Tuesday, 24 July 2012

Finito.







Like so many others last week, I officially finished university.
Vollendet. Terminado. Fini.

Anyone who has been to university will most likely claim that the years they spent there were the best in their lives to date. And I am no different.

At our friends' graduation, I asked my best friend Jess what she would have done differently if she was to go back to 2009 and start university all over again.
After deliberating for a moment, she concluded that she wouldn't have done anything differently at all. If she had, things might not be what they are now. And now is quite good.

I disagreed. Initially at least. With all the ups of my university life came the downs, and surely doing things to avoid the downs would have made my time there just that bit better?

But when I tried to list the changes I would have hypothetically made, and the consequences of the changes, I actually began to agree with Jess.
I wouldn't change anything.



The point of university was to get my degree. To learn about history, in my case. And yes, I did do that. And for 4 months or so of the three years I worked incredibly hard for that degree. As a result I know all about the advent of the printing press in Renaissance Italy, about how the Scientific Revolution affected Christianity in Europe and about the struggle for power in Latin America.
But the most important lessons I learnt weren't taught in the lecture hall or the seminar rooms, or from the numerous books and articles I read, but from life. From living away from those I had always been dependent on. From the mistakes I made. From the friends I love. And from all the experiences that will forever remain in my memory. And without those lessons, I wouldn't be me.
#cringer.



Ten University Life Lessons


1) You can be friends with Tories.
Although it might seem you are associating yourself with the devil, in actual fact, political views aren't the be all and end all. Making friends from the dark side challenged my prejudices and made me more open to trying other new experiences. 


2) Degrees mean little if you don't actually apply for jobs.
Wondering why no one has randomly called to employ you and provide you with a company car on top of your £80 000 starting salary is down to your own ignorance and will result in running away to Switzerland in fear of being jobless forever. 


3) Not everyone feels a moral obligation to clean communal areas. If you want a clean living space, you must clean everything. 
This, in my experience, is more applicable to boys. Once I accepted this fact, I no longer got angry at the messy pups who managed to live a week without me and washing up liquid. 

4) If you take responsibility in organising the first birthday celebrations of year one, expect to take responsibility for organising every subsequent birthday for the next three years. At least.
I can't really complain about this lesson. I brought it upon myself and I fucking love other people's birthdays. I'm just saying.

5) Never go to Tesco on an empty stomach. You will spend £50 on Galaxy chocolate/crispbread/yoghurt/orange juice/Haribo/frozen potato wedges and will struggle to find a satisfying dinner.
I made this mistake. Regularly. 

6) The promise to be the epitome of class and sophistication for casual drinks that evening will never stick if you then proceed to drink a litre of wine at dinner. 

7) Vowing to spend less on nights out per term will not happen if you continue to go all out every Wednesday for fancy dress circling. 
Now I am back home and penniless, spending £25 on sequin hot pants to be Lady GaGa seems a bit irrational knowing I won't wear them ever again. 

8) NEVER drink more alcohol to make things seem less awkward. 
You will only make things more awkward. 


9) Friends may come and go, but university friends stay forever. 
Living with friends means you really get to know them. They become as close to you as family. You argue, you make up, you laugh, you cry and you get well and truly wankered and tell them all your deepest darkest secrets. So when the three years are up, you can't just let go. You miss them. You want to see them. You make an effort to stay in touch. (Besides, you don't want them telling anyone about the things you spilled on your hungover 'secrets day'.)


and finally  

10) Despite their incessant sarcastic comments about getting pissed every week and getting all your essay sources from the internet rather than from real books, your parents are amazingly proud of your achievement. 
You got a degree after all, and we can't all sit in the library all the time. There is simply not enough room for everyone. You are being considerate by staying in bed. 










Wednesday, 11 July 2012

Excuse my French but I'm in France... I'm just sayin'









I stumbled across this video on YouTube.
For some reason, I really want to punch this kid in the face.

BUT I think he is well good. And I love this cover.

He's Arthur Garros. The song is Niggas in Paris.


Check it ouuuuut.

Something like 8 per cent of kids do it...








The abstract title has really little to do with this post. (Though the picture does.)
I'll explain later.


Yesterday I went to LandanTan to meet a friend. It was raining all day so we made our way from Starbucks to KFC to the pub. Good day in my books.
At the pub, The Duke of York near Bond Street to be precise, we saw Tracey Emin. I knew it was her. She has a distinctive face, no?




Tracy Emin is one of those people where if you mentioned spotting her to my parents they would ask if I had spat in her face. That just means the person I have mentioned vote Conservative. (My five year old sister was going to meet the local Conservative MP at her primary school. My parents told her to spit on her hand before she shook his. She did.)
But I think they were more unimpressed than usual with my Tory name drop. 
I can only presume it was because of her art.



I had a vague idea about her art. In my opinion, compared to the work of say, Botticelli, it's shit. Take my bed and the contents of my room and sell that for thousands? Anyone can do it. NaaamSaaaayn.
But I googled her other stuff anyway. And I quite liked it. 






This brings me to the title. It's a quote from one of the best films ever. Superbad. Remember the scene where Seth is revealing to Evan his childhood addiction to drawing willies? 
Well anyway it's funny because he insists that 8 per cent of kids have the same problem (hence the mostly unrelated title) but more so because he is drawing willies. And THAT is always funny, irrespective of your age. (As long as you have some degree of humour.)
So upon scrolling through some of Emin's works I find this:







I suppose she is an intelligent woman, though I have no evidence for that. I guess she doesn't look particularly intelligent but you can't blame someone's face for that. That's just rude. If she is intelligent, as I imagine her to be, I guess this work probably means something. Maybe how women are forced to be carried by the dominance of men or something like that.

But for me. It's genius.



How many people can draw a shit picture of a penis and sell it?! 


Not many. That's the answer. 






She might be Tory but she is fucking hilarious.












Tuesday, 10 July 2012

As seen on TV.





So, I'm lying sprawled on the sofa looking most unattractive. I have toothpaste down my top, I haven't washed my hair in over a day, I have the remnants of last night's smokey eyes smeared across my cheeks (getting ready for bed after a bottle of wine has never been my forte, but at least I try) and despite gargling Listerine upon waking I haven't quite been able to shift the fag breath. (Now, tell me why I'm single?)

All in all, I feel Grim. And the rain ain't lifting my spirits much. 

Jezza K. 

Yeh. That will make me feel better about my current situation in life. And it does, of course.
That is at least until the adverts come on. 

I wouldn't usually have taken an interest in the Special K advert. I've tried Special K. I felt I was better off eating the cardboard box. 

But today, looking as though I'd been sicked up by next door's dog, I've taken an interest in Special K and the women who eat it. 

"Who gives a fuck if it tastes like polystyrene?!" They scream. "Look at how uncontrollably happy we all are!"

I want it! I want to be so happy that I close the fridge door by swinging my arse into it, that I dance about in the kitchen to the sound of my happiness, that I still grin when faced with a wardrobe full of the same shade of red! 

I want it now!


My family seem to like cereal. They have a cupboard full of the stuff. 


I wonder.... no. There won't be...  But maybe I'll just check. 
I clamber to my feet. I walk towards the kitchen. I open the cupboard. 


Oh. My. God. 
There IS a box of Special K. And the strawberry variety?! 

This is it. This is THE moment that my whole life changes. I cannot bloody wait. 


I open the box. I get the bowl out. I get the milk ready. I put it all together. 
I get a spoon and I take a few mouthfuls.

The strawberries taste like solidified dust. 
The flakes feel like I'm chewing a flannel. 
But it's alright! I can see all of life's opportunities falling at my feet. 
My life is going to be bloody brilliant! Nothing will ever go wrong. 
I'm so happy.


I finish the bowl. I get showered. I get dressed. I'm ready, world!


"Dad, can I have a lift to the station please? It's pissing it down." 
"I would but Caroline has taken Millie to KidSpace in the big car and Kim is still out in your car. Sorry."


I walk to the tube station in torrential rain. Almost torrential, at least.
But I power on through. It's only a blip!

I get to the station. I get on the train.
I catch a glimpse of my reflection.



I look just like I did when I woke up this morning. 
And I'm starving. 




I hate Special K. Tastes like shit.










Monday, 9 July 2012

It's all lies.




I will firstly apologise to my one reader for never actually blogging despite all these 'promises'. But now I have finished my degree (can I get a 'whooop'?!) and was awarded by my parents with a shiny new MacBook, I have no more excuses left to give. thoughts of a blonde girl has had a slight revamp and I shall write at least one post for my fan.

And maybe a couple more...