Writing seriously

Is a waste of my time.

Especially when tired.

Sorry if this makes no sense.

I will just continue to provide reasons that people should be happy they weren't born as me.

I have recently become the owner of a pair of Nike Air tracksuit bottoms (Awesome).

On the first day of owning these badboys I noticed a small pocket inside the actual pocket which (as you can imagine) overwhelmed me with excitement and lead to me showing babyshez.

She replied to; "Look Grace, pocket within a pocket" with; "It's a condom pocket".

After my initial shock and anguish that she would present such an idea, being fourteen and all, I realized that actually (even worse) she was probably right.

The pocket is pretty condom shaped.

And so obviously I had to show EVERYONE.

So I put a condom in the condom pocket (seeing to believe) and impressed the millions.

Then I took them along with me to Bestival where my friend Tom thought it would be a great idea to hijack them on the last day (one of the few people who had not witnessed the wonder of condom pocket) and take them home to wash then give back to me.

Now I am not completely sure about this but I am willing to bet that Tom does not do his own washing.

The tracksuit bottoms are back in my house.

The condom is gone from the pocket.

Tom's mum used to like me and now she thinks that I jam around festivals in my tracksuit bottoms looking for tent bangs.

AND I saw her yesterday before I had known all this.

Oh dear, oh dear.

Dreams

1.

I feel like the real dream has just ended and I am back in my own bed with my eyes shut.

I then feel a hand reaching across my side onto my stomach, which at first I find comforting in a strange way but then the whole mood changes and I am trapped.

I try to kick out against the advancing hand and the whispering I can now hear in my ear but then it occurs to me that I have been drugged- I am paralysed and someone is laughing in my ear.

I am screaming at this person in my thoughts but he can't hear me and neither can anyone else.

I wake up for real as shouting "Get off me you prick".

2.

I have a child in this one.

We are at a music festival with the babydaddy who decides this would be a really good time to sleep with the barmaid. A guy who I played on the swings with earlier in this venture tells me and man am I angry.

I basically take the kid who is called Max, but in the dream we call him 'little boy'.

Wake up as my sister is shouting at me- I think I heard her voice in the house and my mind worked it's magic.

3.

This one is a little more vague because it wasn't as traumatic.

But it was like zombie invasion and by some critical mistake I had been left to save my family and the world.

One of my chosen companions couldn't quite create a gun that would destroy the Zombie virus, (which was developing fast) but instead started injecting them with something that made them perform popular Ne-yo songs.

If anything, it was better.

4.

Bob-Sledding?

I keep dreaming.

Pretty Girls

Spend ages on their hair, ages on their clothes, ages on getting it just perfect.
I spend ages procrastinating over what I can write in this blog to make it even one hundredth as good as hyperbole and a half.
I gave up very quickly.
When my blog realizes I am reading that beautiful cartoon world it shrivels up- feeling truly hopeless and inferior- as it should.



On an entirely different note...
I still fail to understand how God (as a higher being and such) was sitting there doing all his creating, us in the form of himself and all that. Then oh... wait... it's such a masterpiece... those legs, that tiny body... THAT BLOOD SUCKING APPARATUS.
Oh hang on...

WHY?
WHY?
WHY?

Mosquito's are the worse thing ever, they have no purpose other than to cause pain.
"Oh, oh they have to drink blood otherwise they die mer mer mer circle of life"
Shut the hell up.
Who cares if they die?
I want them to in fact.
One of my bites has decided to swell up so now I literally have a kankle (basically).
Yeh, got me good didn't you, you little BASTAD.

Accidental Thong.

I have been hit by the curse of the accidental thong once again.

Innocently buying a matching set of underwear (nothing makes me happier- except when my underwear matched my skirt the other day- I cried a little) only to find that in the confusion and excitement I have bought a thong...

Thing is:

I need them to prevent vpl in jeggings ANYWAYSSS so in your face accidental thong.

Some of you may have noticed my unforgivable profile picture, the one where there is more curtain than fringe going on and more ugly than face.

WELL.

That picture can be found in shakeshed in Bromley my friends... Some may think this unfortunate but any picture of my that is pinned up in a Milkshake shop is definitely going to be the priority of my life.

I think they might change it next week but at least there is proof that it happened.

None of this is remotely interesting.

I have actually done many things since my last little go in here, but I have to go to work in one minute and I have wasted my time rambling as per usual.

So you just enjoy this.

I failed at the picture thing.

In terms of originality the gestures had a similar effect to that of the reject card in an overplayed deck; one which had been handled so often that a torn off top, right hand corner made the intended hidden overleaf utterly predictable.

I just drank like a litre of peach squash.

I really love peach squash.

But I do look like a preggo with my bloated stomach.

And I will need to pee so harshly very soon.

Scherenschnitte

The recent beginning (yesterday) of my week-long facebook strike has lead to me reading various 'next blog' blogs on here for the sake of something to fill spare time with and honestly for the sake of logging into something.

I found this woman who had a kind of crafts blog I guess?

And she had made these really simple black paper cut out's of like a bird and a woman lifting a kid then layered them over like music sheets and I was like actually they are really something.

So I read into it and the general technique is called 'Scherenschnitte'. My love of hilarious German words only deepened my love for this and I actually made one but my scanner is ballsing up (probably for the best... I think I should stick to the stick men actually).

But yeh, that is what that is.

The german word for 'Elbow' is 'Elbowgen'- I don't think you spell it like that but still.

The facebook strike isn't (although it should be) a comment on their constant inability to create a chat that works but is only really because I was getting a bit sick of it. It is becoming less of a convenient communication option and more of an excuse to do nothing and waste my time looking at things that actually I'm not even interested in; also which occasionally make me kind of angry because people I know act like they are someone completely different.

Rant.

Next time I will post a picture

I have outdone myself in boring :)

XX

Oh God, am I... Happy?

It has been a good long while since I have written in this

And as I was thinking about it prior to writing what I assumed would be one of those really forced pieces of blog- where I write about things I have done that aren't really remotely interesting- I considered this; maybe I am happy?

I have always been the kind of person to write down my frustrations and it is getting to the point now when either:

- I must have rinsed them all.

- Or maybe these things have become too trivial to get upset over when I hold them up against the things that are going okay; things level out too much these days for me to be able to say it's all bad.

And I am VERY good at making things seem bad...

On an entirely separate note I dreamt that my room was full of copper coins and in my dream I was going (in my head) 'Man, I am going to take these fuckers to sainsburys and go to TOWN'.

Gutted?

Yes.

I had another dream the other day when like 5 boys from my sixth form were dressed up as a boyband doing a really dramatic performance- opening sequence to hollyoaks-esque.

A little more gutted when it became apparent this hadn't happened I have to admit.

As a last little note;

I was watching Russell Howard with that lovely boy and it struck me like a slap in the face.

Russell Howard is the perfect man.