You Have to Read This Because It’s My Birthday

No, really. I’m 22 today, which means I should probably stop telling myself that I’m in my late teens. I should probably accept that 2005 was more than three years ago as well, now I think about it, but let’s not go down that rabbit hole…

Last year I made a list of things I want to do before 2020, then promptly forgot about it. I just had a look and I’m quite smug, because I can tick off passing my driving test and visiting South East Asia. Publishing a book and finishing a screenplay are still works in progress – arguably they are not even ahem in progress – and I haven’t been to anywhere new in Europe or taken up a sport, but I am currently at two jobs, not five. I’m getting somewhere!

Possibly the thing to do with life lists is to hide them away and only refer to them occasionally so you don’t stress yourself out. Then again, it’s nice to have little reminders of where you want to go and how far you’ve come. A year ago I couldn’t picture what Laos looked like, I couldn’t parallel park and the idea of actually finishing short stories and posting them on the Internet hadn’t actually occurred to me. Possibly I should add ‘be less dense’ to the 2020 list…

Luang Prabang, Laos
For the record, this is what Laos looks like.

I haven’t got a list of things I want to do at 22, or at least I haven’t got anything concrete and quantifiable. By 23 I want to have written loads more, and kept up my Etsy, and stopped having heart palpitations when I drive, and I’d like to have as good a laugh as I’ve had this year. No one I know has been ill, there have been no accidents or massive dramas. All things considered, 21 was a year well lived. If 22 is as good, I think it will be a success.

I am going to see my family and overeat now, so I will leave this. I know a lot of people prefer to make goals and resolutions in September instead of January (and why not it’s the best month) so if you are one of those people, or even if you aren’t, let me know what you’ve aced in the last year and what you’d like to do in the next year. Maybe we could keep each other accountable?!

Doing My Sisterly Duty…

For those of you that don’t know, today is my not-quite-sister Isobel’s birthday. So, in true almost-sisterly fashion, I’ve decided to embarrass the hell out of her with some photos and anecdotes I’ve accumulated over the past year.

  •   The time she made me coffee for breakfast, forgot about the frother thingy on the machine and nearly killed us both with hot milk… I told her she was mad, she replied “I’m not, I’m making the best coffee you’ve ever had… Shit.” I believe the toaster had malfunctioned. That same day she announced she’s going to be a ‘barrister’ when she grows up. ‘Barista’, darling, but God help us either way.

  • Isobel and her BFF, her sleeping bag:

  • And, finally, what she thinks of me:

Happy birthday! Now I don’t need to buy you anything xx

In other news, Urban Dictionary thinks I’m awesome, Saudi Arabian women have gotten the right to vote and Dan’s been bitching about the new Facebook layout to Dan.

I’m pretty sure I have more videos in my YouTube history to irritate you with, but all in good time…

The Story of a Man, a Woman and the Corpses of a Thousand Evil Men

I was on the fence about blogging tonight since I don’t have any pictures/anything massively cool to say, but then Twitter informed me that today’s Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge’s seventh birthday.

Good enough present?

I will never get tired of this band, or this album. If you listen on headphones, really late at night when you can’t sleep for trying, you will drift off listening to the really intricate parts of these songs. You’ll be rudely awoken every other song, but it’s worth it.

If, for some reason, you have no idea what I’m on about, hit YouTube now. Ignore the bitchy comments about so-and-so being gay or the new sound being shit and all that. Well, there is one comment which keeps cropping up in one form or another which is funny:

  Justin Bieber: I’m a gift from God!

  My Chemical Romance: We didn’t send you…

You can do so many variations of this, I love it. It’s like when you read the Bible and replace God’s name with yours… Frowned upon by as many people who embrace it.

A lot like My Chem, now I think about it.

On One Trip, Pugsley and I Saw Eight Muse T-shirts. On Eight Different People.

  Technically I don’t become a whole year older until around ten thirty this evening, but I’m sitting in the back garden warming my feet on the chimnea. Since I’ve actually put this weekend’s photographs on the D drive already, I thought I’d be a total techie geek and upload them for you lovely people now. In the garden.

 

 

 

 

And yesterday’s trip with Cinderella and my family to London to see The Secret of Sherlock Holmes:

 

 

  In case I forget, thank you to everyone who forked out for exercise books, fineliners, Shakespeare compilations and toe rings for me. Best weekend ever.

This Is Probably the Only Blog Post You’ll Ever Read Linking My Chemical Romance and the 1947 Polish Elections

  It’s become something of tradition, I think, to blog around this week every year. Not because I lost someone on 9/11. I was only five years and three hundred and sixty-four days old when it happened, after all… Most people my age probably can’t even remember it. I know a girl at my school who thinks Osama Bin Laden is a member of the Beatles.

Osama bin Laden cartoon

Not because it’s Mikey Way’s thirtieth birthday today either.

  Or that it’s nearly nine years since a depressed twenty-something artist on his way to work saw the aforementioned disaster and formed a brilliant rock band with his aforementioned brother.

  But because, despite all the odds, I have survived another year. Amazing, innit? I haven’t been run over by a bus, set myself on fire during a Chemistry IAA, contracted cancer, crashed a car, slit one vein too many, been assassinated or fallen over attempting a roundhouse kick, cracking my head open on the dojo floor.

  I’m prepared to bet a few of you have considered killing me, setting me on fire or chucking me on the dojo floor. Thank you for refraining. You know that theory Charles Darwin came up with, the survival of the fittest? That if you’re unable to hunt or climb trees or run really fast from whatever’s trying to eat you, you’ll get cast out of the pack and eaten.

  I kind of cheated with the ‘survival’ part of the saying. It’s not my fault, okay? I didn’t ask to get born eleven weeks early. It just happened. I didn’t ask for Rochford and Southend hospitals to stick pipes in my side and kick-start my respiratory system either, but I’m grateful to whoever signed the pipe-insertion contract.

  Every year I reflect on the shithole that is September 11th and the excellence of My Chem, and wonder how something so good could be born out of something so bad. If 9/11 hadn’t happened, would MCR be doing what they do? I like to think that terrorist attacks notwithstanding, yeah.

  Let’s face it, Gerard wouldn’t have done art for the Cartoon Network forever, Ray was going to pick up the guitar again at some point, Mikey had to get over his stage fright one way or another and Frank… Well, Frank is one of those insane blokes who sort of manages to kill demon sharks wherever the van takes him.

       

  Same with Darwin’s theory of evolution. If I’d been born circa 1950, I’d be in a shoebox sized grave right now next to my mum, and Maxim would be an unexistent annoying little brother. But I was born in the nineties, dude, and there’s no point having a pretty comfortable privileged life and not doing anything but surfing Twitter. So regardless of my serious hatred of birthday celebrations and all the grief that accompanies it, I’m rather looking forward to Sunday.

  It ain’t over till the fat lady sings, according to the proverb. Well, it ain’t over till I say it’s over, so anyone still going on about medical science not being a good idea can go the same way as the homophobes and Qur’an burners. Down the fucking drain.

  When the USSR rigged the Polish vote in 1947 to ensure it became communist, Stalin wasn’t worried about cheating. He was worried that Germany might kill more Russians if there was another war, and he wanted Poland to protect them. I don’t like Labour, but Moustache Dictator Guy Two had the right idea.

It Rained Today. It’s Not Raining Now.

  Greetings from my back garden. I’d take a picture but I’m too lazy to fetch my camara. I’m too lazy to do anything more than slurp noisily from the glass of melted ice cubes sitting next to me, now I think about it. Though to be honest, the ice cubes taste a bit strange. Our freezer is about twenty-five years old.

  I really ought to write Ruby’s birthday present (happy birthday Ruby!), a story about dodos, but I am going to my nan’s soon for her birthday so I’ll suspect I’ll pull another late night/early morning stint. Well, early morning, because I don’t do late nights. Most of the time I am in bed by nine, with a book on one side, my diary on the other and a few suffed toys perched somewhere. I love early mornings instead. It’s quiet, peaceful, the birds tweet and sound nice… Unless they’re the pigeons that nested outside my bedroom windows a few months back. They cooed as soon as it got light.

 Because I haven’t got any pictures, here are my two newest haikus, now on FictionPress for everyone to comment on, if you’d be so kind.

Ebay

Odes to Food I am going to add more to this one, because chemical energy is easily as good as a chemical romance. Don’t tell Gerard, but I think food is better.

  Before I forget, I was thinking of making a video blog/log/vlog/amateur TV show with my camcorder in Greece. Will it be an epic waste of effort or do you all want to listen to my beautiful thoughts as well as read them?