I really just be here.. minding my own business, and then I get a notification telling me that Abbie has posted. Excitement, joy, happiness.
Anyway I’m now sat here sneezing and coughing for whatever reason. I don’t recall being exposed to a sick person recently, so I have nobody to be pissed off at, and it’s pissing me off. Wherefore am I sick? From whence did these germs come to terrorise me?
I’m also trying to get my creative juices (ew, vagina) flowing, but my brain is so broken right now that I can’t even chat shit. I’ve seen these Vogue videos (I distinctly remember learning that Bella Hadid is Horse Girl™), and I’ve been pretty mad that I’m not famous, simply for the fact that I wanna be asked all these questions. Lo and behold, I have been tagged and it’s my time to shine.
Whilst you’re here, check out Abbie’s post too if you haven’t already. In an ideal world, anything I’d ever have to read in life would be written by her.
*talks about the narcissism of people who take videos of themselves and upload selfies*
*posts 10 facts about themselves as if anybody cares*
Although, let’s be honest. Even if it’s a stranger or a blog you’ve literally just stumbled across, everybody likes to read random facts about someone. You have the really boring ones, like “my favourite colour is ____” and “my birthday is on ____” and you just think…why? What makes you think anybody is interested in that kind of information? It’s like… you’re giving people information about you without giving them an insight into what kind of person you are. That’s boring. But then you have the people who are like “I killed a man when I was 5” and “I have a recurring dream where I’m killing a man”.
I prefer giving people a little insight whilst also withholding vital information that allows one to think they know me. I’m fun at parties* (*I don’t go to parties).
I also, for some godforsaken reason, blog the post when I have approaching deadlines.
Some of us have bucket lists. I used to have a bucket list – I mean a massive, massive bucket list. There were so many place I wanted to go, so many things I wanted to see and do, and try. And now I can’t remember a single thing that I had on there, probably because – and I know how hard this will be to believe – I was a dreamer once upon a time. Gasp. Yes, I used to spend days dreaming about the future and all the places in the world I wanted to go. I even got really specific like “eat at ____ and then go back to the ____ hotel in ___, _____ before getting ready again to watch ____ in the theatre”
But honestly, I’ve always believed that the best way to get to a know a person is to ask them about what they don’t like. What do you hate, what pisses you off? Anybody can say they want to go skydiving or adopt a child from a third world country. But it takes real thought, passion, and honesty to talk about what you hate.
But I thought I’d try and challenge myself since that’s way too easy; so here’s a list of
15 things I’ve never done and will never do:
1] Go to Paris
I hate France. Fuck France. I went to Calais once and it was shit, like really shit, like Birmingham shit. Except it’s racist too. Give us your croissants and piss off. Read more
You know what’s annoying? I have the TV on right not – Peston on Sunday – and my mum just said “If you’re gonna watch the TV can you slow it down”. Why do freshies do this? Instead of “speak quieter” it’s “speak slowly”. Why.
You know what else is annoying? When I tell someone I’m “unavailable tomorrow because I’m going to have a stomach ache”. How dare you scoff. Of course I know, I’m a woman. We know precisely what day we’re going to be bloated, tired, bitchy and bleeding.
Anyway I notice that I blab a lot on here but you don’t really know anything about me. Aside from I am opinionated, annoying, and rant too much. But here I have found 25 not-so-boring questions which I answer in an attempt to tell you something about myself without telling you too much at all. Because honestly I’m not doing this for you. I’m literally here trying to find something out about myself. It calms me.