Rebel with a cause

It's day 28 of Narnowrimo. Expected word count - 46676. My word count - 0

Calm down, I'll do it when I get home tonight.

I'll tell you what it's not - IT'S NOT PHYSICAL PROOF THAT I'M NOT A REAL WRITER.

And to prove it, I'm going to my writers' group on Sunday. YEAH, with proper paper and everything.
So screw you voice in my head - you patronising wanker (sounds a lot like Stewie questioning Brian over his first book. And if this reference is lost on you, march your uneducated ass down to Play.com, and spend your wage on a Family Guy boxset instead of food. There, that's the spirit.)

Or, just listen to it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w9rv1oJ4Res.

ALSO

I've been wondering if you're a sad act square for frequently going to the Library, but then suddenly a badass if you get a fine? I asked one person, and he agreed, so that's that. £3, and I've got street cred. And you know how much they were overdue? By a WHOLE day.

God, I really take things too far. I should calm down. Like sometimes there's a queue for the bus, and I sit down on a seat in the middle of the bench, and when the bus comes, I pretend I was in the middle of the queue the ENTIRE time! And sometimes Ginger Beard let's me do the weekly shop, and he's all like 'How are we supposed to survive on 8 ripe pears and tiny tins of coconut milk?' And I'm like 'Shut up and eat the fruit bitch!'

So, I'm glad we sorted that out.

I definitely feel better.

ALSO, this girl, who used to be my friend, told me it was okay to lean backwards when you're on a gym ball. It's not okay. You fall into one of those bikes nailed to the floor. And you get this big bruise on your back.. I hate that girl. Security were watching through the camera, and when I left the building they said 'Did you have a nice time in the gym?'

OBVIOUSLY NOT.

Hey, so mulled wine is like the best thing ever! Why do we only drink it near Christmas? I find, that if you pop lots of fruit in, it's practically a soup, which is a meal.

In case you were wondering, I've not had that much coffee today, only six cups.

I hope you've had a really nice time.

Pinnochio strikes back

Please try not to panic. I know the temptation here, is to run from whatever room you're currently in, screaming, and shave your head.

But I promise, it's going to be okay.

If I flex my surprisingly capable mathematical skills, I can work out that the average Nanowrimo-er should have written 31,666 words by the end of today. I'm not far off - I've written 0.

I can still totes do it.

As per the infinite words of George Micheal - You gotta have faith. Yeah, you gotta have faith.

So have some fucking faith.

Thanks.

ALSO

On my bus, there's a mystery farter.

Seriously, at least two mornings a week, the farter lets a big one go on the top deck, and clears it. I'm not kidding. About thirty of us flee our seats and wait on the stairs, sometimes 2 or 3 stops before our own stop. It's horrendous. It's a slap to the face.

I'm going to start making a note of the people around me every morning. By process of elimination I can source the guilty party. Then I will slap them with a rotten egg and declare, 'There, now we're even.'.

ALSO

I've been doing a lot of house hunting of late.

Did you know that what looks like a considerable about of damp, is just the wallpaper paste innocently coming through, which is perfectly normal? No, neither did I.

Or, that if you invite someone to view a flat, but don't have a key, they won't be able to view it?

Or even, that you can wait thirty minutes before finding out the estate agent's been in a 'car accident'.

I feel pretty shitty about this last one, because she actually was.

Or at least, they went into a lot of detail to secure the story, and I'd hate to believe that 'The airbag broke her jaw.' was a concoction between three of the lying bastards over coffee.

See, I'm trying to be a better person. It's just that I find everyone suspiciously fraudulent. Maybe it's because I make stuff up all the time. Yes, that could indeed be it.

I mean, isn't it just a teensy big convenient, that on the way to get us, a car smacked her bitch up?

SORRY

What I'm trying to say is, Get Well Soon.

People in this renting game want to charge you tons of money for doing sweet FA. If you ask them how the signing fees break down they're like:

'Sure, okay, so £50 for me to talk to you in this oh so patronising tone, £10 for me to grab a 'Bucks' (that's obvs Starbucks to the lamen), and muffin on the way back, £100 to loan you my pen, and I don't know, let's say another £30 because I'm a wanker.'

THANKS

So, basically, we've put an offer in that's like, half the rent, a point blank refusal to pay the fees, and the request for a free bed.

I'll let you know how that pans out.

Did you know Arthritis, is not pronounced Arthur-itus? I didn't.

Je ne parle pas anglais

Hello fellow chumps, how goes it?

I was watching the news the other day, and there was this story about a man who found a pigeon leg. Like, he was inspecting the chimney or something, and it fell down, this foot and leg, with a little red capsule round it. They interviewed the couple, and the wife said, 'It's like Christmas!'

IS IT?

You know what it is like? It's like it's Halloween, and some fucked up mental patient is feeding bird body parts into your house from the roof.

It would be great to be part of that family, because of their horrendously low expectations around gifts.

ALSO

This drunk girl dropped her scarf and didn't notice. Because I'm working very hard on being nicer (I've recently been accused of lacking empathy for the common man), I picked it up and gave it back to her.

She said, 'Oh my God, thank you, you've saved my life!'

Why are people taking the English language and abusing it?

I am a bit perturbed at the extent of dramatics, but also overjoyed at achieving hero status after investing such a small amount of effort. Sweet.

Then she fell on me at the pedestrian crossing.

Advice of the week: Have you seen a film with Joseph Gordon-Levitt, called 'Uncertainty'? No?
Don't watch it.

ALSO

It's day seven of Nanowrimo, and I've only just realised. How incredibly exciting. I have to write approximately 1666 words a day, so that on the 30th of November I have 50,000 shiny new words before me.I mean, it's not like I'm doing it as an act of desperation, to prove to everyone that I'm not, as some may perceive, languidly clawing at the pathetic wispy tail of my escaping dream. NO, THAT'S NOT IT AT ALL.

By my estimations I'm nearly 11662 words behind already.

Luckily I'm being thoroughly motivated by my favourite exercise bike, the screen of which is frozen on, 'You are doing a great training.' Even when you don't pedal! I've never felt so full of optimism and motivation.I do do a great training.

Please pass me the vodka.

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.

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.

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.

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.