New Grooves (plus nonsense)

It's twenty-nine minutes past nine, and my head is filled with useless stuff.

What colour should I paint my toenails? Ugh, cannot be bothered to take off gross pink nail polish, as smell of nail polish remover is not unlike rat poison. I should really subscribe to Frankie magazine. Maybe I should become a young, witty journalist-writer-person who writes articles about emerging bands and soy-free coffees. Don't even like coffee. I wonder how much a flight from London to Rome costs? Will I be able to afford that after school?

Et cetera.

Then, many miles below all this on the list of things in my mind:

God. Haven't even started history essay on Israel. Still don't really know the reasons behind why the Israelis and Palestinians throw rocks (and grenades) at each other. Oh God. Will get to school to be glared at by elderly history teacher who will say "so what have you been doing this holiday?!" and I will not be able to reply "lying in bed eating greek yogurt and watching Community." At least I have done a chunk of essay about schizophrenia. I even bought a book called OPERATORS AND THINGS, which is the lesser spotted ramblings of a schizophrenic. Still, cannot do any more work at present because printer is not working. Damn. In hell, I shall be surrounded by inefficient printers who look snootily at my mac and say "Ha! How can you assume we'll connect to that! I hope you die trying to insert that ink cartridge, you son of a bitch."

In other news, I went to a massive bookfest and came away with a book about puns (Pundemonium), something called The Te of Piglet, and a small, square book called THE CUBE, which is an "imagination game", clearly thought up by crackheads in the nineties who sat around in coffee shops attempting to sound like psychologists.

New favourite music includes:

and a few things I made meself!

CLICK HERE THIS VERY SECOND TO LISTEN TO MA GROOVEY TUNES.

Yes, I have been playing my new, pink ukulele obsessively.

Ta ta for now.

xxx

Summer Daze

Frustrated. Last week, wrote a complex list of things to do with the family, and now all has gone to pieces.

Oversight #1: inclusion of small baby-like creature means that doing anything takes 8 million times longer. Sidenote – everything she does she does with such intense cuteness that everyone (me included) falls into a pile on the floor, tongues lolling out of their mouths, telling each other how beautiful she is.

Oversight #2: weather. Personally, can think of nothing better than 37 lovely degrees of joy and wonder, but others disagree, and so from 10 a.m. til 4 p.m., all that can happen in the house is wandering around, planting kisses on unimpressed baby and eating things.

Aunt is now singing Silent Night to baby in a desperate attempt to force sleep on her. The words have now changed to “Mama needs a break/ Mama is tired / please go to sleep / little scheisse”.

Wish to be one of those people who can get things done. Would herd family members out of the house like Jewish bison and seamlessly shepherd them into their respective cars with clear and concise instructions – all the while maintaining a cool authoritative edge and not resorting to stealing baby and yelling from outside “I have your child, now follow me.”  

On the side that is bright, am excited and a little scared of surprise birthday bash tomorrow. Actual birthday is on Saturday, but tomorrow I have been instructed to meet friends at nine for day full of mystery and presents (hopefully). Faith in friends is battling with worry at their sick senses of humour; possible that they will meet me only to say “we’re going for a hike in the midday sun, where we shall have to catch our own food, and – because it’s your birthday – you get to skin it” or “here are your presents, hope you like World’s Greatest Cricketers DVDs and herbal tea”. No. Must trust in people.

17 seems like a pointless birthday – no added benefits but more responsibility. My dad pointed out that ABBA’s Dancing Queen was 17, but the only song I can think of with 17 in it is by Janice Ian, and is too depressing for words. And the Jet song, which is groovy but don’t understand lyrics. 

Jolly Thursday!

P.S. Forgot to say that Sherlock Holmes 2 is VERY VERY cool and I would recommend it. 

Normal In The Eye

White Girl Problem #1: I am sitting awkwardly in my spinny desk chair, leaning far back enough that a sneeze could send my limbs fleeing to the hills. The armrests are too high, so the computer is wedged between ribs and is burning my thighs. High armrests also mean that funny little dinosaur arm movements are in order. Also, if I relax my head from atteeeeeen-SHUN position, eight hundred chins appear and eyes must do shifty drug-dealer movements to see the screen. Yet I shall work through it, as supreme laziness outweighs major discomfort, which every teenager will know.

Since the New Years rant, my family have invaded. Don't get me wrong - it is a wonderful kind of invasion because they are mad and wildly emotional. Just heard a loud scream from Crazy Cousin Number One, and didn't even flinch because my house has been flooded with such a level of insanity that I wouldn't know normal if it hit me in the eye. *
In other but related news, family now includes a small person. Said small person has only been on the planet for ten months, but seems to have life figured out. She yells when hungry, tired, uncomfortable or plain bored, dances when she hears music, and has discovered that if she gazes at the camera with her big blue eyes while grinning and holding her baby finger up to the corner of her mouth, all otherwise-sensible adults will melt and become incoherent. She can crawl and sometimes just collapses on your chest and sighs into her little fat tummy and really, that is all you need in life.

I do have a post entitled WOODFORD which shall appear soon, when I have uploaded my photos and videos. Yes, I know I am slow. Mleagh.

(* Just now found out that bloodcurdling scream was due to spider terrorist in the bathroom. Being bold and fearless, I fetched my cousin's glasses from there as she cowered in my room, and I have to say that while the terrorist was ballsy and orange, it wasn't ginormous.)

I have recently downloaded a few old 30s albums from Doris Day, very beautiful and relaxing to listen to.

Takes me back to a different era.

I wish for you that normal never hits you in the eye. Pip pip.