Thursday, September 27, 2012

To write or not to write

Hello chums........so, I joined a writer's group! Hurrah!

But I've not had much success with these.

I tried one at a book shop full of 40 somethings, completely terrified of their own writing, and voices - jabbering wrecks. Which isn't a very nice thing to say, but when there's twenty of you, and you're the only one who reads, and the only comment is 'Nice', it's not working.

At the next attempt, they were all too weird. Now, potentially, these are my people. Potentially I'm one of them, an oddball, a misfit. Maybe my internal rejection of the group, is the knowledge that deep down I too, have hygiene issues, intrinsically know how to speak Elvish, and think it's appropriate to bring two babies with me. This is a truly terrifying prospect.

This is my last go at it. I'm totes serious. HILARIOUSLY, and you too, would find this hilarious, I was overjoyed to find that the venue was next to my flat, and then utterly devastated to note that one of the emails on the mailing list belongs to a man who once fired me. Now, my plan is, to make him so uncomfortable, that he leaves.

What do you think?

I mean, I have searched high and low for this. I've been out of University for over four years, without a writing support group to prop up my pitiful sense of being 'a writer', and this could be the one. The one that reinforces my ambition. The one that sparks me off. And we would all become simply the best of friends, and meet up to critique each other's work outside of the group. And from this, a novel would bloom. And then money, lots of money, and - I CAN SMELL IT.

So if all I have to do is turn up crying, address the group, and say that, as a result of being fired some years ago (looking pointedly at man in question), I lost my home (it wasn't a paid job), my integrity, my relationship, and - I don't know - other important, tragic things, like my ability to experience joy - then that's what I'm prepared to do.

Every time he reads something out, I'm going to say it's shit. Even when it's not. Even if could eat Pride and Prejudice or The Great Gatsby for breakfast. And I'll cough through it, and roll my eyes, and feign wrist slitting.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking - will this be enough? I'll let you know.

ALSO,

The prep for the class is to write something silly, fun, and playful.

I'm not being dramatic here, but I currently feel like my soul has been crushed by a falling piano, acid has attacked all of my happy memories, and that one more, tiny bit of stress would see me launching my sobbing body in front of the next Waitrose truck (because if I'm going to die, I'm going to die posh).

I'll email the tutor and say, 'Sorry, couldn't manage that. Instead, here's a rather fetching poem about loss, and suffering, sprinkled with loathing.'

Wish me luck.

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Grr, Argh, and many other aggressive noises

Don't you love it when it' winter, and you're like on the bus, and like all the windows steam up with condensation so you can't see, and then you like, miss your stop. THANKS WEATHER.

So, I've been pretty clumsy recently. I mean I'm usually a mess when it comes to basic movement, and avoiding danger, but I've really stepped it up. I let the wind blow my umbrella into my face. Which is broken by the way (the umbrella, not my face). I lose a spoke a day.

But you know, I've spent £76 on umbrella's so far this year, so I'm not buying a new one. We always ask ourselves - where does all my money go?

I'll tell you: Umbrella's, Barnardos direct debit, lemsip, fucking birthday cards (I'm sorry - but what is it with all these birthdays suddenly?), recently essential survival kit (wellies, rain mac, rope in case need to be pulled out of a puddle by helpful passer by), Groupon (which then fail to use), Activia yoghurts, book on confident public speaking (because noticed legs started doing strange wobbly collapse thing), taxis, Netflix. That's where.

Hey, you what you could do that's really useful?

Spend an hour writing a To-do list on the back of a Morrisons receipt. Then lose the receipt.

Sooooo, I did this really dramatic gesture recently whilst queuing for lunch, and cupped someone's *cough* 'member.'

(Mum, I don't want you thinking that I have some kind of dodgy obsession with men and their trouser snakes. If I'm honest, I don't find them, they come looking for me. I like to think I have a pretty healthy attitude towards sex, and that I'm not some covert pervert. It really was an accident. I know it's hard to believe, but I really hope you can trust me. Maybe we can have a conversation about it next time I'm home?)

Like, one minute, my hand was flying about, and the next minute it was holding something.

I don't know how I get places, as horrifically humiliating as right here.

I've been studying Chavs again. For those of you don't know, I put up a blog a while ago concerning my observations of the modern Chav. I like to take my earphones out on the bus, and just absorb the wisdom. I even make notes.

Does this make me a qualified Sociologist? Yes, I think so too.

So I've got some fascinating findings that I'll share with you soon. I'm not too sure where the notes are. PROBABLY THE SAME PLACE AS THAT FUCKING RECEIPT.

I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed.


Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Nuff Respect

Okay, let's admit it.

Fellow Peers, many of us have hit 25+ and become decidedly 'non-street'.

But panic not, for help is here! I happen to be Facebook friends with a few teenagers (They're family. Don't make it weird), and studying them has helped me to regain my previously lost cool.

Now, I could leave you all in the dark. I could unleash the below phrases on you in conversation and watch you despair. But I'm a good person, and so, will begrudgingly share:

Phrase: 'Get your essay out boi!'
Translation: - You're waffling on.

Phrase: 'Check you out, acting ten men.'
Translation: Bark is bigger than your bite.

And finally............(I've heard this one on the bus)..........

Phrase: 'Man's gonna get dropped.'
Translation: I'm going to beat/kill him.

Now, go forth my children! Use these with gusto. May I also suggest that you try to get a three in one. Let me know how it goes.

Example:

Mum: How many times do I have to tell you to wear suncream. Look at the state of you. It's terrible for your skin. I don't know why-

You: Get your essay out boi!

Mum: What? Don't you talk to me like that I'll-

You: Don't go acting ten men!

Mum: Frankly, I'm disgusted by the way you're addressing me, and I-

You: Nah mate, now man's gonna get dropped.


Don't worry guys, this one's on me.


Tuesday, September 04, 2012

Sorry Mum

So, I wanted to book a meal at this restaurant.

And I was emailing on my phone.

And instead of being a normal person, to which nice normal things happen, I put, 'Kind Retards, Gemma'.

Then, I went to Co-op and picked up some milk, put it in my basket and stood in the queue, and was like why do my legs feel so wet? And looked down. And half of the bottle was on my tights and in my boots.

So I went over to the security guard, and pointed out the situation, and he said, 'It's okay, I can get you a different one.'

And I was like, 'God thanks, because my main concern here, was that you might charge me for wearing the milk.'

Also, I was on this bus, and the driver pulled over for five minutes, so I went up and I said, 'Is something wrong with the bus?'

And he said, 'No, we're just early, and some people are really impatient.'

So I said, 'No, some people have just been waiting ages, and would like to know what's happening.'

To which he went, 'Whatever' and then started the bus.

I went home. Ginger Beard said 'Hey, how was your-'

And I just started hysterically crying, yammering on about kind retards, and milky legs, and shitty bus drivers.

I really have a lot of empathy for those people who are scared to leave their houses. The world is awful. I might steal a loaf of Warbutons or something just so I can get put up in one of those nice hotels, where you get free food and education (also known as prison).

The washing machine broke, so I invoked the Karate Kid, and kicked it right in the face, and it started working. We were brought up on the idea that violence is never the answer. I think violence is always the answer.

I went to this open air classical music concert, and started talking for like 4 seconds, and this woman tapped me on the shoulder and said, 'Excuse me, do you think you could keep it down, I'm trying to listen to the music.' And my friend was smoking, and I asked him if he could put his cigarette out on her eye. Which although it totally OTT, is very illuminating towards my state of mind.

Half an hour later, we started a song, which involved singing the phrase, 'Don't be loud' at various volumes to something from The Nutcraker.

Why don't you just slap me with an ASBO and be done with it.

Fuck my life.