Sunday, 31 May 2015

A Letter To You

Dear Person,

I've probably never met you and I probably never will but you know what, that's ok. Whether your from Africa ( respect) or Australia or Unicorn land somewhere in between Narwhal island and Llama desert, there's something I want you to know. You are amazing. You are smart and funny and brilliant and maybe your really good at dancing (if you are I beg of you please teach me). There's no one quite like you. I think I might just call you beautiful too, but I'm no just talking about looks here you wonderful specimen. You're beautiful inside too. You may share a name with many other Johns and Drews and Nancys or a brand of beer (stupid Stella artois) but you're different. I mean that in a good way. So person I've probably never met before, continue to stay brilliant. You're the only you there is. Let's raise a glass to being you.
Yours sincerely Stella.
There's no P.S. ( Although this could be classed as a P.S. in which case dang it man !!)

I would love it so much if you made a message like this. Share it on your blog if you like. Write a letter with a quill and ink if you really want to. Share the LUVE. Yes I did intentionally spell it like that.
Peace out.

Wednesday, 27 May 2015

The Twitter Bird Complex

In which we reflect on my past few weeks of tweeting.

I've had a twitter account for a couple months now and within this time I've compiled quite a lot of tweets. 115 to be exact. Here are just a couple.( Apparently my laptop doesn't understand the principal of print screen, so I had to copy and paste the tweets.)

A random shopping list in my memos read
Apples Bread Bansnadaf What the heck is a Bansnadaf and where do I purchase this exotic item?

Do you think that if I keep staring at me English work it will complete itself? It's been an hour.

Note to self: Get your money out before walking up to the cashier. Those awkward 30 seconds spent ransacking your own bag are hella awkward.

I'm contemplating devoting a whole separate Instagram account to just creeping on really hot guys. Yeah, that didn't sound creepy at all.

Let's start the fight against dryness today. Ashy people UNITE!!! We will no longer be left lotionless and dry.

I should not be held accountable for anything i say under the influence of sugar. That stuff gets me hyped up.

Think of me as an awkward flower. Small, slightly messed up, hates socializing with bees.

Just a quick R.I.P to my end of year results. The obituary has been planned in advance.

Don't you dare die on me WIFI. Don't you dare buddy, we've been through too much.

Google said I could buy Max Schneider on Amazon. Google is such a liar.

# Eurovision is on people. Drop everything.

She was a sparkle in the mist. A guiding light to unknown wonders that'd otherwise be missed. Because random poetry rules.

If twitter continues telling me there's an internal server error, I might break down. You had one job, one job my friend. Send the tweet.

Check me out on twitter by clicking the twitter button on the side, you know that pink circle with the word twitter written in it.
Check out my recent posts whilst you're at it. You can find links to them in the sidebar.
Thank you for reading.
I'm out.

Sunday, 24 May 2015

What High School Has Done To Me

High school, depending on which country you live in, takes up a considerable amount of time out of our lives. If we calculate it, that's about 567000 years, (give or take a couple of months), occupied by pointless drama, mind numbing exams and the occasional funny moment. High school does have its perks though.  Here's a couple of things high school has done to me.

It's allowed me to answer really complex maths sums and get them right. I can now proudly say that I can factorise 3x^2+19x+20 . Which to be honest I'll probably never have to answer once I finish school, but right now I feel kind of cool knowing how to do it. Unfortunately if you ask me what 19 plus 16 is, you won't be getting an answer any time soon. Simple addition eludes me.

It's made me over think everything. This one is pretty much due to English class and the countless amount of texts were made to analyze each term. Swindell, Shakespear, Murpurgo, I've analysed ( over analysed) pieces of text from them all.

It's allowed me to see that art and DT (Design Technology) are not my strong points what so ever and will never be. It's also taught me that 2 hours of art and DT every week gets really annoying really fast.

It's made me see that science is not only good for careers in a scientific field, but also good for irritating people. Apparently talking about the electromagnetic spectrum for 20 mins straight repels (get it? It's a science joke because magnets repel. No. Ok then) people. I don't see how that could be.

It's enabled me to play four chords and sing really badly. It's also made me really jealous of people who can play pianos and not make it sound like dying seals.

It's taught me why we should not speak Latin and how to conjugate verbs. which is obviously a useful life skill I will be using in the foreseeable future.

It's fed me a whole lot of Spanish vocabulary and sentence structure but not how to hold a conversation in actual Spanish. I know the words tortuga and verde but how the heck do I make that into a conversation with a Spaniard?

It's showed me that dance is for dance class and not for school corridors and dinner halls. I now also know how hard it is to learn a dance routine without making it look like you're just taking your first steps.

I now know that drama requires a lot of confidence and it takes a lot to remember your lines.

It's also taught me that geography and history lessons are terrible on Fridays.

I've learnt that people talk about each other way too much, and that young boys are stupid and have no knowledge of acceptable behavior.

Most importantly it's showed me that not everyone is going to be kind to you, in fact most people are jerks and really rude.With time however, you learn hot to get through that with the most minimal amount of  psychological damage possible. High school can mess you up, no lie.

 I guess that's most of it right now.

I hope you enjoyed reading this post.
I'm out.

Tuesday, 19 May 2015

Ways To End A Phone Conversation

This includes but is not limited to conversations with:
cold callers
annoying friends
irritating exes
and dolphins.

Sometimes you just don't want to hold a conversation.The chit chats mind numbingly boring and you're struggling to keep your eyes open at the words of  an unengaging being. If you've ever been stuck in a situation where it feels like there's no escape from this hell, be assured that you'll face it no more friend. Now commences 'Ways To End A Phone Conversation'. Read at your own risk.

1) Speak gibberish.
Confuffle ( not an actual word) their brains with a mass of made up words. I do it all the time.

2) Start yelling very nice compliments really aggressively to confuse them.

3) Start a conversation and ask about their day.
Completely dismiss the subject at hand and proceed to question them on the goings-on of their life?

4) Pick up the phone and say nothing.
Nothing says I don't want to talk to you more than pure and utter silence.

5) Act really creepy and talk in a deep breathy voice.
If you can accurately imitate the voice of Liam Neeson in this scene, you'll be guaranteed an abrupt end to your conversation.

An alternative to number 5 is to learn the words from this scene and whisper it down the phone.

6) Tattle on them.
In the most petulant voice you can do, scream "I'm telling my mom on you" and squeal. Even if you're 91 and living with cats, this is still effective.

7) Put your cat on the phone.
Nothings creepier than an unexpected meow.

8) Yell things like:
-I'm on to you!!!
-I hate fish cakes!
-Ain't nobody got time for this!
Or continuously repeat these 5 phrases in the most sinister voice you can summon.

9) Ask them really personal questions about their life.
Their age, gender( you can probably infer this already, which is why they won't see the question coming) surname, mothers maiden name, fathers first name. If they've ever had any pets in their lifetime. How many calories they consume in a day. Just a general overview.

10) Recite a sonnet from Shakespeare.
Because lets be honest here, who actually understands this:
Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate,
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?
-I recommend sonnet 87 for it's effectiveness.

11) Act out a scene from a Shakespearean play.
Just like the sonnet, it's equally as baffling.

12) Pretend your a witch and start conjuring spells.
Induce fear in the babbling conversationalist who sits and waits for your input somewhere down the line. Frighten them with your horrid cackles and fearful words.

And if all fails, play this as loud as you can near the phone.

Or maybe just read them this post, they'll be sure to get the message.

So that's how you do it. If you have any other ways that I haven't mentioned, comment them down below. I hope you enjoyed reading this and if you do try any of these out make sure to tell me what you think.

I'm out.

Wednesday, 13 May 2015

The Little Brown House On Humble Street

Picture from-

It was the second of April 1978 when they finished building the little brown house. On the second day of every approaching months a new flower would bloom on its vines, the lights would flicker on through the white, lace curtains and Mrs Ambelton would leave her house. Mrs Ambelton was a woman of mystery. Seldom would she speak or venture out, but you were guaranteed a sighting of her on the second day of every month.

My friends used to tell me stories about her. Everyone had a different tale to tell. Ellis swore she was some sort of which doctor or mad scientist and had a lair in her basement. Penelope said that she was a spy and Mrs Ambelton was just a cover for her real identity. I on the other hand didn't have a story. She was Mrs Ambelton and that was all there was too it. There was no lair, no secret identity and no witchery. She was simply another neighbour. But that autumn things changed. Mrs Ambelton moved out and things got a little weird in the neighbourhood.

For a start the neighbourhood cat, Mr Lincoln( proudly named by Ellis himself ) went a little nuts. He started crushing garden gnomes and scratching at people's doors. I suppose he didn't take it to well that Mrs Ambelton had left. She'd always provided him with an abundance of food. Every Friday At 8 am she'd open a window ever so slightly so Lincoln could squeeze his way through. She'd place a bowl of food on the table near it and each time at exactly 8:15  Lincoln would climb his way through the window and eat the food. The routine was frighteningly accurate and consistent . All this mingling with Mrs Ambelton led Penelope to believe the cat was in cahoots with her.

Then they started to build this factory across the street. Wenders, that's what they were calling it. They built it near the park and the little sweet shop Penelope's parents owned. When the winter came that year construction stopped for a while and the sweet shop was the fullest it had ever been. Penelope's parents closed their shop soon after, despite the busy winter. Business was slow in the summer with the factory around and fully operating.

I think the weirdest of all happened when the Billards moved in on the 6th of June 1989. It was during the peak of a brilliant summer. Mother said the Billards were bad news and warned me to stay away, but that afternoon Ellis and I decided we would do a little spying.

So what do you think? I really hope you enjoyed reading it and I'd love it if you could comment your thoughts on it. Thank you for reading.

I'm out.

Thursday, 7 May 2015

The Teenage Years

You got a fast car
I want a ticket to anywhere

I want to skip to the part where I own a house and get a good job. I know I've got a couple years to get through first and here's how it's all going to go down.

The teenage years:

At age 14 I'm going to go slightly insane and loose all faith in the human race. I'll then convert to unicornism and change my name to Zuzu. I'll start sporting neon dreadlocks and begin handing out help leaflets at my school. I will then proceed to create The List. A document noting the names of people that I despise.

At age 15 I'm going to run a travelling circus and start openly addressing people at my school on how they should stop being so stuck up and rude. I'll then proceed to change my name to the RYSCD (the reasonable yet sometimes cynical destroyer), in an attempt to induce fear in those of whom have made it on The List.

At age 16 I'm going to break under the pressure of exams and start wondering the streets in search of guidance and reasonably priced ice cream. I'll start hiding in post boxes and asking pigeons for their feathers. I'll hopefully develop a sense of style whilst I'm at it.

At age 17 I'll throw petals in the school corridors, dance in the classrooms, eat KFC in the lunch hall and finally tell everyone what I've really been thinking these past 5 years. It will be at this moment that I realize I still have 2 more years at this school.

At age 18 I'll begin a book series detailing the trials and tribulations of my life, I'll force school students to sit through hourly sessions of my book readings. I'll then agressivley throw books at them until they begin to pick them up and leave money in the donation boxes provided. It's a passive agressive approach.

At age 19 I'll get a job and refuse to learn how to drive (the prospect of it just frightens me). My pet squirrel Arnold will chauffeur me around in his car. 

At age 20 the teenage years will finally be over and I'll store away The List.

And yes, Arnold is a magical squirrel. How else can I fit into his teeny tiny acorn car?

Thank you for reading y'all, I hope you enjoyed and I'd love it if you could tell me what you think in the comments. I know I've been posting a lot of humor and as much as I enjoy writing it and coming up with wacky ideas for new witty posts, I think I'd like to add a little variation. So expect a little more descriptive and nostalgic pieces.

I'm out.

Monday, 4 May 2015

Cats Are Humans Too

A post in which I talk about our closest relative... the cat.

Cats are humans too.
They're just like me and you.
Except they wear paws,
And walk on all fours.
They're sassy through and through.

Cats are humans too.
They aren't a load of fools.
They're cunning,
They give great death glares,
And eat a lot of food.
(Yeah I'm talking to you Drew. Boy I saw you steal that tuna, you feline rapscallion)

Cats are humans too.
Well actually they're not,
But hey this was fun right?
I guess this post is done.
Tell me what ya think.

Thank you for reading my post and I hope you enjoyed it.

I'm out.

Friday, 1 May 2015

Childhood Tales Of Epicness

 A post in which I narrate my past.

The clown trials
and khaki

But..but..but I don't like pictures.

As a child, my dad found it necessary to dress me in boys clothing. I wore over sized khaki shorts, camouflage jumpers and the occasional suit vest. Out of 4 children, 3 being boys, I suspected he had thought the 4th would also be a boy (It wasn't obviously) and therefore chose to dress me in boys clothing. But really my assumptions were wrong. My dad just had a horrible sense of judgement when it came to fashion. I also blame it on the fact that I hated shopping and never chose my own clothes. My disliking to shopping started at a very young age.

But I soon developed my own style. It was strictly pink and  no exceptions. Nothing but ranging shades of this one gorgeous colour. No one could tell me that I couldn't wear pink. Well they could have, but they probably feared I'd get angry and start walking the streets naked as an act of rebellion.

As you can see, this picture is before my strictly pink phase. I totally rocked this jumper though.

 On one particular day, after being coaxed into to wear red ( I think it was for red nose day) I went to a school fair. It was one of those awkward social gatherings designed to emotionally traumatise kids and set them up for a life time of awkward encounters. But it was also a place where you could get your face painted in extraordinary colours and morph your face into anything you desired ( as long as it was in the artist's skill range).  I chose to go for something elegant and beautiful. I can't recall exactly what I chose but I didn't get it. Instead they drew a clown on my face.  And so I cried. I cried at the fair, on the way home too and I continued on crying until all the traces of face paint had disappeared. I don't have a picture to show you guys unfortunately, but try to envision an eight year old hysterically crying whilst caked in what seems like water resistant face paint (it took so dang long to wipe it off, we had to resort to baby oil).
After that day I vowed to never get my face painted again. I also vowed to never underestimate the pain that clowns must endure every day.

And that's it. I hope you enjoyed reading. Tell me what you thought and if you have any interesting childhood memories.

I'm out.