Just to pass the time...

Started this as when I used to get back from work, I was usually so hyped I couldn't sleep for a couple of hours. Now just sort of carried it on for the fun, I try to make it funny, if it isn't please don't hurt me... Anyway, try to enjoy :)

Monday 28 December 2015

Christmas and the States

As pretty much the worst excuse for a blogger, I apologise. Things have been pretty hectic, and as I write I'm living the high life in the mighty US of A.

Family holidays to Florida tend to be pretty jam-packed and as for school...

SCHOOL...

It has this habit of lulling you in to this wonderful sense of security that you're on top of all your work and you can start to relax.

NEVER TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY EVER IT IS ALL A LIE

The second you leave your work for a little while because you've got a while and not much else to do, you watch a few films, go on social media, spend some time with your boyfriend, the second you decide that that's a good idea, the worst thing possible happens....

You're in your bubble of security and then you get to school one day only to be given 36 essays and 42 pieces of homework in for next Tuesday.

And the second that happens.... Well, basically... You're fucked.

I've made this mistake 5 or 6 times now and am still waiting to have learnt my lesson. I'll probably make it at least another 13 times. Just, ya know. Just to be sure.

And then it hits December 1st and all you can remember are the lyrics to Slade and Mariah Carey and you couldn't give a flying fuck why the American Civil War started, or the techniques used by Shakespeare to compare the Renaissance and the Medieval. You want to sit by the fireplace drinking hot chocolate in your pyjamas listening to the Christmas classics with a mince pie.

Then you hear on the news it's meant to snow. You think "yay, no school on Friday! I'll leave my homework!".

And then it doesn't snow. And you do have school on Friday. And then once again, you are royally fucked.

Anyway, iit's still the holidays, I need to stop fretting about school before I depress myself.

The last thing that I remember from school in 2015 was an Italian lesson in which my friends all appeared at the window brandishing a bra and shouting "WE HAVE A BRA FOR YOU!!!".

I didn't even bother explaining to the teacher what the circumstances were, but I can assure you it's a other more innocent than you're probably thinking.

Think my friend lent me a strapless bra for holiday so I could wear halternecks as we're the same size.

We girlies like to share more than just gossip.

But Florida.

Something I've noticed here is the fact that everyone is so much friendlier than back at home.

You'll be ambling down a street when someone waves at you and asks how your day is going.

Naturally,  I do the very British thing of looking over my shoulder, believing the stranger us addressing someone other than myself.  But alas, no. They did mean to talk to me.

Even Brits are more friendly to other Brits here. You hear the tones of another English accent and you start chatting to them no matter what and walk away as unlikely chums.

Back in the UK we're far more likely to shove someone down the escalators of the Underground than we are of making smalltalk with strangers.

Think about it. If I passed a stranger in the street back home I'd generally look at the pavement and scuttle along. If I was feeling particularly adventurous maybe I'd attempt a smile.

Here it's everyone talks to everyone, long conversations with waiting staff and parking operatives, and "ohmygawd I LURVE your accent!"

Within an hour of landing in this country I was asked what a Donnex's catchphrase was. I had not the foggiest what this chap from the rental car company was on about until he said "EXTERMINATE!". It then occurred to me that he must have meant a Dalek.

Some stranger walked up to me a couple of days ago at the swimming pool and asked what Premier League football team I supported. They laughed when they said football, as if we Brits were the ones that christened a sport which predominantly uses hands "football".

I had to disappoint him in saying I honestly couldn't give a flying toss about a spherical ball moving up and down a grassy field.

Thinking about it, I'm not very British. I don't even like tea which apparently just strips me of my nationality straight away.

Thankfully I've managed to find out how to mask my IP address on my laptop so we've been able to keep up with all our favour BBC shows. Luther, Call The Midwife, Doctor Who, Sherlock. We've stayed up to date on all our British faves.

A man from Northern USA said to my family the other day that you can always spot a Brit because they'll be the ones wearing socks on the beach. Usually black. True to his word my dad was wearing socks, only they were white.

I haven't worn socks since I got here. I'm really failing on the whole British thing I believe.

Wednesday 4 November 2015

Corridor Wars and the Battle of Beauty

I haven't posted in a while. I apologise for this but I've been a bit busy.

I'm here now. That's what counts, aye?

Anyway, I'm not exactly sure what I'm posting about so I figured I'd just let the words leave my fingertips and see where exactly we end up once I'm finished. 

Something I have noticed at school is that everyone lied to me.

I was told all the younger years would be scared of me, dodging me in corridors and scuttling away frightened every time my gaze fixed upon their tiny faces.

Is this the case?

No. No it is not.

Quite on the contrary, these small children just shove me out of the way as if I wasn't even there. 

I'm late for lessons 100% of the time, not because I have abysmal time keeping skills, or dawdle in the corridors, or anything swaggy and IDGAF like that.

I'm late because all the little kids shove me in to walls.

They walk in rows. They walk down narrow corridor in lines, obstructing the whole path and I'm like arrrrgh where do I even go? 

I said "excuse me" the other day and a younger student had a go at me. I felt quite violated and ashamed. Not going to lie about it.

So now I roam the corridors clutching my travel mug tightly to my chest, sporting a fearful expression and prepared to throw hot chocolate over any unfavorable character.

Okay, that's a lie. I wouldn't really throw hot chocolate over a child. But it does get agitating, especially with sarcastic teachers.

"Well good evening, Robyn. Might I ask where you've been?"

*shifty look left. Shifty look right*
"Well the corridor was kinda busy...."

They never buy it.

It doesn't help being near enough the same height/shorter than the majority of them.

I found out how tall I actually am the other day and let's just say I was not darn well impressed.

So having been one of the tallest in my year for a long time everyone was fairly confident I'd be tall enough to be a model. What a disappointment.

I was at the nurse's having a check up for medication (yay...) and she checked my BMI. My weight I scrunched my eyes up so I didn't have to look. My height.....

I stood up against the wall measure, the nurse brought the measurey thing down on to my head.

"One hundred and sixty-three centimetres!"

Half an hour later I googled what this is in feet.

5ft4. What.

I could swear I was 5ft6 at one point. After the vertebral disk injury a couple of years ago I must have shrunk. It's the only explanation.....

So yeah, now I'm one of the midgets.

So yeah, schools pretty stressful at the moment. OBVIOUSLY that's the worst of it though. Not the mountains of homework or anything.

My salvation is my free periods, where I can chill out a bit, slowly work on something while noshing on something that'll make life seem so much better, and giggling away with my girlies,

In a couple of weeks we've all got GCSE presentation evening, so everyone's all having kittens about what dress to wear to it.

This includes me, as my mother decided to buy some the other day which don't look toooo bad on me.

Naturally, I asked my friends and boyfriend, and while Alex was saying I should go for the red one, my girl mates were like "not that one"

So I'm like ahhhh. I guess I'll go in my pyjamas.

I dressed up fairly nice the other week for my cousin Becky's birthday party. It was at a cocktail bar I ended up getting served at and I had a tad too many.

Apparently I was stroking Alex's leg telling him I wanted to kiss him. Nice to know I turn into one hella creepy bitch when drunk. 

It was a great evening though soooo whateverrrr.

After his initial laughing at me, he said it was "kinda cute".

I'm sorry but no.... I just sound like some whacko molester.

All I remember is walking out my house looking and feeling pretty damn awesome and walking back in again feeling very giggly, loved-up and looking like the Joker.

Anyway we all had a great time and I did get to kiss him. So all was well xD

All's well that ends well.


Saturday 31 October 2015

A Damaged Pride Amongst Other Things

So on Saturday I had my first day off in a considerably extended period of time.

So how, do you assume, I spent my relaxing day off?

Going on a wondrous adventure with my boyfriend?

Shopping with my girl mates and having a right old laugh?

Chilling in front of Netflix in my PJs with a steaming cup of luxury hot chocolate?

THINK AGAIN!

I figured a nice way to spend my day off would be at the MIU of my local hospital.

For those with less hospital experience, that's the minor injuries unit.

How, you might ask, did I end up in said predicament?

Well...

You see...

I flew down my cellar steps like the second coming of Lucifer.

Yes. I swear on my life. That's what happened.

I thought, "Well hey, what's the point in going all the way upstairs to get my own shoes when I can just slip my dad's on quickly for nipping down the cellar!"

That thought process, while having occurred and in fact succeeded on multiple occasions, in this instance, was nothing short of insanity.

I got to the second step down and I'm fairly certain I must have slipped.

I'm not entirely certain because I don't really remember what happened up to That Fucking Moment.

That Fucking Moment where you realise.... you fucked up.

You fucked up BIG TIME!

So I sort of became concious that I was falling and that immediate doom was inevitable a few milliseconds before my back collided with the brick step with an incredible force.

Did it stop there?

No it did not.

In the true style of the pull of gravity, I continued my downstairs descent with a "DONK DONK DONK DONK DONK"

The whole "DONK" thing?

Yeah. That was the sound of my spine hitting brick. Somewhere amongst that was also my right elbow hitting brick.

There was basically a lot of me hitting brick.

After I'd stopped donking down the steps, I omitted such a noise that my sister described as a "hurty whale" and led my brother to the belief that a dog had somehow got in to the cellar.

Flattered, as you can imagine.

Anyway, I finally managed to move, found myself unable to move my elbow, laugh, cough or sit down.

So I ended up waiting in the hospital for a considerable amount of time, being told it was ligament and muscle damage in my arm, and told that the muscles in my back, had once again, torn.

Having recently been diagnosed with hypermobility syndrome, this didn't really come as much of a shock.

What was rather shocking though was having to pee in a paper dish and walk out of the toilet, rather skeptical that the thing was going to even hold, and hand it to the nurse looking after me while trying to draw as little attention to myself as possible.

Yep. Had to have my pee checked for blood to make sure my kidneys hadn't taken too much of a bashing. Awkward much.

Anyway, I was sent home with a sling and a considerable dent in my pride.

Tuesday 20 October 2015

A Mini Me

Most people have a lot of funny stories from when they were kids but having been talking to my mum, I was honestly such a classic *embarrassing* child it even cracks me up!

So I spent the first few years of my life living in a teeny village alongside the Kentish downs, so it was essentially like living under a very green and spacious rock.

So I saw mostly the same people day in, day out basically. However I did learn things through the TV which made me feel awful smart. I was one of those inquisitive little children that asked questions about literally EVERYTHING. I had to know the ins and outs of just about anything and everything.

Even from a young age I liked swimming, so there I was, swimming with my mum, armbands on, and who do I see other than a black man.

So I'd learnt about different skin colours on the TV but I hadn't really seen it first hand so according to my mum, my little chubby three-year old face lit up and I paddled off before she could do anything about it, to talk to the poor chap.

"You're black, aren't you?" I said, very proud of myself.

"Yes I am," He replied. "And what colour are you?"

My face shone even more and I flicked my head in a very know-all fashion.

"Oh, I'm SILVER!"

Silver. I said I was silver.

Silver. 

SILVER???

Oh my word. Wasn't I just wonderful?

I was also fairly demanding. I still am, really. Reply to my message, hug me, love me... JOKING. Or am I? I'll leave you to suss that one out...

If I wanted something, I wanted it and I would go to extreme lengths to ensure I got what I wanted. So, when I was three I actually lived in Kavala, in Greece for several months because of a work placement my dad had got. So my life was pretty damn chill, beach every day, sandcastles every day, paddling, glorious sunshine. The picture-perfect life, when you think about it.

But I wanted an ice-cream, even though I'd already had one. So my mum said, "No, Robyn, you can't have another one, play nicely now please."

But that wasn't good enough for me.

I waddled up to the kiosk, approached the man who was second-in-line and yelled "BUY ME AN ICE-CREAM, NOW!!"

And to the poor guy's credit, he did. 

So I walked back to mum, happily slurping away at my ice-cream, which shortly followed with a full-blown interrogation as to where I'd got it from.

"That man bought it for me, mummy!"

Just dropped him right in it. I was such a little shit!

So mum had to pay the bloke back and I got away with my ice-cream, although I did get in a LOT of trouble.

Like, a hella lot.

But the "now" thing kind of was kind of a thing for me. We were at some barbecue, I was two years old I think? Anyway, I went up to my mum and I said, "Mummy, I want another drink!"

So, my mother being a wonderful model parent for all the people surrounding us, replied "And what's the magic word, Robyn?"

So I stood up tall and went "NOW!!!

Everyone nearby scarpered pretty quickly, like oooh, how embarrassing. I had that effect. I made people walk away from us, I was so embarrassing.

But my all-time personal favourite has to be the time we went to B&Q. Again, I was two and I was stuck at that awkward stage where I called every lady "mummy" and every man "daddy". So mum was trying to get me to kick the habit, like "No Robyn, that's a lady."

This one time though I got it spot on.

So we were browsing for God-knows what around B&Q and the sales assistant walks over and politely asks "Hello there, is there anything I can help you with today?"

My arms dropped down by my sides. My eyes widened like saucers. My jaw hit the floor.

I lifted one arm, pointed at the sales assistant and yelled, at the absolute top of my voice,

"MAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!!"


For what was stood in front of me, was reasonably obviously, a male transvestite looking absolutely mortified.

So what did my mum do?

She scooped me up under one arm.

And she ran as fast as she could to get the hell out of there.

She couldn't exactly tell me off; I was merely being honest.

The moral of the story is: don't get caught with me out and about in public, because I have a talent for showing people up.

Yup. That's me.

Monday 12 October 2015

A Shakespearean Adventure

So last week I went up to London to see Shakespeare's Measure For Measure at the REAL ACTUAL Globe Theatre!

Well. You know. Like the 5th restoration of it.

So I got to go to school in jeans, a T-shirt a hoodie and my beloved Converse.

I walked to meet my friend Jaz and her jaw hit the floor. Apparently seeing me so un-smart was a bit of a shock.

I was in school for one lesson. That was one hour and twenty minutes of "ROBYN OMG you can't wear jeans! They're gonna send you home!"

Bite me, bitch.

The pals I was with had started a group chat the night before which was an agreement to bring a tonne of sugar filled foods which would probably result in us being so hyper we'd be shaking throughout the duration of the trip. This was with Kim, Georgia, and Laura was accepted in to it shortly afterwards.

This group chat had been affectionately named by me as "The Fornication Foundation".

This seems totally weird unless you're actually familiar with the story of Measure For Measure.

Psst....psst...It's about PRE-MARITAL SEX!

Yeah, so we got on the train and tipped our bags out on the table...

We had 2 chocolate oranges, a box of swizzles favourites, a bag of Doritos, a pack of Oreos, Haribo minions, and then bought some Kinder eggs at the station.

If I've forgotten anything guys just comment because I swear there was more....

So we managed to get to the Globe and after wrestling for some lunch at Eat, we took our places in the courtyard of the theatre, where we faced our next biggest issue.,,

Standing up for three hours.

Uh oh.

So we were up to the left of the stage, leaning right on it. I had to be on my tiptoes, because...well...yeah, but the others coped all right.

Within minutes all of us had spotted the same guy opposite from us at the other side of the theatre.

He was a cross between Stephen Mulhern and Leonardo DiCaprio. Dazzling smile. Beautiful face. We all spent the full hour and three quarters of the first half of the play not really paying attention, but more watching "Fit Guy" as he was affectionately christened.

Whenever he looked in our direction, we all looked at each other and giggled, That's how creepy we are.

Okay, I did actually pay attention to most of the play, but it was Shakespeare, and need I say more?

Plus my back was literally killing me, standing for so damn long.

Anyway, after sitting in a massive heap on the floor of the Globe for like 15 minutes, we were told we had to get up to endure *cough cough* whoops, sorry, I meant ENJOY the second half, which wasn't really half at all, but about a fifth of what the first half had been.

But Fit Guy had disappeared so we were much more concerned about finding him than Lucio's marriage to a whore.

Spoiler alert....

Anyway, the highlight of the play was when a wheelbarrow tipped over and fell on the audience at the front and one of the actors had to come out of character to ensure they were okay.

Leaving the Globe, we found Fit Guy, only up so closed we realised...he was not so fit after all.

In fact, he was around 40 years old, with wrinkles, a balding head, clothes a few sizes too big, and a pot belly.

Bit embarrassing....

So we ran.

I kept getting crushed at Waterloo Station, with people walking in to me at all angles while I yelled something along the lines of:

"People!! Everywhere!! I live in the middle of nowhere! There are more people in this station than in a 5 mile radius of my house! Help!"

The train home was somewhat eventful, after not getting a seat and the others scrounging off of my personal hotspot (I ran out of 3G on Friday guys, cheers xD).

There was also a minor incident of Kim vs her Double Whopper and the onion-that-was-meant-to-be-lettuce. But i won't go in to the gory details

But it was a great day out, with lots of laughs (like me failing at hair tutorials) and lessons (such as age before beauty....)

Love you guys!!



Wednesday 7 October 2015

Comical Misfortune

I swear it is literally always me....

Some weird cloud of devastation follows me....

But instead of the simple tragic events, I end up with the tragically comedic and just plain pathetic incidents which, while being funny for the majority of onlookers, for me, really aren't actually all that funny.

So yesterday was pretty standard until I sat down on the common room floor awkwardly and couldn't get back up again.

Smooth, I know.

So my friends Kim and Georgia came over to try and help me up, only my shoes don't have all that much grip...I ended up skidding along the floor and landing in an awkward heap, yelling at them about how a chair with three legs would have provided me with more stability while they tried not to wet themselves.

I am literally the essence of attractive *L'Oreal hair flick*

Merely two hours later, I looked over my shoulder to say goodbye to someone and full-on face-planted a bus stop post, thus rebounding a good metre or so.

The poor chap didn't quite know how to react....

For some reason, I always seem to attempt to get off the train on the wrong side. I'll be frantically pressing the button, wondering why the damn thing isn't opening, before realising that everyone else is offloading on the other side of the train and they're all looking at me as if I've been let out for the day...

Whoopsie daisy....

I also have this habit of trying to be a hella lot cooler than I actually am.

So again, yesterday - t'was not a good day - it chucked it down, and in order to jump over a colossal puddle flooding the entrance to a park I had to walk through, I climbed on top of a wall.

It was only like hip height but still, it was a bit of a struggle.... especially as it was dark and raining and my bag weighed a tonne

Then some weird thing...REALLY weird... possessed me to think "jumping over this puddles gonna be hella swag, I should toats magotes film this to up my street cred"

No.

Just. No.

I commenced filming, jumped off the wall and just carried on going down

And down...

...and down

.......and down

.........and just a bit more

Until I landed in the goddamn puddle.

I filmed myself falling in a puddle. What even am I?

Somehow, I turned my Siri on in my pocket yesterday while talking to my dad and I went to check the time and what has Siri deciphered other than:

"Do you like my dick"

No, Siri. Go home. You're drunk.

Today's incident was so unfortunate that I'm surprised I still have my hair on and a functioning cardiac muscle.

I was at band practise, mid-way through a song. I like to film it so we can look back and figure out weaker points.

The fire alarm went off mid-song

And I jumped a mile and screamed the place down.

The worst part is that the fire alarm goes off every single week, as they test them at 4pm on a Friday. They just did it a bit earlier than usual today....

Thanks a bunch. So now I have a video of me having a heart attack.

I never want to hear "Use Somebody" ever again anymore.

It's just tragic. I'm a drama magnet.

Huelp

Monday 5 October 2015

Quirks & Perks

So here's a small rant about the quirky little things other people may relate to... Or alternatively I'm just super duper weird. Also a possibility...

Firstly.

Hiccups....

I swear I always get these at the most insanely inappropriate moments. I'll be sat in the middle of a test, and for literally no reason, I'm bouncing up and down like some out-of-control space-hopper gone wrong, going "HIC HIC HIC HIC HIC HIC!"

It's not even remotely discreet. It's like I've been possessed. And then people (aka my so-called "friends") start giggling which draws even more unwanted attention upon myself to the point I'm asked to go and get a drink and control the involuntary spasms racking my body.

Secondly, when someone talks to me whilst I'm not expecting it my response will ALWAYS sound sarcastic. For example, I was approached in the common room the other day by my head of year.

Him: "Oh! Robyn! I've got something in my office for you if you'd like to collect it at lunch." (Being my student card)
Me: "OHHH well doesn't that just sound DELIGHTFUL!" 

And that's one way to piss people off. 

People think I'm doing it on purpose, it's difficult to explain that I was actually being genuine... It's just an anti-awkwardness mechanism.

Next, how could I forget that every time I sneeze, I'm met with a chorus of "Bless you!"

I get it. It's polite. But for some reason it really aggravates me.... I'm just sat there minding my own business and then "ATISHOO!". As if that wasn't already bad enough and I wasn't already drawing enough attention, I get blessed.

Don't bless me. I'm evil. It won't work so well in your favour.... As I've already pointed out, I'm fairly certain I'm possessed... I mean, sarcasm and hiccups don't lead up to nothing.



I don't need a blessing. I need an exorcist.

Also, MY JOINTS!!!

I snap and crack more times a day than a raging psychopath under an extortionate amount of pressure.

It's quite fun in exams and in the cinema.

Just think about it. You're watching an intense horror movie and it's the quiet bit where something's about to jump out...

...and

...CRACK!

If I just rotate my ankle, I get "click click click click" which I often use as a metronome whilst practicing guitar. And I'm not even ashamed to admit it.

But when I wake up and am relentlessly trying to be silent, all my joints going off at once really doesn't help. My hips and shoulders sound like someone being shot.

One time, in German class, my hip went off when I wasn't expecting it, I nearly shat myself, and stacked it as a result....

My doctors and physio keep thinking I'm hyper-mobile or something which would explain the back but I've had all these tests and stuff where a had to stretch my fingers out as far as they would go, and things like that, and I'm not. It's just some whacky thing about me which I could easily live without.

It bothers some people too, when I sit there and push in all my knuckles to make them pop. Personally I don't feel the issue....to me it feels like releasing a demon from my fists.

Does anyone else always start hearing people shouting their name the second they put earphones in or are those just the voices in my head that tell me what to do....?

Recently too, I seem to be getting very emotional about trivial things. My phone will be playing music on shuffle and a song I'm not keen on will come on.

And do I skip the song after rolling my eyes? Sighing? Something remotely normal?

Nope. For some reason I mutter "Oh, why don't you just kill yourself!?" under my breath.

....?....

And I don't even make a conscious decision to say it....it's like WORD SPLURGE!

I mean, nice Robyn. Real damn nice.

Sometimes I also do things for LITERALLY NO REASON.

I'll throw a bottle of water on the floor as hard as I can because a bus hasn't shown up.

I'll be doing homework, walk downstairs, open the fridge, close it, and go back to doing my homework.

I'll just randomly say thinks like "a woba bob bob" because I have nothing better to say.

I'll brush my teeth 3 times because it beats whatever I'm meant to be doing.

I'll creep up behind my friends and hug them to death without them noticing until the very last minute purely because they are my friends and I love them to the moon and back.

Okay, so I lied about the last one. 

I actually just do it to scare the living shit out of them. It's the funniest thing in the world. I mean, their FACES! CLASSIC!

I'm evil, remember? 


Thursday 1 October 2015

The Art of Feminine

Do any of you boys out there realise how difficult it actually is to be a girl?

Yeah, okay, so we've got the whole on-the-surface issues which are brought up a lot, but let me enlighten you with the everyday struggles of a teenage girl.

First and foremost is the issue of our appearance.

We're, in a way, expected to look pretty amazing all of the time, which is pretty shit, not gonna lie here.

If I don't put make up on in the mornings, I face a day of people asking me if I'm alright.

(Did you see my pun there? Eh? Eh? Eh?)

"Yeah, I'm grand thanks. It's just my face unfortunately. I get it, it's disgusting..."

So I have to wake up a full 20 minutes earlier than going au naturel to actually ensure I look like a healthy functioning member of society.

I know. It's all a bit misleading when you think about it...

Anyway. I decided quite recently to revert back to glasses despite the whole "nerd reputation" thing.

I literally was so done with shoving my finger in my eye four times a day just be be able to see in focus.

I know this is also relevant for boys, but wearing glasses just ain't cool. Really lowers the street cred.

Luckily for me, I'm literally so done caring.

Shaving sucks. Like we have to do it every few days and it's just annoying. Yep, guys, okay, you have to shave your faces. BUT... try legs and underarms. I dare you. Or better. Try WAXING!

Now you all must have heard about eyeliner. Basically, it's a bitch. You spend ages getting a perfect shape you just cant repeat symmetrically on the other eye so end up looking like a member of Kiss.

Lipstick tends to come off the second you have something to drink....so either we deal with that or we dehydrate.

Don't get me started on bloody nail varnish.

Apparently now eyebrows are meant to look good now too. Luckily I have a fringe which covers mine sooo, suckers.

I still have to straighten that though to get it to look presentable.

Frizzy hair is a no-no. I have to use de-frizzing products at great expense so I don't look like "Leo the Lion" as I was affectionately known in my first years at secondary. Thanks guys....

Moving on from appearance which takes a shit tonne of time and money, we have the typical gender stereotype: girls are well-behaved, well-mannered, have neat handwriting and don't misbehave nearly as much as boys.

These aren't my words. These are stereotypes.

The hardest part is living up to the expectations. My handwriting looks more like a complex spider diagram than a pattern of letters, which, I get, can be pretty frustrating,,,,

Especially coming back to reading it in the summer for revision... whoops.

The issue is, girls mostly get pressured by other girls, especially about the way they look. It's known as "bitching".

Sadly, it's done behind people's backs which makes is somewhat difficult to actually learn what the real issue is.

Boys are usually pretty straightforward and upfront about things like that. In general, girls....nope. We put up with so much drama because everything is made out like an episode of Eastenders.

Not pointing the finger at everyone. This is just a brief generalization.

High heels are Satan's gift to womankind, along with crop tops and false eyelashes.

For some reason, it's also far easier to be labelled. "Slut", "nerd", "bitch", etc. all seem to be lasting reputations which are hard to shake.

"Weird" is a prime one. Still trying to shake that one off....

HIT IT, T-SWIFT!

There's a fine line between "slut" and "prude" when it comes to clothing, especially skirts. Finding a happy medium tends to be a challenge and does often make me worry.

We're criticized easily on our weight which sucks. Pizza's just so much more understanding than society.

Not to mention we have mood swings. Like we could be ecstatic and optimistic all day, get home, slam a few doors and spend the rest of the night crying about how cute your hamster is.

This actually happens.

I mean I could go on and on and on. But if you're still not entirely convinced.

PERIODS.

I think I'm done here.....


Wednesday 30 September 2015

Staying fit....OVERRATED!!!

So I'm doing this instead of my wonderful English homework.

Yay me. Little rebel!

To be fair, it's a comparative essay on two poems with literally nothing in common.... I've written two pages of me completely bullshitting already, I've sort of given up.

So I thought I'd share my experiences of the past few days with you guys, my fellow, invisible readers.

(It would be awesome if someone could comment by the way so that you're not an invisible reader anymore :3 )

So I have a couple of friends who swear that going running makes them feel invincible and just goddamn on top of the world.

So naive little me....

NAIVE LITTLE ME....

....thought, hey, why don't I start getting up a little bit earlier in the mornings and going for a run before school.

WHAT A GOOD IDEA!

I thought it would be nice to be a bit fitter, maybe tone up a few muscles and feel better about myself.

I just feel like a total fucking mess now. Not gonna lie....

It started off pretty good. Just sorta ran across a field next to my house and thought go me, I'm a legend, look at me go... well, time to go home now....

Oh.

I've been out for 50 seconds.....

So I did carry on going for like another 20 minutes, got home and thought fuck me, I'm hungry...

So proceeded to make salted caramel brownies (which were flipping heavenly!!!)

My weight-loss etiquette is super amazing, as you can tell.

My back hurt soooo much after though I actually went back to bed after lunch....

When I first came downstairs in all my gear, little lycra shorts, frizzy hair pulled back and a cami, my parents did a double take.

They were pretty supportive though and I was fairly proud of myself.

Monday morning I woke up at 6:40am and ran 2.5km around my village. It took 20 minutes but hey, I'm not very fit so I was pretty proud. My dad got the biggest shock coming downstairs at 7:15 and finding me all hot and bothered and most shockingly.....awake.

I was way too smiley for a Monday morning though....people began to get worried.

Something that peed me off rather spectacularly though.... The app I used to time me and track my distance also told me how many calories I burned with my work-out.

ONE HUNDRED

AND FIFTY-THREE

MOTHERFUCKING CALORIES

THAT IS IT!

I was so put out. All that effort to only burn like one twentieth of what I'm meant to per day.

So instead of listening to my sore and achey muscles, naturally, I went again this morning (Tuesday).

What a fucking mistake....

After I couldn't walk without stumbling, my legs were so heavy, my hips ached and my ankles burned like hell.

To burn another 150 calories....

I'm taking tomorrow off before I fuck myself up too much...

In all fairness, my legs do seem more toned than before....although that may be my imagination....

Anyway, the point is....exercise is completely overrated, though I will stick to this whole running regime as I have my reasons for wanting to be fitter...

Like doing a cross-channel relay in the summer...

What is wrong with me?

So I have a volunteer job as a lifeguarding teacher, or poolside assistant thingy ma bob...

Basically, I teach kids how to save peoples' lives and it's actually pretty fun.

I qualified as a lifeguard in the summer and I was pretty pleased with myself as it's pretty tough work, especially swimming with clothes on....

I got my job conformation certificate the other day through the post and it says something pretty weird....

"Position applied for: CHILD WORKFORCE"

No. I did not sign up for the flipping child slave trade....

What's wrong with "teacher"?

Saturday 12 September 2015

A 6th Form Reality Check

So there's a common view of 6th formers created with admiration and aspiration by younger students in the school. I know this is a fact. I myself did the same thing.

Lower down the school you look up at 6th formers and think "one day, I want to be just as grown up and clever as they are".

Let's get one thing straight here: noooo you don't!

For starters, we don't have to wear a uniform. 

Great. Fantastic. Wonderful. 

So now I spend half an hour every evening in a pile of clothes and a puddle of tears trying to assess which of my clothes will be deemed suitable, fashionable, don't trigger an alarming sense of paranoia that I'll be sent home for indecent exposure because my shoulder is visible. 

I always looked up to those older kids with the big shiny badges embellished on their chests labelling them as "Area Prefects". I saw them as a figure of authority and hoped that one day I would be picked to be one.

Teacher: "Oh, before we pack up, does anyone mind being an area prefect for the English department? You get a nice badge..."

And it was as easy as that. 

You may think we are oh so lucky, with our free periods and endless amount of extra time. Lies. Again.

"Supervised Study Sessions", so called for the fact that there is never a teacher around for the entire duration of the lesson, are usually spent with people hunched over books desperately trying to keep up with the crashing wave of homework which has washed over the lot of us.

Luckily for me, I do better doing homework at home... So my study sessions usually result in me having what I like to call, "second breakfast".

What schools hide from the younger years is that once you reach the 6th Form, that school healthy regime you've always hated? Well that goes well and truly out of the window. They ensure that you're in great shape when you enter Year 12, but by the time you've reached the end of Year 13, chances are you're going to have Type 2 diabetes and will most likely be morbidly obese.

We all know why that is though. You get so stressed out and tense with all the work you get, they pump you full of endorphins and send you on your way to Happy Land. It keeps us awake so that we can be up until the dead of the night finishing that analytical critique on Pride And Prejudice. It's the only thing between a friendly working environment and 200 simultaneous mental breakdowns within school grounds.

So they make the 6th Form Common Room a feeding ground of pizza, ciabattas, toast, Nutella, brownies, cake, rocky road, Cadbury's hot chocolate, coffee. Like I said, it's the only thing keeping us sane.

While I admit I love the common room during study periods, with its comfy sofas, unwobbly tables, central heating and the pleasant smell of toast, come break and lunch, it becomes something quite different,

People come flocking in, tables fill up, and suddenly, loud, popular music (God forbid) is pouring out the speakers at a ridiculous volume while you try to not be knocked to the ground because, however hard I try, I always seem to be in someone's way. There's loud voices and it becomes in-navigable. You're trapped for eternity. Maybe longer.

Yet stubbornly I persist to go there at breaks and lunchtimes where I am actually free. The sole reasons for this are because a) that's where my friends are and b) tragically, I have nowhere else to go.

Your heart should bleed for me.

When I was in year 9, a little birdie told me that in the 6th form, you were able to access Facebook, YouTube, Yahoo Answers and many many more using the dreaded school WiFi.

Boy was I disappointed to find that the only change was that they'd also managed to make Snapchat inaccessible too.

If anyone ever tried to kid you that there's some sort of smooth transition between GCSE and A level, then honey, you've been lied to.

The transition is like having a carpet ripped out from under your feet and landing flat on your face, breaking every bone in your body in the process.

I wasn't expecting it to be easy, but I was at least expecting a bit of adjustment time....

The teachers also set homework just for the heck of setting homework. It's like they get kicks out of it...

Teacher: "We have a lesson tomorrow so I'll see you then. Oh! Homework! Hmmmm let's see....how about exercises 1-8 on pages 23, 24 and 25 and we'll mark it together next lesson!"

For German especially, it feels like I've gone from describing the weather to writing about things I don't even know in English. We did a translation of an advert about a child shoving porridge into a VCR player the other week. I'm not even kidding. I won't even mention the one about the elderly man driving through a shop window....

They expect us to do volunteering outside of class to show how caring we are for the local community. The past couple of weeks, all I've really cared about is my bed and when dinner is going to be ready. 

How are we meant to have time? They say that we have to spend 3 hours or so a day studying.... As kids we're meant to do an hour of exercise a day. We have school all day. We're meant to relax too. Parents expect us to help out a bit, we have to have dinner, shower, whilst getting 8 hours of sleep a night...

We also have to get jobs to fund our new-found obsessions with school rocky road. And university obviously. That's also pretty important.

I decided to skip out on the exercise bit in particular. Also the sleeping part. Sleep is for the weak.

Thankfully I already volunteer as a swim teacher, which I absolutely love so it's no biggie, but honestly, We're teenagers, not gods.

I still get told I'm not allowed to go to the toilet during a lesson when I'm about to throw up yet I'm expected to be a saint and manage my life spectacularly. 

(FYI, I just stormed out the classroom anyway).

So 6th Form....expectation vs. reality is quite a different tale. While I love my school (most of the time) and I especially love my subjects, I have definitely walked into this blindfolded and walked into several lamp posts.

I mean I'm most annoyed about the whole Snapchat thing but whatever. ;) 

Sunday 6 September 2015

A New Start

So for someone who finds change an incredibly large feat, this past couple of weeks have been rather interesting for me.

First off are the sheer amount of people that have, over the summer, appeared to have decided to no longer be friends with specific people.

Namely me.

Screw them and their negativity. I'm funny sometimes.

However, the biggest change of all is the start of 6th form.

So thankfully I passed all my GCSEs at a B grade or above, which is pretty sweet. It meant I could take any subject that really took my fancy.

Sometimes it amazes me that I did that well. For example, I peered into a dark classroom only the other day and saw the interactive whiteboard moving. Shocked, I jumped on my three friends like "OH MY GOSH GUYS THERE'S A GHOST USING THE COMPUTER!". They all laughed, patted me on the head in the most condescending way possible, and pointed out that the teacher was sat at the computer.

Just something else I'll never live down then....

Over the summer, I spent a lot of time and money buying clothes for the next two years. At my school, we have a kind of uniform thing, and have to dress all business-like.

I took this super seriously, however having now started 6th Form, it would appear that I was in fact one of the only ones who did.... Most people come in wearing skinny jeans.

Whoops... Now I look completely out of place in my pencil skirts and swaggy blazer.

So now every day I have to choose in advance what I'm going to wear because I simply have to be organised. I sit on the floor cross legged for 15 minutes, just thinking about what might make a reasonably attractive outfit, and not make me look like some sort of small child dressing up in mummy's office clothes.

This is a concern I actually have.

And four days in, alas! I'm already becoming stumped for ideas! This really isn't good... I have another year and 8 months of this yet...

For some reason I'm really conscious of wearing the same thing twice. It's a little bit of a stupid worry, but people can be so weird about it! Like, "ew, didn't you wear that dress last week?"

Uhhh, yeah, I did. I mean I washed it and everything though...

For some reason it still bothers me quite a bit. I guess I just don't like those sort of snobby confrontations. It would be a tad awkward and embarrassing.

Another massive change is the fact I only take four subjects now, and I have free periods. It's only the start of it all, so I know it's going to get ridiculously hectic and I won't be saying this, but it's quite chilled out. I'm relaxed. It just seems that most people really aren't.

I'm meeting new people and making new friends too, which is awesome, because I definitely needed to. I did have a bit of a habit of keeping people close who I'm not entirely sure actually gave a toss about me...

Luckily, that's over. I'm stupidly naive but I'm starting to grow up a lot I think. So in the last 6 months, I've changed my name, cut my hair, got a fringe, made my hair go brown, got some totally hipster glasses and developed my own sense of style.

So now I don't dress like a man!

I've loved reinventing myself and changing, but now I'm running out of things to change. I mean, there's foot size reduction surgery... Is that a thing? It should be a thing. If it's not a thing, it seriously ought to be.

So I'm trying more to be pretty, be nice and polite, be funny and laid back. I think I'm doing a pretty good job :)

So all this change at once is sort of inspiring me to reach my full potential as a person I guess. Purge the horrible people from my life, work more on my failing physical health, and get as close to perfect as I'll ever be.

So as I said before, 6th Form is a lot more change than I anticipated. But I think I'm making it a tad harder for myself trying to improve my long run.

Good on me

Tuesday 1 September 2015

Make up & Money

So I'm awake and bored and what the hell, let's write some random stuff. Why not, am I right?

My life has literally been so criminally uninteresting the past few weeks that I have not the foggiest what I'm even meant to write about that might be remotely interesting.... Fuck.

Okay, so I was just scrolling down my Facebook newsfeed and the sheer amount of things about beauty I see is incredible. "10 simple beauty tips every girl needs to know", "LIKE if you think she's pretty", "tutorial for amazing brows". It's everywhere.

I've never been one to fuss too much about my overall appearance. I'd much rather have an extra 15 minutes in bed than struggle to make my eyeliner symmetrical. I rarely manage to make it even, it's a whole pointless endeavor which almost always results in tears of some form.

Most days I just cover up any spots if I have any, whack on some mascara and use a lip stain pen. If I'm not intending on leaving the house, I chuck on a pair of jeans, whack a cami over my head and waddle down the stairs like a reenactment of "Shaun of the Dead". Minus the...you know. Minus the blood. I then grab my kitten and the remote, throw a blanket over myself and don't move until I get hungry.

I don't see the point in covering up my flaws around my family. They knew me when I was still in nappies and they've seen me at my absolute worst. I don't need to impress them with my stunning looks. Not that I have any, mind...

If I'm going in to town with a friend, yes. I will spend rather too much time thinking what cute outfit I want to wear so I feel pretty. Not look pretty. Feel. I drag most my wardrobe to my bedroom floor, trying things on, creating a superb mess which I procrastinate about tidying up afterwards for days.

Eventually I'll find something which I think makes my legs look skinnier, my stomach look flat and makes me feel just a little bit elegant. I'll lay it out on my chair the day before I go out so I'm all ready to go. I have to be organised.

Shoes, I don't give a flying fuck. Pumps or sandals. Depending how I'm feeling. If I wear heels I'll fall over and look like a ginormous PRICK.

On special occasions, I rarely try anything adventurous. Classic eyeliner which takes 6 or so attempts to perfect, a pinky red lipstick and that's about it. I don't see much point.

Yes, wearing it makes me feel a little bit pretty. It makes me feel that maybe people will take a bit of notice of me rather than me being a wallflower and overshadowed by the tonnes of stunning people I hang around with. That's why I understand why people do wear make up.

However at the same time I think it's absolutely terrible that people, and it's not just girls anymore, it's some guys too, feel that they have to cover their faces to be noticed. People feel that if they have blemishes on their skin, or bags under their eyes, people won't like them. Sometimes people want to stand out and be noticed. It makes people feel special when they're noticed. I'm just not sure that people are taking the right approach to it.

What I notice in people is far different. I notice people walking with a spring in their step, smiling, laughing. Wearing a shirt I like. Reading a book I love. Falling over in public. I can see attractiveness in people who don't make an effort with their appearance, first thing in the morning, last thing at night before going to sleep. Am I the only one who can see these things?

Guys say to girls they love that they're beautiful without their make up. Love is meant to be about being with someone because of their personality, their persona, the vibe they give off and all of their vices. Not because of face and body.

Yeah, yeah. Guys don't give ugly girls a second glance. But a guy who judges purely on appearance is not a guy worth being around. The same applies the other way around.

Society has tried to make people conform to unrealistic appearance goals. Models in magazines are all flawless, and it makes people try to copy them. But it isn't necessary. If magazines would stop airbrushing and using tonnes of make up, then people would feel less insecure about themselves and leaving the house au naturel would not be a big deal.

But then cosmetic industries lose a lot of money.

People's desire to be perfect in an unnatural way is fueling these millionaire cosmetic companies, which the government can tax and gain more money. Make up isn't about self confidence. It's about making money.

The whole thing to me is a scam. Magazines make people feel insecure about their appearance, make up sales increase, cha ching. It is all about the money.

And make up trends get more and more alarming and ridiculous. Swollen lips, shaving off eyebrows and drawing them on with a crayon, implants left right and centre. It can't be good for people. Some of this stuff must be pretty dangerous.

I just think people should be able to feel good about themselves for who they are naturally. Without hair dye, or make up, or implants. I think it's unfair for people to feel bad and ugly because they don't have clear skin, because they don't have a thigh gap, because they're not as thin as they could be.

If a person decides to do something for them and for them only, for example, they want to dye their hair a certain colour, for reasons other than fitting in with society and trends, go for it. I didn't like my hair colour for ages and ages, just because I didn't like the colour. Personal preference and all that. If you want to be skinnier coz you think you're not the weight you'd like to be, go for it. Just stay within the normal limits and don't overdo it. Stay healthy.

But wearing false eyelashes coz Kim Kardashian wears them and she's really pretty and you wanna look like her.

Please don't.

Be yourself.

Stop trying to be just like someone else.

I guarantee you, people will love you for being you a lot more than they'll love you if you're the same as everyone else.

Be unique.

This ended up as a bit of a rant. Sorry guys. I just want people to be happy and ride unicorns and poop rainbows and I want people to accept that they can be beautiful by themselves,

Just gotta shine.






Wednesday 26 August 2015

My nan

I wanted to post something in dedication to my nan, who isn't very well at the moment however some of my favourite childhood memories include her.

She suffers from vascular dementia so she doesn't remember an awful lot. The last time I saw her she refused to believe I was her granddaughter as I was far too old and her poppelschöne is only a little girl.

Poppelschöne is German for darling. My nan is from Germany.

She moved to England after meeting my grandad and falling in love. After he ran over her with an army vehicle in the clean up operation after World War Two.

Before you ask....yes, she was in the Hitler Youth. 

According to my grandad, my nan used to skip everywhere, stopping to smell every flower and give every living thing a name and a personality.

So that's where I get that from....

Thats the only time I really heard anything like that from my grandad. He and my nan never actually seemed to get on all that well. They call each other "Nulli"

That means "toilet" in German. 

My nan has always been notorious for her love of alcohol. She was rarely sober but never quite drunk. My mum says the only time she's ever seen her drunk after having known her around 19 years was at my mum and dad's wedding 17 years ago. Apparently she got totally shitfaced. 

Go nan!

Obviously dementia develops quite gradually. So in my living memory, my Nan's never really had a perfect memory.

Every time we were given ketchup, it was around 6 years out of date. It's probably 90% of the reason I don't like ketchup actually....

One time she gave me a cheese board so I could make my own sandwiches for dinner. I was adamant that something didn't taste right, but was met with protests of "nonsense, nonsense! Eat your dinner up and you can have biscuits!" I was around 9 years old at the time. Finally, my nan tasted my sandwich and realised.

"Oh sheisse. Oh crumbs...mutti mutti mutti!"
"What is it, Omi?"
"This appears to be brandy butter..."

It was just after Christmas so I can see how she got mixed up in all fairness.

Who could forget the time we made meringues together? I had to go home just after we put them in the oven but i was reassured that they would be there when I came next, ready to eat with whipped cream. 

A few weeks later I went round and burst through the door looking for my meringues (I have a massive sweet tooth).  When I asked my nan about them, she couldn't remember a thing. 

I looked in the aga only to find 6 piles of soot on a baking tray. 

One time I was round her house and was clearing out a cupboard filled with mouse droppings.
"Nonsense! They're chocolate!" 
They were 100% definitely mouse droppings.....
I got to the back of the cupboard and found 9 purses, each with around €200 inside....

Turns out each time my nan went to Germany, she stored her purse away for the next time she went, and then forgot it was there. Each time she bought a new purse. Each time she put it to the back of the cupboard.

She was so embarrassed at her failing memory she paid me £20 not to tell my parents...

Naturally, I still told them, and they laughed at forgetful old Omi and her dopey old ways

It's just the way she's always been!

Now she's in a specialist care home known as an EMI unit. She's always been stubborn and has worked her whole life so didn't take kindly to being looked after.

In hospital she kept running off to clear up the dinner things and she would often be found "tsk"ing about the state of a chair and attempting to clean it.

It's definitely best she's in a care home. One day she decided she wanted some ice cream, however thought she'd strain it first. She put it in a plastic strainer and left it on the aga to warm up.....

That didn't go down too well to say in the least.

We also caught her drinking neat bacardi by the glass full. We'd thought it was water.....

Yeah, she'd go on walks and get lost so it's great she's being looked after and she's happy where she is.

She has a friend who she watchs soaps with and cuddles.

But having smoked all her life, she did miss her ciggies. One day, she was out for a walk and saw a bloke with a cigarette. She walked over, pinched it out from his mouth and pegged it. 

She's bloody quick, my nan. You'd have a hell of a time trying to catch her...

She runs away from the care home staff too. It takes several of them to catch her. 

We bought her her very own ciggies so she's all okay.

She was ecstatic when we brought her a bottle of gin. She may not recognise me but she sure as hell knows a bottle of gin when she sees it. The staff put it away in the cupboard and within 5 minutes she was trying to get in there. 

She always has forgotten how old i am. When I was 13 she wanted me to drive her to Lidl. She also took my grandads joking suggestion of a whiskey after I declined tea or coffee seriously. 

When I was 8 she gave me a liqueur chocolate filled with vodka and I thought my throat was being burned away. 

Two days before my 14th birthday I had a frantic phone call apologizing for forgetting my birthday. It took 20 minutes to explain to her that she hadn't missed it yet.

For my 15th I received 2 birthday cards as she'd forgotten she'd already sent one.

She gets annoyed at my dad and grandad a lot and isn't afraid to call them "gesamt Sheissköpfe".

"Total shitheads."

She would complain a lot at hospital about how the nurses were simply doing everything wrong. And thus she had to put the sheets on her own bed and God forbid anyone tries to help her.

My little nan has always made me laugh and still manages to do so, with her pretending to be asleep every time my dad comes to visit, her naughty mishaps and her pure stubbornness. 






Sunday 23 August 2015

Drunken Rambling

So last night I received, hands down, the single most hilarious phone call I have ever had the fortune to receive in my entire 16 years of existence in this world.

Unfortunately, I'm the only member of this conversation that actually remembers what was said.

You can probably guess where this is going....

When I asked what Danny actually remembered from the conversation, he said "I vaguely remember calling you miss piggy, or I dreamt it, or something"

The more worrying part is that, no, he hadn't dreamt it. That part did actually happen. 

Receiving a drunk phone call from your 
ex boyfriend / very good friend at 00:15 may not seem like most people's idea of a hilariously noteable event, but honestly, this was too funny. And the best part is, he doesn't remember a thing. Which is half the reason I'm doing this now. Because I'm evil.

Just casually reading a crappy romance novel that my mum bought on my kindle when my phone buzzed and I nearly had a heart attack.

I answer it knowing it's Danny, because caller ID, 21st century and all that jazz an I'm met with "HI HI HI HI HI HI HI HI HI HI!!!!!"

So after saying hello, my first words were "Danny, are you drunk?"

In a rather too excitable tone, he reminded me that he did not drink. I accepted that, unconvinced, before I heard "HEY GUESS WHAT?! SHE'S BUYING IT!!!"

Yep. He was drunk. For the first time, as he told me.

I shouted out my hellos to his best friend Jason, who I was told wasn't there by Danny, only to receive a clear "Hello Robyn!" in a voice that distinctly belonged to Jason.

It was explained to me that the boys had shared a bottle of Jack Daniels. That's 7 or so shots each. I know for a fact that they finished it as there was a "FUCK!" down the phone after a little while.

Upon enquiring of the nature of the curse word, I was told that Danny had in fact, just whacked himself around the face with an empty Jack Daniels bottle. I reminded him of this once he'd sobered up, and apparently this must be the cause of his mysterious bleeding lip. At the time all I could hear was loud sobs and moans and shouts of "You don't know how much this hurts, Robyn. You couldn't even imagine this kind of pain. Nothing compares to the pain I'm in right now!"

What a nutter.

After being quite the gentleman and asking how I was, and what was going on, he decided to ask me when we were getting married. This is in relation to my friend Jazmine having once stolen my phone and texted Danny all the lyrics to Bruno Mars's "Marry You", to which Danny said yes.

Sooo, I'm engaged I guess? Not weird at all...

We also have a life plan together to live on a canal boat like Rosie and Jim. Danny proceeds to invite me canal boat shopping with him, and asks me to bear him his muppet children.

Pity me please. I had to go along with this. He told me he could picture me giving birth to Kermit the Frog!

This is where the Miss Piggy part comes in. He tells me that I can be Miss Piggy and he can be Gonzo. I said what about Animal, but apparently Animal just wasn't significant enough for Drunk Danny and he simply had to be Gonzo. I delivered the role of Animal to Jason. 

Sober Danny was most disappointed with Drunk Danny about this. Apparently he should have been Pepe the King Prawn. 

At some point Jason left for a walk, after Danny asked if he was allowed to crawl. Danny being Danny, he decided to pass up on a walk. 

"HEY ROBYN I LOST MY DEBIT CARD AGAIN!" was an exclaimation made a few minutes later, and I was told about how he'd been skipping down the road, as incredibly masculine, not at all camp in the slightest, 18 year old guys do, you know, aaaand it fell out of his pocket somewhere along the line.

For the third time in a week. 

He sounded so blessed proud of himself as well.

Conversation was weird but not like "i hit myself round the face with a bottle" weird. He told me all about his favourite Disney princess and how he got to meet her on a cruise, etc. We talked about how I hadn't acknowledged his Doctor Who references in the messages he'd sent me the previous day.

I went back and checked and there weren't even any DW references in them. Like, at all. 

I kept laughing and exclaiming how funny he was being, and he got all upset and protective of his sober self, convinced that he was just as funny, not under the influence of a spirit with a high volume of alcohol. Sober Danny was pleased to hear of his commitment to himself, but not too pleased to hear of his later drunk crab jokes which had apparently been stolen from Ricky Gervais. Drunk Danny had found it so funny. Drunk Jason didn't understand why a drunk crab would walk forwards.

Teasing Danny about his lonely drunken state and he says "Whatever, I'll have you know I've already phoned 5 other girls this evening asking them to come buy a canal boat with me." I was like "oh, well i see how it is!" And he replied "Joking, i love you!" How rude.

Somehow, the topic of siblings came up, and after telling me how mean his brother could be, I told him the anecdote of my 3 year old thug of a brother stomping on my boob and leaving a Sketcher shaped bruise in a compromising place.

"Wait, what did you say?" He asked. "I didn't quite catch that last bit"

"I said he stomped on my chest and it bruised."

"NO YOU DIDNT YOU LITTLE LIAR YOU! YOU SAID BOOB! You said BOOB!"

Danny got very excited over this for some strange reason. I put this down to jealousy at his lack of said female organs. 

Jason came back and I heard a weird exchange between them.

"Jason, seriously! STOP EATING THE HAEMEROID CREAM GOD DAMN IT!"

"Fucks sake Danny, shut up, it's not even haemeroid cream!"

"Antiseptic cream then! SAME DIFFERENCE!"

I was listening in trying not to wet myself laughing. Honestly, it was too much.

There was a discussion about how I thought Danny should go and dunk his head in a bucket of ice water so that he'd calm down, and somehow this led to me dissing ALS, and "come on, admit it, Robyn. You stuck a "kick me" sign on the back of Steven Hawking's wheelchair. You cruel cruel person."

1+1=368845. Drunk Danny maths xD

Asking Danny what he intended to do the following day and I was told "Not nursing the hangover. Because as I've told you, I'M NOT DRUNK!"

Nice try. 

He said he'd try and meet me in Canterbury the following afternoon. But I'm 100% sure he forgot. Seeing as he wasn't there. As I predicted xD

There was a loud noise followed by "Oh no, not the matches! Pick em up, quick!" I warned them not to set anything on fire. Even now, I'm not sure what the purpose of the matches was.

I asked them where they were, and Danny pipes up "Well we're not at Jason's house. That's for sure."

So naturally they were at Jason's house.

It struck me to ask Jason how on Earth his family hadnt woken up with all the racket. Drunk Danny exclaims "ROBYN! We've talked about this! His family are dead!"

Jason starts laughing

"They died in a house fire!"

Lauging increases

"Which I started"

Aaaand Jason is laughing so much I feared he would bust a gut or something.

There was a point where Danny starts calling us the wrong names. Somehow, Jason became Jenny. I don't even know....

After around 50 minutes on the phone, Danny told me he was falling asleep so had better go, followed by a lot of drunken "I love you"s. I hung up and wondered what the fuck I had just experienced.

I hope people find this half as funny as I did. Just imagine Danny as a hyper ball of energy and that might put into place just what he is like drunk. Forget all woozy. It's more like an ecstasy effect!

Sorry Danny and Jason! At least you know what happened now!

Peace ✌️


Saturday 22 August 2015

The ever-present bane of my life

Two posts in one night! I must be going insane!

No, I've been insane for a long time now, sunshine. Get used to it.

So this is kind of a bit more serious, but I'll try and keep it light. The past few months haven't been the biggest bundle of laughs for me. Not only was there exams, dramatic family, relationships with people fluctuating, but there was my back.

I've mentioned it before but the past month especially has been an out-of-control downhill spiral. Beforehand it was bearable but this, this, just makes me miserable like all of the time.

I kept going to the doctors, and told to take ibuprofen. Then they decided codeine was in order. I was told to buy a microwaveable wheat bag so I could ease the pain with heat. I bought one in the shape of a floral owl which smells pleasantly of lavender, how refreshing.

I decided to name him Baymax, as he's my personal healthcare assistant. The sadder/younger readers will understand the reference.

The doctor's refused to send me for an x-ray due to the high cancer risk. Oh. Cheers. I was constantly reminded that my age and gender put me at a higher risk of ovarian cancer. Well I'd be impressed if a guy contracted ovarian cancer, but you know, it's still annoying.

They diagnosed we with chronic pain and sent me to a physio who told me I was too young for her to do anything, it was outside her contract. FANDABBYDOZY. She told me it was just my muscles and no scoliosis or deformities. Apparently I must have had a growth spurt! xD Thanks for that, but your comments didn't help.

I started wearing a back brace after my dad's constant getting on my case about my posture. Also, I kept just going floppy. This thing kept me upright, and also prevented me from moving dodgily.

I showed up at my doctor's again last week unable to eat or sleep and having lost the will to live. Turns out I'd contracted a stomach infection called Gastritis, meaning my stomach lining was inflamed and sore and being attacked by stomach acid, making me feel sick every time I ate anything.

The reason I'd got this? Ibuprofen. It's a medication called an NSAID which can cause stomach infections if a person has a weaker tolerance to them. Which I apparently do. I rarely took it, only at night when I was writhing around, so I must have had a really low tolerance.

I was given a repeat prescription for co-codemol as an alternative painkiller, and I was given PPI tablets to neutralise my stomach acid to allow it to heal.

PPI stands for like everything I swear. Insurance on your payment, medication, breast implants. Which apparently I need, according to my charming mother.

I was also finally referred to the hospital for my x-ray.

But not before being reminded how reluctant they were to do this due to the extraordinarily high risks.

It's like having to choose: blinding pain or the chance of contracting cancer.What a great choice, it's a win win situation, of course.

So I showed up to my x-ray and was told that I'd be better be going to a different hospital which used a digital monitor as it was far safer for a young girl like me. The second I walked through the door to the department, they looked at me with pity and I honestly felt like some sort of sob story.

So I had to check on a hospital gown, remove my bra (which I wasn't impressed about) and walk to the x-ray table with they gown trailing along the floor, listening to my mum shouting "ATTRACTIVE! It's not wonder you don't have a boyfriend!" Cheers, mother

I had to lie on my side on that table with my arse hanging out the slit in the gown, in the foetal position. I lay like that for 10 minutes, even after the flash. I was told:

"We usually take two pictures but I'm just taking the one as you're such a high cancer-risk case that I'm not going to risk it. You may get a letter in the post saying we want you back for the second photo. But don't worry. It's nothing to worry about."

I'M SURE IT'S NOT!

I just have to wait now, googling the signs of ovarian cancer and hoping for the best for my back especially.

The thing is, they could have just sent me for an MRI...which doesn't use radiation...? Or am I being stupid and is my logic flawed...?

We're playing a waiting game and I'm losing.

The reason I'm doing this is I don't think people understand how it is that I really feel. Hopeless is one word. Alone. This is a stupidly unique situation and the thing is, I'm not in pain 5 days a week from 9 till 6. It's 24/7 365. It's always there. The painkillers just take off the edge.Currently, my lumbar spine is in it's usual pain however my right shoulder blade is in an agony I can't even begin to describe it.

I don't want help. I just want people to look out for me. I don't want to have to keep reminding people that I can't do this that and the other and passing, I want to wake up in the morning and find people I care for have arranged to do something suitable for me too.

I don't want unnecessary amounts of attention, this isn't some plea for love and pity, "hey, look at the injured kid!" I just want people to understand how I feel and try and make me feel better. Smiling, laughing, all these things make me feel less like a hopeless, worthless excuse for a human being.