Reader, I am a very positive person. Sometimes to ridiculous amounts. I try my hardest not to be a complainer, or to get too down in the dumps, because in my experience, positive attitudes attract positive results and negative attitudes attract...well, you get the picture. Sometimes, like anyone, I get a case of the blues, but it's very rare, and when it happens I work hard not to dwell on it. I have a cry, then fight my way back into a sunshiney disposition, even if I have to fake it till I discover I actually am happy again (believe it or not, this does work, it's like some kind of placebo!). Which is why I find I have very little sympathy for people who see life through grey tinted glasses. My brother has a tendency towards this, and it's been the cause of many an argument between us, with me trying to shift him out of a bad mood, him insisting the world is out to get him, me talking about all the lovely things in his life, him talking them down till they sound a bit crap. It usually ends in me throwing a pillow at his head. I have also noticed this at work. We all complain about working in a call centre. It's only natural, it is after all, an incredibly boring job. However, there is a line between good natured 'ugh, this job stinks, I wish I could win the Euro Millions and retire to a small exotic island with a pile of books and a keg of pina colada' and 'This job stinks, I deserve better, I should be getting paid more, I cant take much more of this, how dare they make me try and sell wine to people who don't want it'. Get your head out of your arse. No one likes their job. Apart from maybe Bill Gates. Or Parkinson. And if you hate it that much? Change the job. Go and be a waiter, or a teacher, or a bus driver or an accountant.
Then you get people who just seem to like complaining. There were two women on the train from Chichester the other day who were whining about their high paid publishing jobs; 'Well they DID pay for the hotel, but it was only 4 star, the TV had Virgin rather than Sky and frankly the conference was a bore'. 'Did you get paid extra to go?' 'Oh yes, about 10 grand for 4 days, but it hardly seemed worth it for how bored I was'. I wanted to take them to some of the council flats in Tottenham and show them some of the amazing, cheerful people who live there on jobs that pay less than minimum wage, with three asthmatic kids, a buggered up lock on their door from people trying to break in and a bad case of damp in the walls. What's that old saying? Only boring people get bored. These are usually also the people who, when you say 'oh, how are you?' in a fleeting way, go 'I've been better' or 'Well, I had a crap weekend'. Day in, day out. Never 'Oh, I'm great, isn't it lovely and sunny?' or 'Fabulous! It's only a month till Christmas!' or even 'Wonderful, it was cold today so I got to wear my favourite gloves'. No wonder they're bored, they don't bother looking for any joy in life!
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying you're not allowed to be down in the dumps. I've been depressed before, I know how hard it is to get out of bed when everything seems bleak. What I do suggest though, is let yourself have a limited amount of time to bask in the misery. There's a difference between clinical depression that needs drugs and possibly therapy and someone just being a moody sod. Interestingly, the people I know with clinical depression are far less willing to force their blues on other people than the moody sods. My trick is that I allow myself one day, or even just a few hours, to indulge in being grumpy, I watch sad films, I eat a family sized bar of dairy milk and some potato waffles, I write incredibly self indulgent diary entries and I may even have a cry to my mum, and then when my 'allotted time' has passed, I force myself to try and be positive and look at the world in a new light. And it works. There have been studies done on the power of positive thinking and it's many benifits. Positive people are the ones that get the jobs, the friends, the great experiences, they even bloody live longer! And they're not positive because of these things, it's all because of the positivity that they have them.
So go out and smile Reader! Go listen to carollers at Covent Garden, eat a mince pie or a Coconut cupcake from Lola's, watch it's a wonderful life, have a duvet day. Be happy! It's a rather nice world out there after all. And you'll live longer. Or something.
Bye for now,
Ash
x
p.s. has anyone noticed I've really got into the christmas spirit?
By Aislinn De'Ath
Click on my face to link to my vlog!
Showing posts with label brother. Show all posts
Showing posts with label brother. Show all posts
Monday, 28 November 2011
Sunday, 2 October 2011
A week to weep in
Reader, a truly terrifying thing happened at the beginning of this week. My younger brother went off to uni. Now, this was scary for a number of reasons.
1) He left his room a complete and utter pit. My brother is the sort of teenager who owns t-shirts that can stand up on their own, shoes that even the cat won't rub itself up against, empty casserole dishes that he's used to make a sort of supernoodle-pasta-bake and then never taken out of his dwelling and random receipts for cheese puffs and cigars just thrown everywhere. Since he left, we've been in a fit of cleaning, which has taken a whole week and still leaves a lot to be desired.
2) To my knowledge, when he left he'd never a) cooked himself a meal with veggies that weren't previously frozen and b) had yet to work out how to use the washing machine and tumble drier. However, somehow, the day he got there, he helped his new housemates make a veggie curry. Which he ate. He has also never eaten anything I've ever made with veggies in. And when mum called earlier he couldn't talk because he 'had a wash on'. OMFG,
3) For a Lahndahn lad, he's not very streetwise. He went out jogging at 2am once and got pelted with eggs. Yeah. I know.
4) He has never had to properly budget before, apart from 'what shall I spend my Christmas money on? Games? But which games? Ah the decisions!'
5) He's not the most organised lad in the world. He famously once got kicked off a train in Bristol, and had his ticket taken off him because he didn't think he needed his young person's railcard as proof. He's also lost so many oyster cards, we were pretty sure somewhere, someone was taking full advantage of his student discount (of course, we then found all 3 cards in his room while cleaning it...)
6) The scariest thing of all though, was that I thought I'd be massively cool with him going. 'Peace and quiet!' I thought. 'Heaven!' I was looking forward to coming home to a clean house, no one interrupting my TOWIE watching time, and nicking any treats I got myself from the fridge. I was pretty sure I'd be waving him off with a skip in my step and a song in my heart. But the second I hugged him goodbye, I started welling up. After all, he may be 6'2 and built like a boxer, but he's still my baby brother and the thought of him having to be a grown up was pretty devastating. I managed to hold myself together until he got into the car, then flood of tears set in. The Lad, cruelly, thought it would help the little bro to see that I was sad to see him go, so picked me up (in my dressing gown might I add) and dragged me into the road. Tosser. I'm dealing with it a lot better now, especially since we've had frequent calls from the brother telling us what a fab time he's having and how much he loves uni and his housemates. Plus, he's coming back this friday, which I think probably means he needs money.
After all the stress, it was lucky that my mother, my nan and I had planned to go to a health spa. It was largely for my gran's birthday (but also somewhat of a treat for me and mum, let's face it) and woah. Pure awesome. We had three days of being pampered in the luxurious surroundings of Ragdale Hall, where we were massaged, moisturised, sauna'd and steamed within an inch of our lives. We literally didn't have to lift a single finger for the duration of our stay (apart from to ask for more butter for our home made bread at dinner). While we were there, it was proved, yet again, what a hilarious lady my Grandmother is. She's an Irish lady, and while I'm not at liberty to disclose her age, just be advised that she looks fantastic for her years. And she's hysterical. She came out with some complete classics during the stay, so for your reading pleasure, here are a few of them.
1) On the way there, we stopped off in a rest stop for lunch and some magazines. My nan went 'Oh, Ash, I'll get you some sweets', Me: 'Don't worry about it nan, I'm fine, really', 'Oh no, I'll get you some, just a couple', 'Really Nan, I'm fine, I don't want to pile on weight while we're there', 'I'm getting them now!' When we got to the room, she told us that she didn't want any, and made us take big handfuls, before popping them in her bedside cabinet. Then, as soon as the lights went out for bed, we heard a rustling noise. She was only dipping into them when she thought we wouldn't notice! Well, I know where I get that from now.
2) On the first night, we popped on the telly. The first thing on was a sort of 'accident and emergency' reality show/documentary and at that moment there was a bloke on who'd 'fallen' onto a loo brush. Bristles first. Just as the nurse was saying how cringe it all was, my nan piped up with 'Was it as part of a game?'. I could only reply with 'Yes Nan. Well, sort of.'
3) My nan is a very generous woman, and as the car was being loaded up, she was in the gift shop trying to find a pressie for my little cousin Daisy. I went to fetch her and she said 'Oh, good, I was just trying to find you a little bracelet as a present'. Knowing that she's actually on rather a tight income, and noticing that the gift shop was VASTLY over priced, I wouldn't let her get me one, but she was so determined that she started pointing out everything in the shop, going 'Do you want that?'. Including a dummy set (she thought it was a key ring), a pair of men's slippers and at one point, an ornamental statue that wasn't for sale. Bless her.
4) She's also a woman who knows the brilliance of good luggage. When she opened up her (three!) bags, she showed us the many other bags inside them she'd decanted all of her things into as a form of organisation. My nan loves a good bag. This resulted in much hilarity. On the first day, she lost a bag in between all the other bags. On the next, she got worried that the cleaning lady would sit on her bags, or move them, so she made a sort of bag mountain behind the table. On the last day, she realised that she somehow had one extra plastic bag, so she spent ages deliberating on how to put it to best use, before placing a single water bottle in it and looking immensely pleased with herself. She then proudly put the little plastic bag next to all the luggage for the bellboy to take down, before we told her that it would probably make his life a bit difficult and she grudgingly put it inside one of the main bags.
It was, all in all, a brilliant few days. Which made it especially hard to come back home, especially since the day after the day after we got back, I came down with the most dreadful flu, that had me stuck in bed all day, surrounded by kleenex and day nurse. Luckily, it was only a 24 hour thing and now I only have a bad case of the sniffles. Helped along by a lot of banana loaf and a day of board games with The Lad and two of our wonderful friends from university.
Ok Chaps, that's all for now!
Hope you're enjoying this mad October sun we're having!
Ash
x
1) He left his room a complete and utter pit. My brother is the sort of teenager who owns t-shirts that can stand up on their own, shoes that even the cat won't rub itself up against, empty casserole dishes that he's used to make a sort of supernoodle-pasta-bake and then never taken out of his dwelling and random receipts for cheese puffs and cigars just thrown everywhere. Since he left, we've been in a fit of cleaning, which has taken a whole week and still leaves a lot to be desired.
2) To my knowledge, when he left he'd never a) cooked himself a meal with veggies that weren't previously frozen and b) had yet to work out how to use the washing machine and tumble drier. However, somehow, the day he got there, he helped his new housemates make a veggie curry. Which he ate. He has also never eaten anything I've ever made with veggies in. And when mum called earlier he couldn't talk because he 'had a wash on'. OMFG,
3) For a Lahndahn lad, he's not very streetwise. He went out jogging at 2am once and got pelted with eggs. Yeah. I know.
4) He has never had to properly budget before, apart from 'what shall I spend my Christmas money on? Games? But which games? Ah the decisions!'
5) He's not the most organised lad in the world. He famously once got kicked off a train in Bristol, and had his ticket taken off him because he didn't think he needed his young person's railcard as proof. He's also lost so many oyster cards, we were pretty sure somewhere, someone was taking full advantage of his student discount (of course, we then found all 3 cards in his room while cleaning it...)
6) The scariest thing of all though, was that I thought I'd be massively cool with him going. 'Peace and quiet!' I thought. 'Heaven!' I was looking forward to coming home to a clean house, no one interrupting my TOWIE watching time, and nicking any treats I got myself from the fridge. I was pretty sure I'd be waving him off with a skip in my step and a song in my heart. But the second I hugged him goodbye, I started welling up. After all, he may be 6'2 and built like a boxer, but he's still my baby brother and the thought of him having to be a grown up was pretty devastating. I managed to hold myself together until he got into the car, then flood of tears set in. The Lad, cruelly, thought it would help the little bro to see that I was sad to see him go, so picked me up (in my dressing gown might I add) and dragged me into the road. Tosser. I'm dealing with it a lot better now, especially since we've had frequent calls from the brother telling us what a fab time he's having and how much he loves uni and his housemates. Plus, he's coming back this friday, which I think probably means he needs money.
After all the stress, it was lucky that my mother, my nan and I had planned to go to a health spa. It was largely for my gran's birthday (but also somewhat of a treat for me and mum, let's face it) and woah. Pure awesome. We had three days of being pampered in the luxurious surroundings of Ragdale Hall, where we were massaged, moisturised, sauna'd and steamed within an inch of our lives. We literally didn't have to lift a single finger for the duration of our stay (apart from to ask for more butter for our home made bread at dinner). While we were there, it was proved, yet again, what a hilarious lady my Grandmother is. She's an Irish lady, and while I'm not at liberty to disclose her age, just be advised that she looks fantastic for her years. And she's hysterical. She came out with some complete classics during the stay, so for your reading pleasure, here are a few of them.
1) On the way there, we stopped off in a rest stop for lunch and some magazines. My nan went 'Oh, Ash, I'll get you some sweets', Me: 'Don't worry about it nan, I'm fine, really', 'Oh no, I'll get you some, just a couple', 'Really Nan, I'm fine, I don't want to pile on weight while we're there', 'I'm getting them now!' When we got to the room, she told us that she didn't want any, and made us take big handfuls, before popping them in her bedside cabinet. Then, as soon as the lights went out for bed, we heard a rustling noise. She was only dipping into them when she thought we wouldn't notice! Well, I know where I get that from now.
2) On the first night, we popped on the telly. The first thing on was a sort of 'accident and emergency' reality show/documentary and at that moment there was a bloke on who'd 'fallen' onto a loo brush. Bristles first. Just as the nurse was saying how cringe it all was, my nan piped up with 'Was it as part of a game?'. I could only reply with 'Yes Nan. Well, sort of.'
3) My nan is a very generous woman, and as the car was being loaded up, she was in the gift shop trying to find a pressie for my little cousin Daisy. I went to fetch her and she said 'Oh, good, I was just trying to find you a little bracelet as a present'. Knowing that she's actually on rather a tight income, and noticing that the gift shop was VASTLY over priced, I wouldn't let her get me one, but she was so determined that she started pointing out everything in the shop, going 'Do you want that?'. Including a dummy set (she thought it was a key ring), a pair of men's slippers and at one point, an ornamental statue that wasn't for sale. Bless her.
4) She's also a woman who knows the brilliance of good luggage. When she opened up her (three!) bags, she showed us the many other bags inside them she'd decanted all of her things into as a form of organisation. My nan loves a good bag. This resulted in much hilarity. On the first day, she lost a bag in between all the other bags. On the next, she got worried that the cleaning lady would sit on her bags, or move them, so she made a sort of bag mountain behind the table. On the last day, she realised that she somehow had one extra plastic bag, so she spent ages deliberating on how to put it to best use, before placing a single water bottle in it and looking immensely pleased with herself. She then proudly put the little plastic bag next to all the luggage for the bellboy to take down, before we told her that it would probably make his life a bit difficult and she grudgingly put it inside one of the main bags.
It was, all in all, a brilliant few days. Which made it especially hard to come back home, especially since the day after the day after we got back, I came down with the most dreadful flu, that had me stuck in bed all day, surrounded by kleenex and day nurse. Luckily, it was only a 24 hour thing and now I only have a bad case of the sniffles. Helped along by a lot of banana loaf and a day of board games with The Lad and two of our wonderful friends from university.
Ok Chaps, that's all for now!
Hope you're enjoying this mad October sun we're having!
Ash
x
Friday, 20 May 2011
Old old old I'm so very very old
Reader, BLB (Bratty Little Brother for those new to the blog) is today 18 years of age. He has been wandering round the house in a state of what can only be described as shock. But I don't think he can be any more shocked than the rest of us!
You see folks, BLB has turned out rather well. He's about to sit his final exams at college (and great things have been predicted for his results), he's got offers from all of the uni's he applied to, he's got a girlfriend who is also in education and he's very polite to old people. He even washes occasionally. This is amazing. Why? Well, this was not a future we envisioned for 4 year old BLB.
4 year old BLT was a demonic hell child, made all the worse by the fact that he had the face of an angel, with his big blue eyes, white hair and rosy cheeks (complete with dimples Reader, DIMPLES!). You'd look at him and think 'Aww, what a sweet child!' He'd smile sweetly at you and you'd get tricked into approaching. Five minutes later, you'd be nursing a bleeding bitten hand, he'd have smashed some prized ornaments and be screeching on the floor, wiping his snotty nose on the carpet, his face roughly the colour of a slightly over-ripe tomato. And it probably all stemmed from you mentioning Marks and Spencers or Tesco. BLB was not a fan of large shops. Or indeed, any shops, apart from toy shops or the local newsagent where we used to spend our 50p a week pocket money on pick n mix. BLB did not like the world. He was quite convinced that the world, in fact, was out to get him, and it was as if he decided to get the world first. Nothing could please him *and oh god did we try*. We gave him a Nintendo. He got angry when he didn't understand the games at once and hurled the controller across the floor in a fit of fury. We took him to Disneyworld (every child's dream!) and he got an unexpected bout of homesickness and shouted every day 'I wanna go back to the house with the chimney!' He also hated every ride with the exception of the Star Wars one (no child was as obsessed with Star Wars than BLB and he made us go on it 3 times). He got frightened by Pluto and screamed at the poor man in the suit as if he was a demon sent from hell to reclaim him. He got given the lead role in his christmas nursery play but when it came time for him to go on stage screamed 'NOOOOOOO' and sulked behind the curtains.We got him a really cool space style bunk bed. He hated it and slept on the floor. BLB was, to put it mildly, a difficult child.
Saying that, it has made for some seriously hilarious memories, which tonight, when we go out for his birthday meal, I am in no doubt we will tell to one another and fall about in hysterics, as we always do on evenings out. And thank God, we can now, because he has gone from being the demon child from hell to a very fun to be around teenager, who's great at taking the piss out of himself and others, is very witty and political, polite to old people and charming to strangers and who lets his family tell all those awfully embarrassing stories without getting too huffy. Plus, he was actually quite cute as a kid, like the time in Disneyworld he got star struck by Mickey mouse and hugged his leg and wouldn't let go. And when he'd fall asleep with his plastic builder's belt on. Or maybe that's just the rose tinted spectacles of hindsight!
So on that note, I wish my BLB a happy 18th and say goodbye dear Reader
Till next time!
Ash
x
You see folks, BLB has turned out rather well. He's about to sit his final exams at college (and great things have been predicted for his results), he's got offers from all of the uni's he applied to, he's got a girlfriend who is also in education and he's very polite to old people. He even washes occasionally. This is amazing. Why? Well, this was not a future we envisioned for 4 year old BLB.
4 year old BLT was a demonic hell child, made all the worse by the fact that he had the face of an angel, with his big blue eyes, white hair and rosy cheeks (complete with dimples Reader, DIMPLES!). You'd look at him and think 'Aww, what a sweet child!' He'd smile sweetly at you and you'd get tricked into approaching. Five minutes later, you'd be nursing a bleeding bitten hand, he'd have smashed some prized ornaments and be screeching on the floor, wiping his snotty nose on the carpet, his face roughly the colour of a slightly over-ripe tomato. And it probably all stemmed from you mentioning Marks and Spencers or Tesco. BLB was not a fan of large shops. Or indeed, any shops, apart from toy shops or the local newsagent where we used to spend our 50p a week pocket money on pick n mix. BLB did not like the world. He was quite convinced that the world, in fact, was out to get him, and it was as if he decided to get the world first. Nothing could please him *and oh god did we try*. We gave him a Nintendo. He got angry when he didn't understand the games at once and hurled the controller across the floor in a fit of fury. We took him to Disneyworld (every child's dream!) and he got an unexpected bout of homesickness and shouted every day 'I wanna go back to the house with the chimney!' He also hated every ride with the exception of the Star Wars one (no child was as obsessed with Star Wars than BLB and he made us go on it 3 times). He got frightened by Pluto and screamed at the poor man in the suit as if he was a demon sent from hell to reclaim him. He got given the lead role in his christmas nursery play but when it came time for him to go on stage screamed 'NOOOOOOO' and sulked behind the curtains.We got him a really cool space style bunk bed. He hated it and slept on the floor. BLB was, to put it mildly, a difficult child.
Saying that, it has made for some seriously hilarious memories, which tonight, when we go out for his birthday meal, I am in no doubt we will tell to one another and fall about in hysterics, as we always do on evenings out. And thank God, we can now, because he has gone from being the demon child from hell to a very fun to be around teenager, who's great at taking the piss out of himself and others, is very witty and political, polite to old people and charming to strangers and who lets his family tell all those awfully embarrassing stories without getting too huffy. Plus, he was actually quite cute as a kid, like the time in Disneyworld he got star struck by Mickey mouse and hugged his leg and wouldn't let go. And when he'd fall asleep with his plastic builder's belt on. Or maybe that's just the rose tinted spectacles of hindsight!
So on that note, I wish my BLB a happy 18th and say goodbye dear Reader
Till next time!
Ash
x
Tuesday, 17 May 2011
Fuckles for my feet
Reader, I have no fuckles.
No, I didn't know what they were either. Right, take your sock off, curl your toes. Now look beneath them, sort of just below where the toe meets the foot on the topside of the foot (not actually underneath your feet). Do you have a sort of knuckle? Well goody for you. That is a fuckle. A foot-knuckle.
Until I realised I don't have them, I didn't know everyone else did. I was made aware by The Lad who was talking about how beautiful his own feet are (they're not that amazing, he's just got a case of foot vanity) and comparing them to mine. He's quite proud of his feet and got a bit annoyed when I couldn't see what was so jaw-droppingly gorgeous about them, so pointed out that I have strange, vaguely webbed feet lacking in (you guessed it Reader) fuckles. Now, most of this is just plain cruelty and I imagine, a touch of hurt foot pride, on the Lad's front. But I am sorry to say that actually he is quite right. You see Reader, my feet are really very odd. I'm a bit of a flower child, and so walk around barefoot as much as I possibly can, therefore the soles of my feet aren't all lovely and soft and feminine like most girls (and The Lad's incidentally) but rather hard like good quality leather, and usually slightly green from grass stains. They're ridiculously smooth and flat (possibly one of the reasons why I got kicked out of ballet at the tender age of 5) and my index and middle toes on both feet are slightly (just a teeny weeny bit) webbed together, which I always thought was a bit sweet and mermaidy, but is apparently more monkey-alien. My index toes are also longer than my big toes and my toenails are inevitably coated in chipped mad nail polish colours.
Poor feet. Oh well, I like them! They're good feet. They may be clumsy and look like some kind of monkey/frog hybrid's feet, but they're mine and they work pretty well!
In other news reader, I am considering taking up Vlogging. Which for you non cool kids, means video blogging. It looks like fun, I am mainly considering it because I have seen some very amusing vlogs recently. However, the thought of myself on camera just being myself and not a character does not really appeal. And I can't edit for poop. Which is a shame really. Maybe I should get The Lad to train in the ways of filming and editing and he can be my one man slave-crew. I could pay him in pokemon cards!
What else has been going on? Hum....? Well I have a job interview tomorrow, so keep your fingers crossed for me! I may even tidy my room in the morning, just to make myself feel businessy and organised. Oooh, and my little brother turning 18 on friday! I can't believe it, he's so much younger than I was at that age. I used to go clubbing up London every week when I was 17, we used to photocopy our passports and then photoshop the bit with our dates of birth on. I'm not convinced he's ever actually been to a proper club...But then boys do mature 3 years later than girls. Plus, he's just got a proper girlfriend. Which, let's face it, I didn't achieve till quite a bit later. I would love to say that I was casting my wild oats, but I was busy making them into cookies and being scared of most boys till I went off to uni (and even then I was no great shakes at the dating game, for a very long time I persistently ignored the very nice single boys that got crushes on me, and instead followed with puppy like devotion the difficult, taken boys who'd pat me on the head like you would with a devoted toddler. Eventually I got a bit bored of being the only one not getting to have kisses in the student union and spending my evenings pining and jumped The Lad. Quite literally.)
Actually, I was awful at the brother's age with my love life. Mainly because back then I didn't know any boys. And when I went to uni, I did really cringe things like get drunk and be sick on their shoes if I liked them (as happened at one notorious house party. Then I sat in the mud and demanded that one of my friends sing to me. I am a fun drunk.). I was however, quite good at flirting. In fact, I had a bit of a reputation for it. Now I only get to use my skills if I'm trying to get a free drink from the bar staff on a night out or get into a pub in Camden on a friday night with no id (I look like a 17 year old). The Lad finds it quite amusing when I try to flirt with him, and he ends up winding me up. I usually end up sulking in these instances, and have to be coaxed into a better mood with small bits of chocolate and compliments.
Right, on that tangent, I'll be off to watch an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and eat toast in bed. Nom nom nom.
Night night Reader!
Ash
x
No, I didn't know what they were either. Right, take your sock off, curl your toes. Now look beneath them, sort of just below where the toe meets the foot on the topside of the foot (not actually underneath your feet). Do you have a sort of knuckle? Well goody for you. That is a fuckle. A foot-knuckle.
Until I realised I don't have them, I didn't know everyone else did. I was made aware by The Lad who was talking about how beautiful his own feet are (they're not that amazing, he's just got a case of foot vanity) and comparing them to mine. He's quite proud of his feet and got a bit annoyed when I couldn't see what was so jaw-droppingly gorgeous about them, so pointed out that I have strange, vaguely webbed feet lacking in (you guessed it Reader) fuckles. Now, most of this is just plain cruelty and I imagine, a touch of hurt foot pride, on the Lad's front. But I am sorry to say that actually he is quite right. You see Reader, my feet are really very odd. I'm a bit of a flower child, and so walk around barefoot as much as I possibly can, therefore the soles of my feet aren't all lovely and soft and feminine like most girls (and The Lad's incidentally) but rather hard like good quality leather, and usually slightly green from grass stains. They're ridiculously smooth and flat (possibly one of the reasons why I got kicked out of ballet at the tender age of 5) and my index and middle toes on both feet are slightly (just a teeny weeny bit) webbed together, which I always thought was a bit sweet and mermaidy, but is apparently more monkey-alien. My index toes are also longer than my big toes and my toenails are inevitably coated in chipped mad nail polish colours.
Poor feet. Oh well, I like them! They're good feet. They may be clumsy and look like some kind of monkey/frog hybrid's feet, but they're mine and they work pretty well!
In other news reader, I am considering taking up Vlogging. Which for you non cool kids, means video blogging. It looks like fun, I am mainly considering it because I have seen some very amusing vlogs recently. However, the thought of myself on camera just being myself and not a character does not really appeal. And I can't edit for poop. Which is a shame really. Maybe I should get The Lad to train in the ways of filming and editing and he can be my one man slave-crew. I could pay him in pokemon cards!
What else has been going on? Hum....? Well I have a job interview tomorrow, so keep your fingers crossed for me! I may even tidy my room in the morning, just to make myself feel businessy and organised. Oooh, and my little brother turning 18 on friday! I can't believe it, he's so much younger than I was at that age. I used to go clubbing up London every week when I was 17, we used to photocopy our passports and then photoshop the bit with our dates of birth on. I'm not convinced he's ever actually been to a proper club...But then boys do mature 3 years later than girls. Plus, he's just got a proper girlfriend. Which, let's face it, I didn't achieve till quite a bit later. I would love to say that I was casting my wild oats, but I was busy making them into cookies and being scared of most boys till I went off to uni (and even then I was no great shakes at the dating game, for a very long time I persistently ignored the very nice single boys that got crushes on me, and instead followed with puppy like devotion the difficult, taken boys who'd pat me on the head like you would with a devoted toddler. Eventually I got a bit bored of being the only one not getting to have kisses in the student union and spending my evenings pining and jumped The Lad. Quite literally.)
Actually, I was awful at the brother's age with my love life. Mainly because back then I didn't know any boys. And when I went to uni, I did really cringe things like get drunk and be sick on their shoes if I liked them (as happened at one notorious house party. Then I sat in the mud and demanded that one of my friends sing to me. I am a fun drunk.). I was however, quite good at flirting. In fact, I had a bit of a reputation for it. Now I only get to use my skills if I'm trying to get a free drink from the bar staff on a night out or get into a pub in Camden on a friday night with no id (I look like a 17 year old). The Lad finds it quite amusing when I try to flirt with him, and he ends up winding me up. I usually end up sulking in these instances, and have to be coaxed into a better mood with small bits of chocolate and compliments.
Right, on that tangent, I'll be off to watch an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and eat toast in bed. Nom nom nom.
Night night Reader!
Ash
x
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