Haha, is that me?
I’ve been so busy recently, but at the same time… not. I’ve been speaking to more people, landing myself in new situations and, more often than not, have been increasingly finding myself staring into an imaginary camera. Some days I’m Jim. Other days I’m Michael. But most days I’m Jim. I am, however, always Patrick Bateman… And Dwight.
There are things I believe that I thought were common sense, but obviously not. I quit my job, I reconnected with people, I decided I was gonna be done with bullshit once and for all, and, as of recently, have decided to become the me I always tried to be. Uncensored and transparent. You thought you liked me before, wait till you see me now!!!!!!!
So I guess this post is inspired by the reason I have so many frown lines, and the reason I look into the aforementioned imaginary camera. Sometimes you just want to pick someone up and shake them and scream ‘I JUST WANT WHAT’S BEST FOR YOU’ but you can’t because you’re 5″2, so you have to settle with a rant on WordPress.
Let’s go, the clock is ticking.
Institutional education doesn’t make you a better or a worse person Read more
Yes, you read that right. All that time spent indoors and trying to create a semblance of an online presence. God loves ugly x
Sooooo I was nominated by Abbie (who is so hecking nice, follow her on everything right now) for the Versatile Blogger Award and seeing that made me go ‘!!!!!’.
I’m really, really picky with everything in life. Just like generally. I’m picky with what I wear, with who I talk to, with the movies I watch. I’m not picky with food tho. Don’t ever ask me where I want to eat because I don’t know!!! I DON’T KNOW!!!!! I AM A FAT GANNET I’LL EAT ANYTHING!!!!!!!!!!
I am also picky with the things that I read; if I don’t like the writing style or the content is too uniform and boring, I’ll just never visit that blog again. Soz. So listen to me when I tell you to check out Abbie’s blog: I love her writing style and really look forward to reading what she posts next. I’m probably gonna have a go at those body scrubs cos ain’t nobody got time to throw £500 at Lush.
I never knew about the ‘blogger community’ until Twitter, and I’ve learnt that this is one that involves support and positivity. It’s so much nicer than catty, bitchy competitiveness that you see everywhere (amongst girls, really). Hopefully more guys get into blogging; it’s cooler than you think. Everyone is cool. Nobody tears anybody down. And that’s exactly what this award about. I suppose I’m a ‘versatile’ blogger in that I’m a dumb idiot who doesn’t have a theme and instead vomits out all the shit that lies in my head. Oops.
Anyway. So I gotta give you seven facts about myself. This is “let’s go around the room and say something interesting about ourselves”, isn’t it? Alright.
Haha, Eleven, get it, because I still haven’t watched season 2 of Stranger Things.
Winter is upon us, (yes, Winter, because it’s getting really cold really fast) and it is thus time to break out the fat socks and double up your duvets. Yes, you can choose to stay in on a Friday night and not feel guilty about it. Yes, you can get out of bed at 12pm on Sunday and get back in at 8pm. Yes, it is time to eat a doner kebab and go straight to bed.
‘What can I do on a Friday night, k, if I’m not going out clubbing?‘ you ask? Well, friends, here is where I arrive in my usual grandiose style and hand you a list of the best movies ever made. I urge you to steadily make your way through these, savour every single minute, and finally present to me a 1,000 word essay on what you liked and didn’t like.
We don’t know when our last days are, so get cracking please x
Imagine I almost cried when I read Chester Bennington’s note to Chris Cornell after his death. Imagine I write a tribute to Chris Cornell on his birthday. And on that same goddamn day, Chester Bennington is found dead.
Chester fucking Bennington.
Honestly, I’m distraught. I wrote in the last post that Chris Cornell’s death was the only one to affect me. Well, girls and boys, make that one of TWO deaths to affect me.
Let me tell you that Linkin Park were a big part of my entire child/teenhood. My entire. Teenhood.
Don’t you just love the way ice cold coke burns the back of your throat? I’m taking a break from this brain-frying revision, I’ve eaten half a tub of honey greek yoghurt, had four glasses of coke, half a pack of share-pouch m&ms and I’m ready to go.
So. When I was younger, I used to dream about having a big, extravagant wedding, bigger and better than any of the ones I had already been to.
No, that’s a lie. When I was younger I didn’t care about marriage. I didn’t care whether I found someone to marry or not. I definitely didn’t care about a wedding and I never spared a single thought for it; Asians do it big and weddings just gave me headaches – most of the time I didn’t even know who’s wedding I was at and I never understood why I was there (except for the food, which doesn’t really make up for spending £100 on an outfit). It was always family, and I had known most of the people there except the bride and groom. How? I know not.
But once I hit adolescence and the prospect of marriage became a very real thing, my thoughts started to wander. What if Imma let you finish, but I could have the best wedding of all time? What if it was the kind of wedding that EVERYONE would be talking about for years to come? What if there was Nandos or a kebab station? What if the best day of my life was truly the best day of my life in each corner of a massive hall or in each grain of sand that my guests would be flown out to dance on? Before I knew it, I was sighing in the face of those Berta bridal dresses, listening to a playlist I made up and knowing exactly when each song was going to be played, ensuring my guests can stuff their faces without the domineering presence of a cameraman zooming into their face. And no, there wouldn’t be daal hanging off their chin either.
Step number 1: make sure your laptop isn’t DEAD.
It’s really creeping me out that it’s 1am at the time of writing this and I have randomly started to smell an unfamiliar womens perfume that wasn’t here before… anyway. I dislike talking about my own personal goings on (going ons?) on here. Not everything I write is autobiographical, but sometimes you can’t help but spill over into your words, you know? I have trouble expressing myself because there are literally not enough words in any language, not enough metaphors to help me do so. So immense frustration ensues and I write even more to dispel this frustration. Also, remember that one can write poetry in a way that makes the reader think it is autobiographical; it’s not difficult to put yourself in someone else’s shoes.
Anyway, I am NO blog expert. But take it from a person who frequently dissociates and rarely cares about anything: I can tell you what you’re doing wrong, and I can tell you what will make it better. Here are a few blogging tips: