked at it again and thought "gosh, I'm going to be 17 quite soon, that is old. And my nan told my yesterday (and every day I've seen her since I was born) that 'only boring people get bored' And I AM bored. Shiiiit"
So I looked inside the book. And I've decided to do some of these things. Number 36 is Start Your Own Blog. I did that. Here it is, see.
I'm going to see how many I can do before I turn 17. I have 3 months and 4 days, GOGOGO.
I lasted a week of summer before getting all ineedsomethingtodoNOW.
I'm just no good at not doing anything.
I was meant to be doing things this week. But that didn't happen for... reasons.
Well, I'm making sense.
Today I drew this:
Because I know how to use my time efficiently. I'll send you a present if you comment and can tell me who it's supposed to be.
I also went on Pottermore for the first time since making my account then thinking "NO. Exams come before Harry Potter." Which I thought was pretty sensible/admirable/incredible.
I'm in RAVENCLAW. This is fantastic, since my parents first read me the books when I was 4 I've been a Ravenclaw in my head and now i'm a Ravenclaw... FOR REAL. Well, no. Still... in my head, but also on the internet. And the internet is Truth.
And here's a life update for you. For two weeks, I've been drinking my tea out of this mug:
Don't worry, I didn't buy it, I'm not insane. I made it, on a school trip about 4 years ago. (What is it?... Not a clue)
This is because my mother decided to clear out our entire house, this included all of our mugs. Except for this one, found in the back of a cupboard and deemed too terrible to give it to a charity shop. Nice.
Whilst protecting a handful of my belongings from my mother's Charity Shop Box, I found this book.
Today I looked at it again and thought "gosh, I'm going to be 17 quite soon, that is old. And my nan told my yesterday (and every day I've seen her since I was born) that 'only boring people get bored' And I AM bored. Shiiiit"
So I looked inside the book. And I've decided to do some of these things. Number 36 is Start Your Own Blog. I did that. Here it is, see.
I'm going to see how many I can do before I turn 17. I have 3 months and 4 days, GOGOGO.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Feminism. From the perspective of a 16 year old idiot.
Yesterday I finished my exams. That was good. Today I woke up and realised I didn't know what to do with myself. So I read a book, as well as watching 3 episodes of Hi-De-Hi, painting my nails purple and eating cake, but the reading was the main thing. The book I chose to read was How To Be A Woman by Caitlin Moran, last week I discovered it in my mother's 'things to go to the charity shop' pile in the dining room and I saved it. I'm glad I did, it was pretty good. It was amusing and interesting and made me think quite a lot about these things:
1) Feminism
2) Abortions
3) Pickled eggs
First off, I am going to explain number 3, so that when I continue and talk about the other two, you will be able to put what I'm saying into some sort of perspective - ie. I am an idiot who struggles with even the most basic concepts.
So, at one point, near the end of the book, pickled eggs are mentioned, I don't remember why but I remember thinking "Picked eggs are interesting, I mean... how do they work?" Because pickled eggs don't have shells, otherwise they wouldn't be pickled but they remain egg-shaped. If you break an un-pickled egg into a jar of vinegar in order to pickle it, how does it stay looking all egg-shaped and not all splatted about like a fried egg or a poached one. Yeah. (don't worry, I've got it now, you don't need to explain)
Now, Abortions. Less cheerful, I know. Sorry. I read the chapter about abortions and realised, with some surprise, that I didn't have much of an opinion on this subject. Which is pretty unusual, I'm rather an opinionated sort of lass.
But I stopped reading for a minute to think. This: I think life is very special, I think having children is awesome and I don't think I could ever have an abortion. But what on earth am I basing that on? As a 16 year old who has never even been kissed, my knowledge of... anything in that area is incredibly limited. In school they made us watch a film of abortions taking place, I cried. It's silly, I know, but I found it more distressing than I probably should have and kept thinking about it and feeling a confused sort of unhappiness for WEEKS after.
But I do think it's fantastic that people in this country can choose to have an abortion, if that's what they think is the right thing, because in the end, it's down to the person with an unborn child inside them. Some people say that it's no different from murder. But it is, it's completely different to murder. If you kill a living, grown-up person, you're removing their life and everything that is 'them' from the world, causing untold amounts of grief and pain to everyone who is left behind to deal with the resultant mess. Aborting a baby, however a difficult decision it might be, is down to its parents - although I believe that it's still a person, it's not a person that has anything to do with other people, it's a little, unknown being in its own tiny world with the potential to be anything. And one of the many 'potentials' is to not be anything at all.
People who campaign against abortions being legal seem to be missing the point a little. Just because it isn't something YOU'D ever do, you have no right to be throwing around your opinions about it as if they were The Truth, in fact, because of your complete refusal to have anything to do with the subject, you have less right than anyone else to claim to know The Truth. It's all about CHOICE, it's legal in this country so that people are free to make a choice. Nobody is going to force you to have an abortion in the same way that if same sex marriage becomes legal, nobody is going to force you into that either. That's plain silly. So go away and try to find something else that has absolutely nothing to do to cause a fuss about. Preferably something that isn't going target people at potentially the most vulnerable and emotional point in their lives.
RIGHT, I'm feeling quite ranty now.
Feminism. It's not something that I entirely 'get' and although I've started to understand it a bit more today, I'm still not entirely sure. Maybe it's just a combination of way that feminism is presented in the media (the general 'feminists are mentals who hate men' perspective) and the few 'feminists' that I know - but here is the thing: I don't want to be part of a group of people who are just so ANGRY all the time. Angry about everything, about the world, hating what they were born into and therefore in a weird self-righteous sort of way, hating themselves.
There's no denying it's good, bloody brilliant in fact, that women can vote, and be doctors and engineers, wear trousers and write books and not legally be raped by their husbands and be in charge of a country. And I know it's not so great that they don't get paid as well as men and get harassed in the street and often judged entirely on how they look. But generally, i really like being a girl. I like wearing pretty dresses and heels with flowers on and glittery nail varnish, the idea of one day getting married and having babies and a dog and baking carrot cakes for them all fills me with joy IN A BIG WAY. Also, I spend enough time with boys (20 minutes on the bus to school every morning) to know that they mostly talk about sport and their willies and I don't have much to say on either of those topics so don't want to be that much like them, at all, really.
My favourite thing Caitlin Moran wrote was this:
"Seeing the whole world as 'The Guys' is important. The idea that we're all, at the end of the day, just a bunch of well-meaning schlumps, trying to get along, is the basic alpha and omega of my world view. I'm neither 'pro-women' nor 'anti-men'. I'm just 'Thumbs up for the six billion'"
Because this addresses my main issue with feminism: women want to be seen as equal, equal to what? Men, sure, that would change some stuff but it wouldn't actually fix the problem would it? Equality is this MASSIVE issue that is to do with more than just sex. It's about skin colour and religion and class and sexuality and whether you have a speech impediment or not. From what I can see, feminism, although saying that men and women are equally important, is actually saying that women are more important than, say, a gay man in an ethnic minority with a lisp. And that's not right is it? That's not what equality is at all, it should be about individuals - individuals going through their life being judged only on what they as a human actually do and say without any preconceptions being made about them.
Yep. That's what I think.
It's not much, but what can you expect, I've taken 21 exams in the past month, I'm exhausted.
1) Feminism
2) Abortions
3) Pickled eggs
First off, I am going to explain number 3, so that when I continue and talk about the other two, you will be able to put what I'm saying into some sort of perspective - ie. I am an idiot who struggles with even the most basic concepts.
So, at one point, near the end of the book, pickled eggs are mentioned, I don't remember why but I remember thinking "Picked eggs are interesting, I mean... how do they work?" Because pickled eggs don't have shells, otherwise they wouldn't be pickled but they remain egg-shaped. If you break an un-pickled egg into a jar of vinegar in order to pickle it, how does it stay looking all egg-shaped and not all splatted about like a fried egg or a poached one. Yeah. (don't worry, I've got it now, you don't need to explain)
Now, Abortions. Less cheerful, I know. Sorry. I read the chapter about abortions and realised, with some surprise, that I didn't have much of an opinion on this subject. Which is pretty unusual, I'm rather an opinionated sort of lass.
But I stopped reading for a minute to think. This: I think life is very special, I think having children is awesome and I don't think I could ever have an abortion. But what on earth am I basing that on? As a 16 year old who has never even been kissed, my knowledge of... anything in that area is incredibly limited. In school they made us watch a film of abortions taking place, I cried. It's silly, I know, but I found it more distressing than I probably should have and kept thinking about it and feeling a confused sort of unhappiness for WEEKS after.
But I do think it's fantastic that people in this country can choose to have an abortion, if that's what they think is the right thing, because in the end, it's down to the person with an unborn child inside them. Some people say that it's no different from murder. But it is, it's completely different to murder. If you kill a living, grown-up person, you're removing their life and everything that is 'them' from the world, causing untold amounts of grief and pain to everyone who is left behind to deal with the resultant mess. Aborting a baby, however a difficult decision it might be, is down to its parents - although I believe that it's still a person, it's not a person that has anything to do with other people, it's a little, unknown being in its own tiny world with the potential to be anything. And one of the many 'potentials' is to not be anything at all.
People who campaign against abortions being legal seem to be missing the point a little. Just because it isn't something YOU'D ever do, you have no right to be throwing around your opinions about it as if they were The Truth, in fact, because of your complete refusal to have anything to do with the subject, you have less right than anyone else to claim to know The Truth. It's all about CHOICE, it's legal in this country so that people are free to make a choice. Nobody is going to force you to have an abortion in the same way that if same sex marriage becomes legal, nobody is going to force you into that either. That's plain silly. So go away and try to find something else that has absolutely nothing to do to cause a fuss about. Preferably something that isn't going target people at potentially the most vulnerable and emotional point in their lives.
RIGHT, I'm feeling quite ranty now.
Feminism. It's not something that I entirely 'get' and although I've started to understand it a bit more today, I'm still not entirely sure. Maybe it's just a combination of way that feminism is presented in the media (the general 'feminists are mentals who hate men' perspective) and the few 'feminists' that I know - but here is the thing: I don't want to be part of a group of people who are just so ANGRY all the time. Angry about everything, about the world, hating what they were born into and therefore in a weird self-righteous sort of way, hating themselves.
There's no denying it's good, bloody brilliant in fact, that women can vote, and be doctors and engineers, wear trousers and write books and not legally be raped by their husbands and be in charge of a country. And I know it's not so great that they don't get paid as well as men and get harassed in the street and often judged entirely on how they look. But generally, i really like being a girl. I like wearing pretty dresses and heels with flowers on and glittery nail varnish, the idea of one day getting married and having babies and a dog and baking carrot cakes for them all fills me with joy IN A BIG WAY. Also, I spend enough time with boys (20 minutes on the bus to school every morning) to know that they mostly talk about sport and their willies and I don't have much to say on either of those topics so don't want to be that much like them, at all, really.
My favourite thing Caitlin Moran wrote was this:
"Seeing the whole world as 'The Guys' is important. The idea that we're all, at the end of the day, just a bunch of well-meaning schlumps, trying to get along, is the basic alpha and omega of my world view. I'm neither 'pro-women' nor 'anti-men'. I'm just 'Thumbs up for the six billion'"
Because this addresses my main issue with feminism: women want to be seen as equal, equal to what? Men, sure, that would change some stuff but it wouldn't actually fix the problem would it? Equality is this MASSIVE issue that is to do with more than just sex. It's about skin colour and religion and class and sexuality and whether you have a speech impediment or not. From what I can see, feminism, although saying that men and women are equally important, is actually saying that women are more important than, say, a gay man in an ethnic minority with a lisp. And that's not right is it? That's not what equality is at all, it should be about individuals - individuals going through their life being judged only on what they as a human actually do and say without any preconceptions being made about them.
Yep. That's what I think.
It's not much, but what can you expect, I've taken 21 exams in the past month, I'm exhausted.
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Odds and Ends
I used to write this blog. Here are some bits that never got finished enough to publish as a proper blog. The earliest is from 2009, so try to ignore the mistakes... Read them, if you would like.:
Hmmm... suspicious.
Generally, I'm not particularly observant, in fact, my parents once redecorated the kitchen and bought a new fridge whilst i was on holiday and it took me about a week to notice, but my father's recent strange behaviour has been totally impossible to miss.
Yesterday, when he came home from work, he kissed my mother (yuuuuck) then, as we were eating dinner, he said to my mother, for no apparent reason, "I love you , darling" AND he's just gone and bought her flowers.
This is:
a) very sick-making
b) not normal.
It's not like the hate eachother... ok, it's not like they hate eachother all of the time, but they've been married for 15 years, it's just not right.
Recently, I read Wilma Tenderfoot and The Case Of The Frozen Hearts by Emma Kennedy and from this, i know that i would make an amazing detective...
I put all the clues together and the first thing i thought was: He's probably having an affair.
And because i am rather indiscreet and had no better ideas, i asked him:
"Daddy, are you having an affair?"
His response was this:
"No, i don't have the time."
So, i crossed "having an affair" off of the list. then, to be honest, i was stuck, as "having an affair" was the only thing on the list.
Now i am stuck for ideas. It's still very suspicious behaviour... i mean, he bought her flowers!
_______
Apparently people can be divided up into "morning people" - those who enjoys mornings and "not morning people" - those who don't enjoy mornings.
I am not a morning person.
Actually, i'm not sure if i've ever met one of these "morning people". Do they exist?
I have managed to survive 5,409 mornings but in the last couple of months they have stopped being quite so horrible. You see, i've finally perfected a routine. My brain rarely need to actually start working until 9 o'clock, i thought i'd explain to you what happens every single weekday morning.
My alarm goes off at 6. It is a radio alarm, it's tuned to radio 2. I wake up at 8 minutes past six, i immediately turn the radio off and go back to sleep. I'm not really sure why i bother with that alarm.
At 6:50 my dad phones me. I leave my phone on my shelf above my computer before i go to sleep. I listen to it ring (it played the Big Bang Theory theme tune). Then he phones me again and i launch myself out of bed to answer it, usually smashing into a bookshelf, keyboard and wheelie chair on route.
Our conversation goes like this:
"Stephanie, are you out of bed?"
"Yes"
"Really?
"Yes"
"Ok, it's [insert day of the week] you need to remember your keys, phone, lunch money (latin folder, hockey stick, colouring pencils, pyjamas - depending on what day of the week it is)"
*short silence*
"Now, what is it you need to remember?"
"(repeats list of things to remember)"
"Good, now set to it"
*hangs up*
Then i get back into bed.
At 7o'clock i actually get up. My clothes are all set out and dress in about 2 minutes. If i'm feeling particularly cold/lazy i leave my pyjama top and shorts on underneath.
I sit and listen to the news on the radio then i wash my face and brush my teeth and stare at my face in the mirror for a while. I don't brush my hair.
I don't eat breakfast, it makes me throw up, but i stand in the kitchen for a bit thinking about making a cup of tea. Then i don't.
I pack my school bag, throw the cat out my room, close the windows and put a happy song on my iPod.
Then i wake my mother up. And say goodbye to her.
I put my shoes on and leave.
_______
Do you know what i mean by a complicated situation? I'm not sure you do, they usually occur when the rest of the world fails to understand the unique thought process that lead to an action i took.
Like when a member of your family walks into the bathroom to discover you holding your own face into a sink full of water and automatically jumps to the conclusion that you're trying to drown yourself and demands you explain yourself.
I find that in a situation like this, it's best to start from the very beginning, or they'll just ask questions and it will get difficult.
It started when I was staring at my arm. I have a freckle, just above my elbow, i was sure it had moved. Anyway, I noticed I have very dry elbows, something I always have and, in an attempt to fix this problem, I went looking for some moisturiser. The moisturiser I usually use lives in the bathroom but it seems that someone left the lid off and there is now a muddy cat paw print in the middle of it. So I went to the cupboard to find some more but got distracted by a bottle of olbas oil....
Hmmm... suspicious.
Generally, I'm not particularly observant, in fact, my parents once redecorated the kitchen and bought a new fridge whilst i was on holiday and it took me about a week to notice, but my father's recent strange behaviour has been totally impossible to miss.
Yesterday, when he came home from work, he kissed my mother (yuuuuck) then, as we were eating dinner, he said to my mother, for no apparent reason, "I love you , darling" AND he's just gone and bought her flowers.
This is:
a) very sick-making
b) not normal.
It's not like the hate eachother... ok, it's not like they hate eachother all of the time, but they've been married for 15 years, it's just not right.
Recently, I read Wilma Tenderfoot and The Case Of The Frozen Hearts by Emma Kennedy and from this, i know that i would make an amazing detective...
I put all the clues together and the first thing i thought was: He's probably having an affair.
And because i am rather indiscreet and had no better ideas, i asked him:
"Daddy, are you having an affair?"
His response was this:
"No, i don't have the time."
So, i crossed "having an affair" off of the list. then, to be honest, i was stuck, as "having an affair" was the only thing on the list.
Now i am stuck for ideas. It's still very suspicious behaviour... i mean, he bought her flowers!
_______
Apparently people can be divided up into "morning people" - those who enjoys mornings and "not morning people" - those who don't enjoy mornings.
I am not a morning person.
Actually, i'm not sure if i've ever met one of these "morning people". Do they exist?
I have managed to survive 5,409 mornings but in the last couple of months they have stopped being quite so horrible. You see, i've finally perfected a routine. My brain rarely need to actually start working until 9 o'clock, i thought i'd explain to you what happens every single weekday morning.
My alarm goes off at 6. It is a radio alarm, it's tuned to radio 2. I wake up at 8 minutes past six, i immediately turn the radio off and go back to sleep. I'm not really sure why i bother with that alarm.
At 6:50 my dad phones me. I leave my phone on my shelf above my computer before i go to sleep. I listen to it ring (it played the Big Bang Theory theme tune). Then he phones me again and i launch myself out of bed to answer it, usually smashing into a bookshelf, keyboard and wheelie chair on route.
Our conversation goes like this:
"Stephanie, are you out of bed?"
"Yes"
"Really?
"Yes"
"Ok, it's [insert day of the week] you need to remember your keys, phone, lunch money (latin folder, hockey stick, colouring pencils, pyjamas - depending on what day of the week it is)"
*short silence*
"Now, what is it you need to remember?"
"(repeats list of things to remember)"
"Good, now set to it"
*hangs up*
Then i get back into bed.
At 7o'clock i actually get up. My clothes are all set out and dress in about 2 minutes. If i'm feeling particularly cold/lazy i leave my pyjama top and shorts on underneath.
I sit and listen to the news on the radio then i wash my face and brush my teeth and stare at my face in the mirror for a while. I don't brush my hair.
I don't eat breakfast, it makes me throw up, but i stand in the kitchen for a bit thinking about making a cup of tea. Then i don't.
I pack my school bag, throw the cat out my room, close the windows and put a happy song on my iPod.
Then i wake my mother up. And say goodbye to her.
I put my shoes on and leave.
_______
I am 14, almost 15.
I like to think i know quite a lot of stuff.
Not everything, obviously, no one knows everything.
Not as much as someone who is 24, almost 25.
But still quite a lot.
The basics, you know, i can have a conversation without making a fool of myself (usually), i can pass tests and write a blog that a handful of people read.
I'd say i learnt about 30% of the stuff i know from school, the rest from books, TV, the internet, other people.
But there are gaping holes in my knowledge.
For example:
- chav speak. It come so naturally to the people around me yet i have no idea what they're on about. If you stumbled across me whilst surrounded by my peers you might think i were mute.
- how to deal with stuff. Mostly situations where my, or someone else's emotions sort of... take over. I just sit there, staring, completely frozen. In films people say comforting words, they hug eachother and everything is ok. It's physically impossible for me to move, my arms and legs turn to stone and though i can think of appropriate words to say, they refuse to come out of my mouth.
- why are people ticklish?
- why am i scared of certain words and why does thinking about people's toenails bending back at right angles make me feel sick?
_____
I am in Somerset. Yet again. I don't really like it here, i like seeing my family (well, most of them) and i enjoy the occasional trips to Bath or Exeter or Glastonbury but apart from that, i find it a little bit scary. Someone on twitter, i can't remember who, might have been @katcal, said to me a while ago "why are you scared of somerset, London's much scarier". It's really not! There are 7 and a half million people in London and just 912,900 in Somerset with an area about 8 times bigger than London.
When i'm here, i feel... claustrophobic. People know me, we can't go into Morrisons at 11 o'clock on a Sunday morning without bumping into several people my Grandparents want to have a conversation with whereas where i live, i can go shopping for a whole day without seeing one person i know. And i like that, it's nice, nobody constantly knows where you are and what you're doing, as strange as it sounds, with so many people, you have privacy. You can listen to your iPod and be nicely isolated for hours on end, never having to stop and speak to anyone.
Yesterday we walked into The Old Vicarage, i've mentioned it before, it's a lovely cafe/hotel where my grandparents hang out. We were greeted by Paul, the manager - "Morning Charlie, morning Jean, morning much talked about grandaughter". After going bright pink, we sat down and he brought us over our drinks. A cappuccino for my grandmother, a double espresso for my Grandad and a hot chocolate for me, "How did you know i wanted a hot chocolate?", "I remember your Grandad once mentioning you like hot chocolate". It was really nice, just... surprising. and a little worrying, these people who live hundreds of miles away from me get told things about me and REMEMBER them.
My Grandad's computer had a virus, which he mentioned to Paul whilst drinking his coffee, Paul recommended that he go to a computer shop in the high street, "there's a nerd in there, he knows everything about viruses", so off we went to the computer shop. I explained the problem to the humourless greasy haired nerd, who then turned to me and said "did Paul tell you to come here?" to which i replied "yes, who did you know?", "oh, he mentioned that Charlie's grandaughter was coming to stay, i assumed it must be you, i haven't seen you before" now THAT freaked me out.
Paul is gay. I have always known this because my grandparents always refer to him as "our gay friend Paul". It's not that they're against homosexuality, they're not, they just find it a little difficult to understand. Whereas a fair few people have made a point of not going to the cafe after finding this out. I find this attitude completely baffling and i think that this is what scares me most about the people round here. Of course i know one or two people who think that way who live near me but they're mostly just my mother's middle class friends. Other than that, i can't see a cafe owner's sexuality making a significant impact to business in London. Can you?
I was with one of my cousins the other day, he's a few months older than me and doesn't intend on staying at school for 6th form or going to university. We were talking about what he's going to do once he's left school when he revealed to me that for the last few years all he's wanted to do is be a chef. He'd only been brave enough to tell his dad a few months ago and his dad had laughed in his face, then told him it was a "gay" thing to want to do and that he should "get a trade, like a proper man". I thought that was sad, very sad.
It's not only homophobia but racism too, i'm not sure if it's intentional but it makes me feel very very awkward. There's very few people in this town who aren't white. Three of my cousins all go to different schools and in a discussion the other day revealed that they only know one black person, and she's the person who works in the Co-Op near their house. INSANE.
_____I am in Somerset. Yet again. I don't really like it here, i like seeing my family (well, most of them) and i enjoy the occasional trips to Bath or Exeter or Glastonbury but apart from that, i find it a little bit scary. Someone on twitter, i can't remember who, might have been @katcal, said to me a while ago "why are you scared of somerset, London's much scarier". It's really not! There are 7 and a half million people in London and just 912,900 in Somerset with an area about 8 times bigger than London.
When i'm here, i feel... claustrophobic. People know me, we can't go into Morrisons at 11 o'clock on a Sunday morning without bumping into several people my Grandparents want to have a conversation with whereas where i live, i can go shopping for a whole day without seeing one person i know. And i like that, it's nice, nobody constantly knows where you are and what you're doing, as strange as it sounds, with so many people, you have privacy. You can listen to your iPod and be nicely isolated for hours on end, never having to stop and speak to anyone.
Yesterday we walked into The Old Vicarage, i've mentioned it before, it's a lovely cafe/hotel where my grandparents hang out. We were greeted by Paul, the manager - "Morning Charlie, morning Jean, morning much talked about grandaughter". After going bright pink, we sat down and he brought us over our drinks. A cappuccino for my grandmother, a double espresso for my Grandad and a hot chocolate for me, "How did you know i wanted a hot chocolate?", "I remember your Grandad once mentioning you like hot chocolate". It was really nice, just... surprising. and a little worrying, these people who live hundreds of miles away from me get told things about me and REMEMBER them.
My Grandad's computer had a virus, which he mentioned to Paul whilst drinking his coffee, Paul recommended that he go to a computer shop in the high street, "there's a nerd in there, he knows everything about viruses", so off we went to the computer shop. I explained the problem to the humourless greasy haired nerd, who then turned to me and said "did Paul tell you to come here?" to which i replied "yes, who did you know?", "oh, he mentioned that Charlie's grandaughter was coming to stay, i assumed it must be you, i haven't seen you before" now THAT freaked me out.
Paul is gay. I have always known this because my grandparents always refer to him as "our gay friend Paul". It's not that they're against homosexuality, they're not, they just find it a little difficult to understand. Whereas a fair few people have made a point of not going to the cafe after finding this out. I find this attitude completely baffling and i think that this is what scares me most about the people round here. Of course i know one or two people who think that way who live near me but they're mostly just my mother's middle class friends. Other than that, i can't see a cafe owner's sexuality making a significant impact to business in London. Can you?
I was with one of my cousins the other day, he's a few months older than me and doesn't intend on staying at school for 6th form or going to university. We were talking about what he's going to do once he's left school when he revealed to me that for the last few years all he's wanted to do is be a chef. He'd only been brave enough to tell his dad a few months ago and his dad had laughed in his face, then told him it was a "gay" thing to want to do and that he should "get a trade, like a proper man". I thought that was sad, very sad.
It's not only homophobia but racism too, i'm not sure if it's intentional but it makes me feel very very awkward. There's very few people in this town who aren't white. Three of my cousins all go to different schools and in a discussion the other day revealed that they only know one black person, and she's the person who works in the Co-Op near their house. INSANE.
Do you know what i mean by a complicated situation? I'm not sure you do, they usually occur when the rest of the world fails to understand the unique thought process that lead to an action i took.
Like when a member of your family walks into the bathroom to discover you holding your own face into a sink full of water and automatically jumps to the conclusion that you're trying to drown yourself and demands you explain yourself.
I find that in a situation like this, it's best to start from the very beginning, or they'll just ask questions and it will get difficult.
It started when I was staring at my arm. I have a freckle, just above my elbow, i was sure it had moved. Anyway, I noticed I have very dry elbows, something I always have and, in an attempt to fix this problem, I went looking for some moisturiser. The moisturiser I usually use lives in the bathroom but it seems that someone left the lid off and there is now a muddy cat paw print in the middle of it. So I went to the cupboard to find some more but got distracted by a bottle of olbas oil....
Friday, August 05, 2011
National Gallery
I'm tired and I need a wee but I'm staring at a painting. It is a painting from the 1500s, I think it is silly. A woman side steps towards me, she is wearing a shirt and a name tag that suggest she works for the gallery.
"Do you like it?" She says, nodding at the painting with a smug smile.
"Not really" I reply, glancing at her in my best 'leave me alone, I'm tired and need a wee' way. Her smile becomes more smug, she knows something about this painting that she desperately wants to share with me, because it will make her seem clever. I don't let her. "I think it's silly," I continue, "Jesus doesn't look like that".
She says: "hhha", it's not a laugh, but a word she uses to illustrate the fact she finds my comment amusing, "how can you know what he looked like?". I can see she's the sort of person who likes to ask questions that she thinks people can't answer, it makes her feel special.
"Because I've seen him." I say slowly and loudly, like my Grandad would if he were talking to someone from another country. I look at her face and raise my eyebrows slightly.
Still smiling, she turns and shuffles away. What a rude lady.
The National Gallery makes me sad, there's too many paintings. If it were a person, it would be waving it's arms around going "LOOK, look at my paintings, aren't they brilliant, they're worth billions and billions of pounds. LOOK AT THEM, no, don't ACTUALLY look at them, they're all the same, that's why we've put them in these rooms all on top of each other and next all to each other in rows, APPRECIATE THEM. NO, what did I say - don't LOOK at them, just know that they're worth more money than you could ever imagine, walk quickly round so that you can *say* you've seen them and feel all arty and clever, I mean, what more could you want? The boring ones are in big sparkly frames so you don't have to stop or think about them at all. JUST APPRECIATE THEM."
However, I do like the National Portrait Gallery. I don't know why, it's just much better. I like all the faces looking out of the walls at you, I like the fact you can walk into a room and see some of the most famous writers, artists, actors and politicians all together, like an incredible party, you can imagine what they'd be saying to one another and why Noel Coward would be standing next to Vanessa Bell and who would be most likely to get thrown out for fighting, who'd be the most drunk and who would be sitting in the corner looking lonely...
On the other hand, something upset me deeply. I saw a portrait of James Joyce, painted in 1935, he was... old. And ordinary looking, and a bit sad. He's one of my favourite writers ever but it never crossed my mind that he was actually a man, with a face and a comb-over and... trousers, he was just the thoughts behind the words in the books. Not a person. It makes me feel sick to think about.
"Do you like it?" She says, nodding at the painting with a smug smile.
"Not really" I reply, glancing at her in my best 'leave me alone, I'm tired and need a wee' way. Her smile becomes more smug, she knows something about this painting that she desperately wants to share with me, because it will make her seem clever. I don't let her. "I think it's silly," I continue, "Jesus doesn't look like that".
She says: "hhha", it's not a laugh, but a word she uses to illustrate the fact she finds my comment amusing, "how can you know what he looked like?". I can see she's the sort of person who likes to ask questions that she thinks people can't answer, it makes her feel special.
"Because I've seen him." I say slowly and loudly, like my Grandad would if he were talking to someone from another country. I look at her face and raise my eyebrows slightly.
Still smiling, she turns and shuffles away. What a rude lady.
The National Gallery makes me sad, there's too many paintings. If it were a person, it would be waving it's arms around going "LOOK, look at my paintings, aren't they brilliant, they're worth billions and billions of pounds. LOOK AT THEM, no, don't ACTUALLY look at them, they're all the same, that's why we've put them in these rooms all on top of each other and next all to each other in rows, APPRECIATE THEM. NO, what did I say - don't LOOK at them, just know that they're worth more money than you could ever imagine, walk quickly round so that you can *say* you've seen them and feel all arty and clever, I mean, what more could you want? The boring ones are in big sparkly frames so you don't have to stop or think about them at all. JUST APPRECIATE THEM."
However, I do like the National Portrait Gallery. I don't know why, it's just much better. I like all the faces looking out of the walls at you, I like the fact you can walk into a room and see some of the most famous writers, artists, actors and politicians all together, like an incredible party, you can imagine what they'd be saying to one another and why Noel Coward would be standing next to Vanessa Bell and who would be most likely to get thrown out for fighting, who'd be the most drunk and who would be sitting in the corner looking lonely...
On the other hand, something upset me deeply. I saw a portrait of James Joyce, painted in 1935, he was... old. And ordinary looking, and a bit sad. He's one of my favourite writers ever but it never crossed my mind that he was actually a man, with a face and a comb-over and... trousers, he was just the thoughts behind the words in the books. Not a person. It makes me feel sick to think about.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Exam
I had a Latin mock today, it was ridiculous. It wasn't particularly difficult, except for the questions that I had no idea how to even begin to answer.
You get a bit of a story in Latin then questions about it
Questions like -
"Part A: Why was he arrested?
Answer - Because he beat a man to death for trying to steal his cow."
Part B: Why do you think this was wrong?
Answer - erm... BECAUSE HE BEAT A MAN TO DEATH FOR TRYING TO STEAL HIS COW?!"
"Part A: What does the King call his son?
Answer - 'my son'
Part B: Why does the King call him this?"
Answer - because he is his son."
I left the exam feeling confused and misled. Not a feeling I like very much.
Yesterday I was revising History. I drew a mind map.
If this is what the inside of my mind looks like, it's no wonder I spend so much of my life feeling baffled and a bit lost.
You get a bit of a story in Latin then questions about it
Questions like -
"Part A: Why was he arrested?
Answer - Because he beat a man to death for trying to steal his cow."
Part B: Why do you think this was wrong?
Answer - erm... BECAUSE HE BEAT A MAN TO DEATH FOR TRYING TO STEAL HIS COW?!"
"Part A: What does the King call his son?
Answer - 'my son'
Part B: Why does the King call him this?"
Answer - because he is his son."
I left the exam feeling confused and misled. Not a feeling I like very much.
Yesterday I was revising History. I drew a mind map.
If this is what the inside of my mind looks like, it's no wonder I spend so much of my life feeling baffled and a bit lost.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Green
Walking into an empty room, thinking of not very much at all, I suddenly announce: "I don't even like Paul Weller" So surprised by this outburst, I automatically touch my own face, to ensure that it is me speaking and not somebody else whose body I accidentally came to inhabit. It was me. I don't particularly like Paul Weller but it was truly the strangest thing to ever tumble from my mouth, and believe me, I talk some utter nonsense at times.
My friend Hayley thinks I'm weird, she doesn't say that, she says I'm "funny" or "different", but that's just because she's polite. I think she's weird too, she has an obsession with Xena: Warrior Princess, which I don't understand, but together we can do a really great impression of the Dr Who theme tune. She looks like the girl in the Lynx advert - the one where it's all rewinded and two people meet in the supermarket, then run home, discarding their clothes as they do so. I tell her this, but she refuses to believe me. She's also REALLY smart, she does everything at the speed of light then sits and draws pictures of Xena: Warrior Princess characters in her notebook, although her handwriting does look like a person sat on it, then shuffled round a bit (all slanty and squished and uneven).
A person sat on me today, they didn't shuffle around at all, they apologised, then stood up.
I have a thought for the day for you, here it is: If you participate in something no one else can be bothered with, you will win.
My friend Hayley thinks I'm weird, she doesn't say that, she says I'm "funny" or "different", but that's just because she's polite. I think she's weird too, she has an obsession with Xena: Warrior Princess, which I don't understand, but together we can do a really great impression of the Dr Who theme tune. She looks like the girl in the Lynx advert - the one where it's all rewinded and two people meet in the supermarket, then run home, discarding their clothes as they do so. I tell her this, but she refuses to believe me. She's also REALLY smart, she does everything at the speed of light then sits and draws pictures of Xena: Warrior Princess characters in her notebook, although her handwriting does look like a person sat on it, then shuffled round a bit (all slanty and squished and uneven).
A person sat on me today, they didn't shuffle around at all, they apologised, then stood up.
I have a thought for the day for you, here it is: If you participate in something no one else can be bothered with, you will win.
Saturday, May 07, 2011
Why I wouldn't be a great journalist:
A conversation with a friend about someone I quite like:
"...and he smells really nice, I noticed that today. I almost told him, but then I stopped myself."
"You should have told him!"
"But then he'd think I was sniffing him."
"You WERE sniffing him."
"You really don't get it do you?"
It would have been weird to say, right? I can't be sure because I always manage to get things like this wrong.
The other day during a conversation with someone I had met for the first time that day, I exclaimed "Wow! You're 44? I never would have thought that!" She looked a bit surprised, then asked me how old I had thought she was, to which I replied "um... like, 41?". She frowned, everyone else we were with laughed. I don't get it, I thought people liked to be told they look younger than they are?
Generally, I find the way other people think of things quite abnormal. Particularly things regarding the news and other current affairs.
Earlier today my father came rushing into my bedroom "Stephanie, there's 5 police cars in the road! Let's look out of your window" and my reaction was "meh, if you want". There's always people getting arrested or murdered somewhere outside, I don't see why I should look. If, however, there had been a man with an interesting hat or an dog with a handsome face, I would have looked. They're nice things to see, things that you can't read about in a newspaper everyday, yet most people don't think this is worth looking at.
I liked the Royal Wedding being in the papers because it was so beautiful and happy and exciting! I didn't believe it would ever be over - it just seemed like a constant, then it happened and we were all "WOW!" and now it's gone and we're like "hmm... ooh look, someone just got stabbed and we're all going to be killed by terrorists - AWESOME!"
I am aware of these things, but I can't help thinking it's best not to get too excited about them, just ask yourself if there's anything you can do to help, if not, move on. Bad things are always going to happen, but people making lots of money from it and obsessing over other people's misery doesn't seem right to me.
Or maybe I'm the one with the abnormal view of the world?
"...and he smells really nice, I noticed that today. I almost told him, but then I stopped myself."
"You should have told him!"
"But then he'd think I was sniffing him."
"You WERE sniffing him."
"You really don't get it do you?"
It would have been weird to say, right? I can't be sure because I always manage to get things like this wrong.
The other day during a conversation with someone I had met for the first time that day, I exclaimed "Wow! You're 44? I never would have thought that!" She looked a bit surprised, then asked me how old I had thought she was, to which I replied "um... like, 41?". She frowned, everyone else we were with laughed. I don't get it, I thought people liked to be told they look younger than they are?
Generally, I find the way other people think of things quite abnormal. Particularly things regarding the news and other current affairs.
Earlier today my father came rushing into my bedroom "Stephanie, there's 5 police cars in the road! Let's look out of your window" and my reaction was "meh, if you want". There's always people getting arrested or murdered somewhere outside, I don't see why I should look. If, however, there had been a man with an interesting hat or an dog with a handsome face, I would have looked. They're nice things to see, things that you can't read about in a newspaper everyday, yet most people don't think this is worth looking at.
I liked the Royal Wedding being in the papers because it was so beautiful and happy and exciting! I didn't believe it would ever be over - it just seemed like a constant, then it happened and we were all "WOW!" and now it's gone and we're like "hmm... ooh look, someone just got stabbed and we're all going to be killed by terrorists - AWESOME!"
I am aware of these things, but I can't help thinking it's best not to get too excited about them, just ask yourself if there's anything you can do to help, if not, move on. Bad things are always going to happen, but people making lots of money from it and obsessing over other people's misery doesn't seem right to me.
Or maybe I'm the one with the abnormal view of the world?
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Shhhhhhh
Somebody down the road has one of those tree mashing things. You know, it's a sort of machine that you feed a substantial lump of tree into one end then receive a squashy-lumpy-barky sort of thing from the other end. I am not too sure *why* the people down the road have said contraption, or why they think that now is the appropriate time to use it, but I do know that it is making a noise.
The noise sounds like this: " ;;;!;!:!:;;;nnngggg;;;;{{{{!!!!!!{{{{?????clunk////////nnnnggg/,,,,,,." (and repeat)
But that's okay, I'm cool with that. Probably because that is a pretty accurate description of how the whole of today has sounded. From the very first noisy little bastard bird shouting it's head off through my window at 4 o'clock this morning to the stopclickingyourpenoriwillstabyouintheeye anger in maths to the "PLEASE. CEASE. BLOWING. YOUR. NOSE" desperation on the bus coming home - today has been one long head-achey, irritable chain of Stephanie-hasn't-had-enough-sleep-ness.
My day started with an early-morning Latin class. Everything about that sentence upsets me. I then had to face an after-school Latin class. There are few worse things to sandwich a day between than 10 girls reciting verb conjugations and questions about The Death of Germanicus. More and more often, I find myself wondering what was wrong with me when I decided taking Latin GCSE, in one 6th of the recommended time, was a good idea. (Although, the word "gerundives" never fails to bring a smile to my face)
My point is, that some days you should be allowed to wear headphones constantly, and listen to something beautiful, like Elbow, or maybe Fleet Foxes.
The noise sounds like this: " ;;;!;!:!:;;;nnngggg;;;;{{{{!!!!!!{{{{?????clunk////////nnnnggg/,,,,,,." (and repeat)
But that's okay, I'm cool with that. Probably because that is a pretty accurate description of how the whole of today has sounded. From the very first noisy little bastard bird shouting it's head off through my window at 4 o'clock this morning to the stopclickingyourpenoriwillstabyouintheeye anger in maths to the "PLEASE. CEASE. BLOWING. YOUR. NOSE" desperation on the bus coming home - today has been one long head-achey, irritable chain of Stephanie-hasn't-had-enough-sleep-ness.
My day started with an early-morning Latin class. Everything about that sentence upsets me. I then had to face an after-school Latin class. There are few worse things to sandwich a day between than 10 girls reciting verb conjugations and questions about The Death of Germanicus. More and more often, I find myself wondering what was wrong with me when I decided taking Latin GCSE, in one 6th of the recommended time, was a good idea. (Although, the word "gerundives" never fails to bring a smile to my face)
My point is, that some days you should be allowed to wear headphones constantly, and listen to something beautiful, like Elbow, or maybe Fleet Foxes.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
"I do realise this is a Heston Blumenthal recipe," I say, taking a pretzel out of the cupboard and biting into it, "but is that leg of lamb supposed to be on fire?"
"FUCK"
"That's a 'no', then?"
---
Today I have dressed as minnie mouse and moved slowly through the house, thoughtfully reading a play and occasionally eating biscuits. My Father, on the other hand, having been instructed to decorate the exterior of the house has, well... decorated the exterior of the house, whilst my mother has dug up the flower beds in the front garden, wearing a ridiculously oversized sun hat and her pyjamas.
At the same time, the family across the road have participated in the most competitive egg hunt I have ever witnessed. For 2 hours, I observed toddlers being cheered on, praised and berated by their overly enthusiastic parents as they raced from the tree with the bird feeder in to the front doorstep before finally lifting the newspaper on the garden table to find yet another chocolate encased in foil. At one point, I definitely saw one pensioner point her grandson in the direction of the next prize and although I considered reporting them for foul play, I decided against it. Who am I to judge?
And finally, some art, that is not only relevant to the time of year, but edible. YUM:
Farm cake. Omnomnomnom.
HAPPY EASTER!
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Words and Music 2011
I find that often, it's the things you look forward to the least that you enjoy most.I was positively dreading the Words and Music concert at my school on Thursday evening. I'm not going to say it was the best experience of my life. But it was okay, at least, not as bad as I had expected.
Let me explain: every year my school has a Poet in Residence, some people go to workshops with them and write poems, these are then performed one evening alongside music composed and played by GCSE music students and anyone else who wants to join in.
Being a geek, i was doing both some Words and some Music. Neither of which were very good.
The evening was... long. But it gave me time to reflect on the fact I was actually quite lucky to be able to do it and in rehearsing for HOURS with my mental English teacher and my very stressed music teacher a confused-looking poet, i had actually learnt a lot.
This year, our Poet in Residence was Jay Bernard (here is her website). According to my mental English teacher she is "very very famous". I'm not sure about that. I'd never heard of her. However, that didn't detract from her awesomeness.
About 15 of us spent 5/6 hours dotted across a few weeks writing poems, looking at poems, reading poems, making a mess cutting up magazines and gluing them to bits of of paper (no, I didn't get that bit either) and at the end of it, I feel like I know so much more about writing. Not that I would ever consider being a poet, but it was fun and pretty useful all the same.
I feel really privileged to have been able to learn from someone who is so good at writing, so enthusiastic and positive and completely unpatronising. I wish more people i encounter had that sort of attitude towards young people.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
A Blog? What?
Hello there, remember me?
My name is Stephanie, I'm 15 (AND A HALF) and I live near London. I will always live near London, the idea of living in the country is very nice until you really think about it, then it's terrifying.
When I'm a grown-up, i want to be an angel. Failing that, I would like to be a writer.
I write.
But I don't often let people read it. If you were particularly interested (stalkerish), you could read some of the boring crap I've written about pressing local 'issues' on the News Shopper website. Other than that, I've been almost silent since the start of this year.
Why? Because I'm tired of that horrific sentence...
"I read your blog"
*silence*
I'm fed up with these people then staring at me, REALLY staring at me, like they're struggling to stop their eyeballs actually crawling inside my head and having a good poke around in there.
It doesn't matter if you're some random from my RS class or my Aunt or my Dad or someone I see everyday on the bus but don't really talk to (because, seriously, you're one of the dullest humans I've ever met), I will have replied to these 4 words and intrusive mental scan with a blank expression and "oh.".
Here is what "oh" means:
Well done. You typed my name into the internet (like a pervert/somebody who has far too much time on their hands), did a bit of clicking about, probably found my twitter, then this. I'm not sure what else you want me to say, it's not a secret, I'm not ashamed of it, I wrote a blog because I wanted people to read stuff, it probably isn't aimed at you but go on, read it, comment on it if you like... just don't seem so surprised that it exists. I'm positively flattered that people read what I have to say - I don't waste my time with things I find boring (that probably includes your formspring/tumblr/other places where you write about your made-up sex life and post badly photoshopped photos of you and Justin Beiber)
I know it's shocking that I have thought of things, then written them. But, you know, I do think. I know I often have a vacant, starey look on my face, maybe it's because I think too much. If you asked me a question, you would get a response, I would express my opinions the same as I would on the internet. But you don't ask me, so I don't say anything. People who know me well, will know that I don't feel the need to talk unless there is something to be said. In all likelihood, I feel a conversation with you will detract from my day rather than enhance it.
Seriously, I'm not just the slightly-posh girl who spends her lunchtimes doing homework, who will, every day without fail, hit her head on the utterly pointless shelf in the form room, who doesn't like walking down a corridor on her own in case people look at her, who enjoys sitting at bus stops.
NO!
I am a slightly-posh, geeky, clumsy, paranoid, distant-looking girl WHO ALSO WRITES A BLOG.
So there.
My name is Stephanie, I'm 15 (AND A HALF) and I live near London. I will always live near London, the idea of living in the country is very nice until you really think about it, then it's terrifying.
When I'm a grown-up, i want to be an angel. Failing that, I would like to be a writer.
I write.
But I don't often let people read it. If you were particularly interested (stalkerish), you could read some of the boring crap I've written about pressing local 'issues' on the News Shopper website. Other than that, I've been almost silent since the start of this year.
Why? Because I'm tired of that horrific sentence...
"I read your blog"
*silence*
I'm fed up with these people then staring at me, REALLY staring at me, like they're struggling to stop their eyeballs actually crawling inside my head and having a good poke around in there.
It doesn't matter if you're some random from my RS class or my Aunt or my Dad or someone I see everyday on the bus but don't really talk to (because, seriously, you're one of the dullest humans I've ever met), I will have replied to these 4 words and intrusive mental scan with a blank expression and "oh.".
Here is what "oh" means:
Well done. You typed my name into the internet (like a pervert/somebody who has far too much time on their hands), did a bit of clicking about, probably found my twitter, then this. I'm not sure what else you want me to say, it's not a secret, I'm not ashamed of it, I wrote a blog because I wanted people to read stuff, it probably isn't aimed at you but go on, read it, comment on it if you like... just don't seem so surprised that it exists. I'm positively flattered that people read what I have to say - I don't waste my time with things I find boring (that probably includes your formspring/tumblr/other places where you write about your made-up sex life and post badly photoshopped photos of you and Justin Beiber)
I know it's shocking that I have thought of things, then written them. But, you know, I do think. I know I often have a vacant, starey look on my face, maybe it's because I think too much. If you asked me a question, you would get a response, I would express my opinions the same as I would on the internet. But you don't ask me, so I don't say anything. People who know me well, will know that I don't feel the need to talk unless there is something to be said. In all likelihood, I feel a conversation with you will detract from my day rather than enhance it.
Seriously, I'm not just the slightly-posh girl who spends her lunchtimes doing homework, who will, every day without fail, hit her head on the utterly pointless shelf in the form room, who doesn't like walking down a corridor on her own in case people look at her, who enjoys sitting at bus stops.
NO!
I am a slightly-posh, geeky, clumsy, paranoid, distant-looking girl WHO ALSO WRITES A BLOG.
So there.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Happy Communist Martyrs Day
Valentines day is rubbish.
It's a special day where people who are already happy because they have people that love them, are made to feel even happier and reminded that they are loved.
First of all, I disagree with special days that not everyone can join in with.
I also feel that the overuse of the 'heart' shape is quite vile. Please try to remember that it is representing the mushy, blood soaked squeezy thing that keeps people going and doesn't have very much to do with love at all. If you are going to use it to represent your feelings for someone else, at least have the decency to send them an actual heart, human or otherwise...
Furthermore, I think that if anyone deserves a day dedicated to making them feel happy and a bit smug, it is the people who don't feel loved by anybody every other day of the year. What sort of long term satisfaction will a person with lots of friends and a parter get from a box of over-priced chocolates and a bunch of flowers? Not much. But what will a very lonely person get from a hug and a reminder that there are people who care about them? A LOT.
Now, i'm really busy... so if someone else could organize that? Great, thanks.
In other, more exciting news - 314 days until Christmas!
It's a special day where people who are already happy because they have people that love them, are made to feel even happier and reminded that they are loved.
First of all, I disagree with special days that not everyone can join in with.
I also feel that the overuse of the 'heart' shape is quite vile. Please try to remember that it is representing the mushy, blood soaked squeezy thing that keeps people going and doesn't have very much to do with love at all. If you are going to use it to represent your feelings for someone else, at least have the decency to send them an actual heart, human or otherwise...
Furthermore, I think that if anyone deserves a day dedicated to making them feel happy and a bit smug, it is the people who don't feel loved by anybody every other day of the year. What sort of long term satisfaction will a person with lots of friends and a parter get from a box of over-priced chocolates and a bunch of flowers? Not much. But what will a very lonely person get from a hug and a reminder that there are people who care about them? A LOT.
Now, i'm really busy... so if someone else could organize that? Great, thanks.
In other, more exciting news - 314 days until Christmas!
Sunday, January 02, 2011
12 months have gone already... where?!
Apparently 2010 didn't live up to people's expectations. I'm sorry, but what WERE people expecting? I thought, overall, the good days of 2010 outweighed the bad days by far and I had a very nice time.
So last year I made a list of everything I wanted to achieve in 2010, here's the updated version:
2) Learn to like vegetables. and potatoes. so that i can go round to people's house for dinner without them wanting to murder me.
3)Make my handwriting readable.
5)Make at least 5 new friends.
6)Meet someone famous.
10)Brush my hair more often... like, at least once a week.
11) Smile at at least one random person each day.
13)Get a new hamster.
14) Spend less money on music.
15)Buy a new phone.
16)Read all of the books i got for Christmas.
17) Do my Latin homework. always... (although this one might have to start next week 'coz i *forgot* to take my Latin books home for Christmas)
19)Stop being so concerned about my ugly face.
20) Write at least 1 blog a week.
SO, 2011. What do I want to do this year? I think 2010 but with more glitter (and good exam results) would be a good place to aim for.
HAPPY NEW YEAR lovely blog readers. x
Here are some of the things that made 2010 special:
Matilda.
This lot.
Paris.
iPhone. Nom.
V Festival (The most gorgeous photo of me ever taken - mostly just wearing other people's clothes)
A terrible play with the most amazing lovely funny kind talented cast.
1) Learn to play the piano well. So that when i say "i can play the piano" i won't feel like a complete liar.
Well, i certainly improved. My piano teacher told me I could be "So talented, if only i put a bit more time into it". That made me both sad and happy.
2)
I like chips now, and jacket potatoes and I will eat aubergine without complaining.
3)
4) Cry less.
I think i managed this, i should really have bottled all my 2009 tears and all my 2010 tears and done a comparison.
5)
I made lots of new friends, at least 20 of them. And they're all brilliant.
6)
Erm... Does Boris Johnson count?
7) Follow 116 new people on twitter.
So close, but forgot about this until New Years Eve - maybe I'll do this by the end of 2011?
8) Meet some more of the people i talk to on twitter.
7) Follow 116 new people on twitter.
So close, but forgot about this until New Years Eve - maybe I'll do this by the end of 2011?
8)
I met the lovely Katcal and Regfrog and we went elephant hunting in London then spent hours in Victoria Station chatting. It was a most enjoyable day, even though it was so hot i thought my face was melting.
9) Spend less time on/thinking about twitter.
9)
10)
I think I've managed this, my hair's shorter now anyway and I've stopped leaving the house looking a mess.
11)
People don't often feel like smiling back on a bus at 7 o'clock in the morning :(
12) Raise some money for charity.
Hell yeah! I've done a lot of volunteering this year, we raised £130 for Harris Hospice, I helped at a summer fair which made about £4000 for Help for Heroes and I helped Barry raise £250 for cancer research.
13)
14)
Discovered the joys of borrowing CDs rather than buying my own.
15)
16)
17)
I have my Latin GCSE in 5 months, I'm just a little bit terrified.
18)Stop letting certain people be horrible to me.
18)
2010 - The year I learnt to stand up for myself.
19)
My brilliant cousin Em pointed out to me that nobody is looking at my face, they're all too concerned about themselves.
20) Write at least 1 blog a week.
Hmm... I wrote at least one blog a week but I didn't publish 4 of them. FAIL.
SO, 2011. What do I want to do this year? I think 2010 but with more glitter (and good exam results) would be a good place to aim for.
HAPPY NEW YEAR lovely blog readers. x
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