Monday, July 24, 2006

I went to the lake with Emily and Yvette on Friday and we took photos. I'm going to miss them when I go to uni. I am also really starting to appreciate living where I do, because I can do stuff like this daily.



I also hung out with Joe today. I'll miss him too. Having someone to be vain with is fun.







Oh yeah, and I want to go blonde.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

Remember the ghetto puppy? And how smiley and happy and heart warming she was? Just look at her. I haven't mentioned her for at least one post. Forgive me.

Notice how carefree and joyous she looks? Her eyes were bright, and she didn't have a worry in the world. Her owners (Hello Rachel! Hello Carl!) had bought her a swish little orange coat to wear, and she was excited about trying it out. Oh, little did she know. The ignorance of youth, and also being a shitzu.

"Oh doggybix, she better not be blogging this. My hair is SO unscene right now."

It was a doggy life jacket. This photo was taken a mere hour after the last one. Look at the difference. Happy dog, sad dog. Carefree dog, world weary dog.

The sparkle went out her little eyes. She really didn't like the water, life jacket or not. I feel like an awful animal abuser for dragging her into the river and making her endure something she obviously hated. Let's take a closer look at that little tortured face:

I think that face will haunt me in my dreams for the rest of my life. I am a bad, bad person for putting her through it. Even after I'd taken her for her initial dip though, I was meaner. I thought that maybe "throwing her in the deep end" was the best option to overcome her fear (Also, I was bored...) , so I did just that. I picked her up and carried her to the deepest part of the river, swimming next to her. She totally freaked. She kicked her little doggy legs as fast as she could, not even stopping if I lifted her out. Her legs stayed on autopilot, kicking away in fear.

She became especially panicked when she realized that because I was holding her coat, she wasn't getting closer to the shore, so she changed her tactics. Realizing that the nearest patch of dryish ground was my head, she climbed on that instead. So that was how I ended up swallowing loads of river water, with a lap dog whimpering and standing on my forehead. Ah, good times.

PS - I love Fergus. He wants to let all his fan-ladies know that although he appreciates your loving messages of sentiment, his love is all for me. Sorry ladies!


Tuesday, July 18, 2006

So! I totally have met the love of my life! Yay! He is adorable, I love him! Our hearts are truly one and we are so totally perfect! Yay! Here we are!

We are so in love I feel like my heart could burst every time I look into his big blue eyes, I love him! Yay! I love the way his eyebrows are bushy, its totally adorable! Don't you think so? Yay!



See how much he makes me laugh? He's such a hoot! I'm thinking of making our very own joint myspace profile, just so we can celebrate out love with the world. Yeah! I know you'd all dig that. It'd be so adorable! Yay! Kudos for all!

I LOVE YOU FERGUS

PS - Fergus aside, have you noticed my hair? It is curly!!! And its natural! Its taken me 18 years of having hair to realize that my hair is naturally curly. I usually either sleep on it, or attack it with heated products. But if I don't brush it at all, let it dry naturally and fiddle with it, it is all ringletty and pretty. I am quite shocked that its taken me this long to realize.

Sunday, July 16, 2006



I think I am in love. Seriously, what is there not to like in this video? I mean, David Hasselhoff flies through the air. And puts a giant plastic fish in his mouth and dances. And there's also a scary cameo from some sort of bug monster at the end.

Don't hassle The Hoff.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

So, we celebrated Independance Day last week! Look at the food, look!

What's that in the bottom corner, you may ask? Well, it is a cake of such patriotic proportions that even the most American hating person would have to bow down in homage to The Cake. Have another look.


Fills you with pride, doesn't it? Rachel made it (Hello Rachel!).

At the bangin partaaay, we also dressed up the ghetto puppy, leading to the most inspired photo of me ever taken. If I ever manage to run away to the states and join a high school (I'm working on it...) this would so be my year book photo.

Notice how I even dressed up for the occasion? I made that skirt especially you know. You can't tell, but it has little stars all over it. I (now) take Independance Day very seriously indeed. Freedom from them ruddy Brits and all that.

I also managed to snap other people looking patriotic. Check it.



I like the one of Gav, purely because of how scared the ghetto puppy looks. She was practically whimpering, I swear.

Oh, one last thing...

Chris is actually an axe wielding serial killer, with a penchant for pointy sticks and alcohol.

(And yes, I totally wasn't in the mood for writing tonight. However, pictures speak a thousand words, so this post is worth AT LEAST 7000 words. So nyah.)

Ok, so I was minding my own buisness. I was happily mocking the new Mac commercial* with Matt, reading GFY and practising witty lines in the mirror. All was well in my world.

Suddenly, my vision darkened. Something was infront of my light, and it was moving, fast. Panic hits me. There's a moth in my room. To clarify, I am allergic to moths. When I say allergic, I mean they (and butterflies, and certain types of caterpillar) give me a rash that looks more like a series of warts, but thats not the point. I dislike them. My body dislikes them. Moths are bad, and there is one heading straight towards my face.

Like any normal person would, I panic. I run around my room like an Olsen twin in a blender (Which is incidentally, my new favourite phrase) and scream alot. I grab the nearest thing availabe - which handily, is a tigerskin print inflatable hammer - and hit that moth for all I'm worth. Unfortunately, all I'm worth is little. I miss.

This angers the moth, which flies back in my face again. I do a dramatic German shotputter called Helga style twirl on the spot and attempt again. Fire was in my eyes, and hate was in my heart.

The club meets its fluttering target and then I squeal and run away. I know, I'm a wuss ok? I was so sure it was going to get revenge. Anyway, I searched for the moth until I found it (I wouldn't want to wake up in the night to find it happily dozing away on my pillow). It was resting on the bottom of my pet traffic cone, Babycone (Another long story that deserves a post of her own...)(I LOVE BRACKETS!!!!) and it was oblivious to my attempts to wake it from its blissful slumber.

So the only logical thing left to do was to dangle the traffic cone - which is "dressed" in a Freyagushi corset, a pair of old pants and a sock and some googly eyes - out of the window and shake it for all I'm worth. Eventually the moth was excommunicated from my bedchamber, and flew away into the night, looking for more people to try and destroy.

Also, my bedroom overlooks a busy pub carpark and a main road. Alot of people were in the car park at the time of the traffic cone shaking incident. I really hope I didn't know any of them, or if I did, that I knew them well enough for them to overlook it.

*And no, Apple. Owning a Mac will not turn me into a rockstar, and being a rockstar will not get me all the girls (or guys.) I see straight through your badly made (yet clean, and streamlined) marketing campaign. Go away, and get Firefox.

Saturday, July 08, 2006

I get overcome by a powerful urge to sew sometimes. I'm alright. I can make skirts quickly now that fit and dont look like potato sacks. It took a while, believe me. My early attempts generally hung around my hips like skater pants, and fell apart/off at the merest hint of stress.

I am currently planning my latest sewing adventure: figuring out how to make dresses/tops. This requires making some sort of effort to make stuff fit, which I resent. I plan to master it though, and I will dazzle you all with my efforts.

Anyway, the point of my boasting is to say that I was on eBay, looking for inspiration for my next sewing project. I found none. However, I did find possibly the most pretentious eBay listing ever. It actually made me "rofl." Read it and weep in its glory.

Dare to be different and rock it like a Camden Barfly in this amazingly highly sought & incredibly dapper 60s Style Stripy Mini Dress-Skirt as worn by your Indie-rock heroes to electrify the entire hierarchy of the Post-modern Elite ! Refine the casual burnt-out cool that all hipster scouts must achieve in the hip-panache of the digital era!
There is so much I want to say about that, but can't quite think of where to start. The dress is actually a shapeless, very mumsy black and white stripey thing that no one other than Kate Moss could make look remotely cool.

I bet you're all imagining the sort of person who would write such a listing aren't you? Its a guy, if that helps your imagination. Imagine a bit more. Savour the image. Because its exactly what he looks like in reality - take a look.

I would bet so much cash that this guy has a myspace profile. And if he doesn't, its only because he's too "incredibly dapper" to go on something as "post modern" and "digital era-ish" as myspace.

To bid on some of his fine auctions, check out V.I.N.T.A.G.E CLOTHING FOR HIPSTERS

(I'm sorry for being such a mean, mocking person. Really, I am. I always regret posts like this in the morning.)

(I also have tonsillitis. It hurts.)

(Go hipster scouts, go!)

Thursday, July 06, 2006

Ok, I had a bumper post all planned. It was all about Independance Day and involved alot of genius photos, but you're not getting it today. I am ill, and I am sympathy hunting.*

Let me tell you the long, sad story of my illness, and my brush with death which has nothing to do with the illness. And then you can all comment, going "Awww sweetielumps! I love you, do not be afraid!" or whatever it is sympathetic commenters do.

Anyway, my brush with death. I was driving home the other day on a road I hadn't driven on before. I've only been driving for a few months, so that happens alot, and I wasn't too worried. It was about 11pm.

I decided that taking the motorway home would be easier. I like motorways. I realize some people fear them and avoid them at all costs, but I've rather taken to them. You can drive fast, and in a straight line. I dig that.

So I'm trying to figure out which exit is the motorway exit. I was failing miserably. I missed them all, so turned round and looked again. I do a mean 3 point turn I'll have you know.

I see a sign to the motorway, and have a look. There's a no entry sign, so my mind says "Aha! I will not take that route! I will take the next turning!" Logical, huh? I wouldn't want to be going onto the motorway the wrong way, would I? Going north on a southwards carriage way, for example? Driving straight towards oncoming traffic? We wouldn't want that.

So I'm driving up the slip road, and I'm looking around for traffic. I see none. My mind wanders to the other carriage way, and does a double take. Surely it is not normal for it to be travelling in the same direction as me? And also, it is unusual for the slip road to lead into the right hand lane. That's never happened before...

Suddenly, the gravity of my situation hits me like a flying water buffalo. I need to get off the slip road, right now. Preferably not onto the carriage way, with all the oncoming traffic just round the corner and all. That wouldn't do.

So I do a combination of feverish reversing and sloppy 7 point turns and get back on the nice, normal, happy road, where nothing threatens my life. It was distressing. I was blubbering all the way home. That is the first reason why you should pity me.

The second is that I am poorly. I awoke at 1am this morning thinking I had ruined a cake by disinfecting it, and that the whole country was in chaos. Suddenly, I was in WW1 trenches and I needed to crawl towards the shoreline and escape but I didn't know why. I was very confused indeed, hence my crying. I eventually managed to get the attention of my sleeping mother, who proceeded to feed me full of drugs, take my temperature (102. Impressive, huh?) and do other mother like things, which were all helpful and comforting. I eventually got back to a blissful dream free sleep.

When I awoke, I proceeded to puke and be generally feverish and sweaty and gross. This has lessened throughout the day to a throbbing headache and a body that feels like its been savaged by 17 hungry alsations. I dislike this greatly.

*However, you can get this, as a small sampler of what is to come.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

On Monday I went on a food hygiene course at Newton Rigg. I have seen the error of my ways and am now repenting muchly.

Most of you will know me as the girl who once at fish and chips out of a bin in Workington, and that is true. In my defence, I'd just seen a man put them in there, so I knew they hadn't been sitting there rotting for days. They were still warm, and tasted good. I also used to think little of eating food off the floor, even if it had been there for longer than I could remember. It just didnt faze me. Despite this, I have never had food poisoning in my life. I presume I've built up a strong tolerance to most things by chewing my nails.

However, things have now changed. All I can think about is cleanliness. When I got home from the course, I innocently went to my bathroom to take myspace photos in the mirror in ode to Clayton, when I realized how gross I am. My sink had toothpaste stains and goodness knows what else in it, so I started feverishly scrubbing it with ultra strength bathroom cleaning fluid. After that, I realized that my toothbrush is probably contaminated also, so I cleaned that in some anti bacterial fluid. I mean, that things been in my mouth. Then while I was at it, I cleaned and polished my toothpaste. It was sort of grubby. Then I cleaned the toilet, and washed my hands about 19 times in the process, keeping them as far away from my face as humanely possible.

After all this, I was feeling slightly manic, so decided to leave the bathroom. However, something was in my way - the door handle.

I thought of all the times I'd touched that handle with unclean hands (Many.). I thought of the times when I'd cleaned it (Zero.). I thought of germs and bacteria and maggots and dirt.

Blubbering away to myself, I made a complex contraption out of kitchen towels and antibacterial scrub on a stick and managed to open the thing. It was a traumatic experience, so now I'm just trying to go to the toilet as little as possible. Its just too risky.

Also, I am possibly, just possibly, frightened of thunderstorms.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Recently, people have found this blog by searching for SCREAMING PACMAN FROGS and cats who look like dictators.

This gives me far more pleasure and self worth than you can ever realize.

Sunday, July 02, 2006


"Before the throne of God above
I have a strong, a perfect plea:
a great High Priest, whose name is Love,
who ever lives and pleads for me.

My name is graven on His hands,
my name is written on His heart;
I know that while in heaven He stands
no tongue can bid me thence depart.


When Satan tempts me to despair,
and tells me of the guilt within,
upward I look, and see Him there
who made an end to all my sin.
"

You know the story of the prodigal son? I am that son far too often. I run away from God, live it up briefly, then come home with my tail (Metaphorically speaking, ofcourse. I don't have a tail.) between my legs. And each time God is waiting for me with open arms, not wanting to condemn me, but to rejoice that I've come home.

You would have thought that after the first time I would be so grateful, that I would learn my lesson, put it down to ignorance and childish selfishness and not do it again. Oh no, not me. It happens again and again. And each time, God's still there, waiting for me. Not being angry, not wanting to give up on me, but just waiting restlessly for me to come home to Him.

I wish I wasn't a prodigal sometimes. I hate it. It's so humbling. I crawl back each time, somewhat bruised and ashamed. I still can't do it on my own. Despite countless blessings, I still can't do it. My sins are big and numerous. I just can't do it.

Which is maybe how it's supposed to be. Maybe we're not supposed to be able to do it on our own - maybe we do need God. Maybe God doesn't just bless us and send us off on our own, but maybe we always need Him. Maybe we're never really "there," but God is. Maybe being a prodigal is the best place to be.

We never stop needing God. We've all fallen short of perfection, and will continue doing so. I'm always going to be a sinner - I'm just a forgiven one.

If being a prodigal is the only way to realize how much I need God, then I'll do it. I won't go out of my way to sin - I think I can do that well enough without thinking about it, thanks - but I'll keep on crawling back. I won't give up. However much it stabs my pride in the face, I'll come back. However shameful it is to approach God's throne in a state less than perfection, I can go do it. I can run forward, knowing full well that all God wants is for me to come back to Him again. Not so he can chastise me and guilt trip me, but to embrace me and to welcome me home again.

I'd rather be the prodigal son than his brother - who had lived a good life, but didn't realize how lucky he was. The prodigal knew how merciful his father was - his brother did not. And however easy, nice and unshameful his brothers life was, it still hadn't brought him closer to his father. Maybe realizing we're sinners is the way forward if we want to live a life that counts. I wouldn't submit my life to God with such willingness, trust and fevour if I thought I could manage on my own.

Still hurts though.

"Because the sinless Savior died,
my sinful soul is counted free;
for God, the Just, is satisfied
to look on him and pardon me.

Behold him there! the risen Lamb!
My perfect, spotless Righteousness,
the great unchangeable I AM,
the King of glory and of grace!

One with himself, I cannot die;
my soul is purchased by His blood;
my life is hid with Christ on high,
with Christ, my Savior and my God."

Saturday, July 01, 2006


You scored as Protestant. You have mainly Protestant beliefs. You believe that God can communicate with each of us personally and there is no need for a priest to mediate between you and God.


Protestant


100%

Evangelical


87%

Non Denominational Christian


73%

Presbytarian


73%

Trinitarian


67%

Charismatic/Pentecostal


67%

Anglican/Episcopal


60%

Ecumenical


53%

Christian Scientist


40%

Unitarian


20%

Catholic/Orthodox


13%

Messianic Jew/J4J


7%

Mormon


0%

Jehovahs Witness


0%

What denomination suits you best?
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