Lesson #23

Don't read the Twilight series.
It doesn't need any more explaining really.
Sorry this is getting to you a little late, but this blog wasn't alive in time for me to warn you all. Although, by now you've probably taken the plunge, seen what all the fuss is about. I hope it was as lacklustre and irritating for you as it was for me. I really, really do.
More importantly, I hope Stephenie Meyer is ashamed of herself. Teaching young children that having sex with vampires is not cool. Teaching young children to grow up into a mopey, stuck up brat of a person is not cool. Teaching young children that being completely dependent on another person and relying on them whole-heartedly in order to live is not cool. Teaching young children that in the end everything works out okay... Is. Not. Cool. Honestly woman, give these kids a chance.
And please stop writing. For a lady with a degree in English Literature, you're a really shitty author. Your other book The Host was just as bad. I don't know why I bought it. I can safely say that it is the only book that I have started to read and never finished. You should be proud. Congrats.

Lesson #22

Play The Lord Of The Rings Drinking Game.
At least once in your life.
I don't care if you're not a nerd like me. I don't care if you haven't read the books or seen the films. I don't care if you don't like the work of JRR Tolkein. Play. The damn. Game.
It is so much fun. And gets you so fucking bladdered. So bladdered that even if you don't like the movies, you'll just stop caring and be like 'Woohooo! LOTR! Yeeeeah, get me some Gandalf, UMPH!' Drunk times, friends. Drunk times in Middle Earth.
Here are the rules:

1. Everyone must be allocated a character from the three films. You must now refer everyone to their allocated characters. If you call them by their real name, you must drink two fingers of your drink.


2. Frodo is the only hope for the existance of Middle Earth, especially Samwise. All players must do what Frodo tells them to do.


3. Any time you see "the one ring" you must take one finger of your chosen drink.


4. Any time a reference to "the one ring" is mentioned, you must take one finger of your drink.


5. Any time Gollum says "my precious... GOLLUM GOLLUM." You must repeat straight after "my precious... GOLLUM GOLLUM." in the same tone of voice. The last person to do so must down the rest of their drink.


6. Any time any of the characters over pronounce the letter 'R' in words, you must take 3 fingers of your drink. Mordor is a bitch on this one.


7. Any time the Dark Lord Sauron is mentioned, you must take 2 fingers of your chosen drink.


8. Every time Aragorn appears on screen, you must quote "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn" or "I am Isilsur's heir, not Isildur himself". The last person to quote these must drink 2 fingers of their drink.


9. Anyone who is wearing a ring at the start of the game can make a rule up, as they are wearing the ring of power.


10. Every time the Shire is mentioned, everyone must drink two fingers of their drink.


11. Whenever a black rider comes on screen, Frodo must hide behind a pillow/out of sight. Otherwise he is captured by the fiends and must down his drink!


12. (Return of the King only.) Once Frodo destroys the ring of power, everyone must consume all of the remaining alcohol in sight in celebration of his tremendous effort of destroying the ring... and keeping Samwise out of his ass.


13. Every time Gandalf insults Pippin, you must shout "FOOL OF A TOOK" and drink 3 fingers. The last one to shout "FOOL OF A TOOK" must down their drink.

So go! Go watch one of the movies and play! Or the trilogy back to back if you're brave enough! I advise you to bring buckets. Hope you don't die from alcohol poisoning.

Lesson #21

Don't stay on the sofa all day.
You have a life, do something with it.
Watching endless movies on Sky Anytime may sound fun, but it's not. Movies are dull. There haven't been any decent movies since Disney released the first Mighty Ducks film. Which was epic. That is not a lie...
So there might have been a few okay movies, but none of them are actually memorable, none of them are worth paying to watch. Apart from Tangled... that was an ace movie.
Also, while the prospect of six back to back Scrubs episodes may seem entertaining enough at the outset, I'm telling you now the novelty soon wears off. Sure I love a bit of JD and Turk as much as the next guy, but three hours of them non-stop is just annoying!
Honestly, I've had the least productive day probably since I was a baby. I didn't have a shower until like 6.30pm despite waking up at 9 in the morning. That's right, I stayed in my dressing gown for seven and a half hours watching crappy TV. I knew I had to get up when my eyes hovered over Psychic Sally on the Road for just a fraction too long. This was after the Jeremy Kyle marathon.
I am 18. I am classed as a citizen of Great Britain. I am legally allowed to drive, drink alcohol, go clubbing, have sex, go to jail, get a job, get married, a whole bunch of shit. Yet I dickishly decide to spend my days cooped up inside by myself watching old re-runs of Doctor Who and eating marshmallows out the packet. Something's gone wrong there. Something's not right.
There's so much I could be doing, so why in God's name am I not doing it?! It's inconceivable! It's ridiculous. It's just plain lazy. In a few weeks I'm gonna be jetting off to university... is it likely that I'll bit in my pyjamas for days on end doing a whole lot of nothing then? Doubtful. So why the fuck do it now?! Sarah Owen, get yourself a fucking life! You have so much to give!... You have a fair bit to give... I guess...
Don't stay on the sofa all day. You have a life. Use it for God's sake, you lazy little shite.

Lesson #20

Don't put pictures up on Blogger.
Do you have any idea the ordeal it took for me to get that last post up looking as perfect and neat as it does now? Let me rephrase that, as moderately decent as I could possibly get it to look as it does now?
SO long! And so not worth it. I don't even like photos of myself, especially not that many compiled into such a small space... It worries me just how scared I look in half of them, like properly petrified. In my defence a lot of those things don't have eyes painted on, which is kinda freaky.
I genuinely cannot believe it took me like 2 hours to do one post. The effort I go to just for this. It's pathetic. I need a life.
If you value your time and like to spend it in normal ways and dong normal things, don't create a blog and upload pictures onto it, it's very stressful and I'd even go as far to say as a little bit traumatic.

Lesson #19

Go on a gorilla hunt.
Wearing silly hats and wigs.
If the local zoo has created 60 plastic gorillas, sent them out to schools and charities to decorate, and then placed them around town, you would be a fool not to look for all of them. A ruddy fool.
So what if it's a childish thing to do? So what if while parading around the centre with your mum you learn that only children below the age of ten are doing this? That you're the only 18 year old who wanted to have your photo taken with every gorilla? So bloody what, whose to stop me?
To tell you the truth, it was the best fun I've had all summer; loading up the back of the car with a vast array of different headwear and gunning around Bristol with a map, a list and a full tank of gas. Who could ask for more? Stop off at a couple of pubs, have a livener, and back to the quest. I am telling you now I was a maid on a mission!
And if you don't believe me and think that I would be too embarrassed to go out in public with a bag full of ridiculous hats and wigs and wear them while my mother phtographed me next to a life size plastic model of a gorilla, I have fucking evidence. Don't look so silly now do I?! Wait... Up yours. Please note, no gorillas were harmed in the build up to this post.

Lesson #18

Don't speak to the same person every single day.
It just gets boring.
It's especially bad when they're a really nice person and you could get on with them really well. But talking to them every single fucking day is just too much. After, what, three years now, I am so bored of you that I dread it when your name pops up on IM. And I know that you'll say hi. And we'll have yet another mundane, meaningless, monotonous conversation.
Yeah, I used to get on with you better than anyone else, and I used to call you my best friend, but now I can't stand you! I have said everything to you that I possibly could. There's not one conversation that I could have with you that I haven't had before. Sad, I know, but true. You drive me up the fucking wall.
And when you know someone inside out and there's nothing left to uncover or learn, then you're well and truly stuck. Where the hell do you go from there? I'll tell you where: downhill. You begin to pick up on annoying little traits they have that never used to bother you but now make you want to scratch your eyeballs out. Like the fact that they can't tell the difference between its and it's. Or your and you're. And that they always put two qustion marks... because one just isn't enough? What? That's crazy! Did you pay any attention in English Grammar?
Or the fact that all they ever talk about is computer games or cider. Or that they never ask you about you. Which sounds selfish, and yeah really is selfish but so fucking what? It takes two to tango. Why don't you give a damn about me, or my day, or my opinions? To be honest, it's nothing short of rude.
And I hate that we used to be so close, and now I don't want to see you anymore, but I can't help it. It's not exactly anyone's fault, some things just don't work out.
So don't speak to someone every day, not if you care about them. People need space, no one likes to have a limpet as a friend, clinginess has never been a good thing. So don't do it. For both your sakes.

Lesson #17

Shower.
Everyday.
I know this one goes without saying, but I've had a boring day, nothing has happened, it's late, I'm tired and I need sleep so badly. Cut a girl some slack, would'ya?
Anyway, one little reminder can't hurt right? Hygeine is a very important thing in our day and age. And besides, no one wants to speak to you if you smell. So bathe daily and use deodorant. Perfume too if you can afford it!

Lesson #16

Sort out your university accomodation.
Pronto.
Don't wait around for ages wondering if they've recieved your application, or if its being processed still, or if it's in the post. Call them!
You don't want to arrive in a strange city that you don't know well that has a - and I think it's fairly safe to say this - shit reputation and find that you have nowhere to live.
Do you really wanna be kicking it with the tramps on the streets of Hull? Didn't think so.
So sort it out. Pronto!

Lesson #15

Don't set Facebook as your homepage.
Bad move.
Have you noticed how addictive that thing is? Mark Zuckerburg, you really knew what you were doing didn't you. Bastard.
Why is it necessary for us to know what everyone is doing, every minute of every day? Why do we care about what people from primary school, who we don't even speak to anymore, are doing this weekend? Or where they went last night? Or when they're getting a haircut.
Their life most likely doesn't affect yours in any way, shape or form. And yet you find yourself glued to the screen for hours. Even when nothing is happening! I tend to sit there and press the Home button until someone updates a new status. Which nine out of ten times doesn't interest me at all.
Facebook chat is dreadful as well. From the little annoying sounds it makes to the sheer volume of people who have nothing better to do with their lives than speak to you, it irritates the shit out of me.
And why do we have to friend everyone we've ever known in our lives? Even the ones we don't like. How is it that 'friend' has beome a verb? It's a noun! At least it used to be, when people socialised face to face. When if you wanted to see someone, or talk to them you had to make the effort to see them or call them. Back in the day, eh?
That's what bugs me most, that life has now become so effortless that we can just click a few buttons and we feel that that's worthy enough of socialising. 'Liking' someone's photo doesn't constitute to how well you know them, or how well you get on with them. It doesn't develop or progress your relationship with them. It does fuck all. And yet, in our minds, it counts for something... It counts because we took all of 2 seconds to click a button? Really?
The worst part is that it tells you when someone's birthday is! I used to feel so good about myself because I can remember everyone's birthday, and no one else I know can. That makes me feel pretty damn good, not gonna lie. And people used to like it when I remembered their birthday, it made them feel special. Now, everyone gets told everyone's birthday in a fucking notification! And no one feels special. Sad. Times.
I saw this on youtube a few weeks ago and totally agree with every word he says!
http://www.youtube.com/user/nerimon#p/u/9/tqs_JZO9U4U
So don't set Facebook as your homepage, you will become addicted. You know what, don't even get Facebook. Don't bother with social networking at all. You have a voice for a reason, don't rely on the fucking computer all the time! Bad move indeed.

Lesson #14

Avoid drinking heavily four nights in a row.
Girls, alcohol makes you do stupid things.
The sooner you learn this, the better. Alcohol turns good people bad, ignites this little fire demon inside you intent on one purpose and one purpose only: destroying your dignity. And I assure you, after four nights of the same, I am left with none.
I'm not even sure I have a single brain cell left, it feels like they've all shrivelled into dust. It hurts...
Honestly, if getting off with four boys in as many nights doesn't make you feel awful, I'm pretty sure nothing will. Four girls maybe...
Everybody hates the drunk version of themselves, I'm sure. Whether you're the violent drunk, the happy drunk, the embarrassing dancing drunk, the puking drunk or, in my case, the friendly drunk. Only friendly is an understatement. I'm the 'jump any guy whose available' drunk. They don't even have to be available. Alcohol turns me into a sex monster. A genuine monster. I'll snog anything that moves at the mere hint of ethanol. It's attrocious. It's even worse when the only people you go out with are your close friends.
I feel like such a whore. It's terrible, I've had to text so many boys the morning after: I'm so sorry about last night. Sometimes with the added sad face. You know it's bad when you have to add the sad face. :(
The thing is, I need a drink to relax. Not even lying, I need it. Otherwise I'm really boring. And I'd rather suck off my best mate in a field than be boring.
Did I just say that. Wow. New personal best. All. Time. Low.
I'm certain that there are plenty of other reasons why you shouldn't go binging every night of the week. Namely cancer, liver cirhossis, heart disease, brain damage, and risks of drink driving, pulling idiotic stunts, disorderly and violent behaviour, jail, need I go on?
But for me, the morning after is payback enough. Not just the hangover but the moment of realisation when it dawns upon you what, or rather who, you did last night. Nothing quite beats that.
Avoid drinking heavily, girls, alcohol is the devil incarnate!

Lesson #13

Don't use your passport as ID.
Ever.
You will lose it.
You will spend the next few days fretting about nothing but the fact you lost your passport.
Your. Fucking. Passport.
Your brother will then find out and shout at you.
Not that you need shouting at. You're crapping yourself.
And you feel so scared to tell your parents because they'll kill you. Literally, they will tie the noose to the banister and strap you in. No questions asked.
You will feel sick, I mean physically ill that you could be so unbe-fucking-lievably stupid.
But you have to tell them. You have to.
And so you do. Mum of course, Mum's good cop. Dad's not just bad cop, he's cut-throat.
And, you know what? Mum's amazing.
"It's only a bit of paper, Sarah, what are you gtting so worried about? Let's go have another look for it and if we can't find it, we'll report it to the police, fill in an LS01 form and apply for a new one. It'll be fine."
Mum, I freaking love you!
Sadly, I have to pay £77.50 for a new one. Woops.
Don't use your passport as ID. I'm warning you now, take it from someone who's been there: YOU WILL LOSE IT!

Lesson #12

Spontaneously go on holiday.
Whenever possible.
If your mother randomly comes home one day and proposes a fully paid trip to Cornwall for the week, you would be a fool not to accept. A week away from the boredom of your own home and the stresses of your life, a week to be filled with blissful, easy ignorance and mindless self indulgence. Yes. Please.
So what if the weather wasn't as summer-y as it could've been? It wass worse back home... and it wasn't home! Nice nice niiice.
Seven days spent watching beautiful surfers just chilling on a beach, eating ice cream and pasties, flirting with boys in a folk rock band in St Ives and playing canasta with a bottle of gin. All paid for by your wonderful mother and sister. Who could say no?! Money well spent girls, good fucking job.
Do it, seriously! I advise it. Even if it is to a shitty cabin in muddy Scotland, or some rough council estate in Norway; whatever, who cares? Just get away from where you are and have an awesome time somewhere else! Somewhere else is my favourite place.
Go on, off you go on your spontaneous travels. Just hop in the car, drive to a ferry dock or an airport or find a hot air balloon... Your choice. Just get away. Whenever poss.

Lesson #11

Don't go to foam parties.
Else risk death.
I don't understand how some people enjoy this kinda thing. It's insane. Personally, I'm not a big fan of being squished in a mosh pit full of tall drunk men (who literally towered above me!) whilst having the most disgusting smelling foam sprayed over me. Fair enough if it was just a mild scattering of happy foam, but truck loads of evil foam is a bit much!
It. Was. Everywhere. I couldn't see for foam, I couldn't breathe without inhaling foam, I couldn't move to avoid foam, I couldn't speak otherwise I would eat foam. My hair still smells of foam after 17 hours and being washed twice. I've had enough foam to last a lifetime!
I was drenched in the stuff... thank fuck I was wearing a black top otherwise I would've been involuntarily entered into the wet T shirt competition and would definitely have come last. For the record, foam showers, not a good idea.
The rest of the night was bloody amazing though. And well needed. My results were pretty good: Psychology - A; Literature - A; Biology - C. It wasn't enough t get into Edinburgh where I desperately wanted to go, but I'm going to my insurance Hull, which should be fantastic... quite excited!
Although I've been solidly drunk or hungover for the past like thee days, and I'm started to feel the effects. This also means I have learned several important lessons to teach you, but rules are rules, one post a day!
Todays being very potent, I feel. Don't go to foam parties, else risk a foamy, foamy death.

Lesson #10

Don't give a shit.
Just literally don't.
The world isn't worth the shit you have to give, you have some damn good shit, look after it. Keep it to yourself, enjoy it in private...
Situations as crappy as ones you find yourself presented with are just petty. You don't have to respond or care about them. It's only life, y'know, don't fucking bother with it.
At the end of the day, you are one person out of 7 billion. You are worthless. You are insignificant. The world doesn't care if you're angry or upset or happy or anything. You can't change anything so why try? Just leave it alone.
Don't give a shit... literally, you're better than that. Just don't.

Lesson #9

Don't think about results.
Do not think about results.
Think about rainbows. And bunny rabbits. And lollipops and candyfloss and fluffy pillows and sunshine. Push results to the back of your mind.
13 hours and 49 minutes to go.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Shi-i-t.
Quick, down the bottle of vodka!
Just don't think about your results or how badly you've screwed up or how the rest of your life officially starts the second you wake up tomorrow. It's only life, right? How bad can it be?
Bugger.
Don't think about it. Don't even think about it. Do not think about results.

Lesson #8

Don't believe a word Elastoplast says.
Water resistant plasters? My arse.
Here is a quote off the box in which my crappy plasters came in: 'Breathable, water and dirt repellent plasters with a non-stick pad to protect and cushion your wound. Also with strong adhesive material which seals your wound all around to prevent dirt contamination.'
Bunch of lying, cheating dicks. Like hell are these plasters waterproof! I'd barely even got into the shower before it was peeling off, desperately trying to make an escape through the bathroom door. One drop out the tap was all it took for it come clean off. Screw your adhesive materials Elastoplast, try testing your products before you brag about them! What a lot of bullshit.
My wound doesn't even feel cushioned.
Also, why say they're dirt repellent if you've claimed that they're strong sealing as well? Surely that's just repeating yourself which is bad advertisement. Did you learn nothing in business school Mr Beiersdorf? Nothing at all?! Not only is your product a piece of wank but your design and advertisement are shit too. Someone get me on Dragon's Den.
This isn't the first time it's happened either. These plasters always come off, even when there's not a pond in sight! What's worse is that they seem to fall off due to the slightest bit of movement. Wiggle your little toe and the plaster on your arm will just drop off! It's bloody ridiculous and really fucking annoys me. If you hadn't already guessed.
So yeah, don't buy Elastoplasts, despite their cunning packaging lies. Scandal. Cheek. Grr!

Lesson #7

Don't be embarrassed by the sound of yourself weeing.
Everyone wees!
I'll be the first to put my hands up and say that I'm a total sucker for this. Literally, the mere hint of that tinkle of liquid on porcelain makes me cringe so much. All the way through school, I refused to go to the toilet if someone else was in there; childish to say the very least, I know, but that's just me.
The thing is though, I'm pretty sure that every other woman in the Northern Hemisphere feels just as uncomfortable when stepping into a public bathroom. It's particularly bad when a queue forms behind you, especially in airports, and the sense of mortification dawns on you that all these strangers' ears are going to be graced by the sound of your body ridding itself of excrement and waste. Positively delightful.
But why should you be humiliated by this fact? It's just urine, after all! People need to wee, it's a natural bodily function, it's not some dark or shameful secret. If we didn't wee, ammonium toxins would build up in our bodies, slowly poisoning every living cell we are made up of. And I for one certainly don't want that to happen.
Besides, when are you ever going to bump into that old woman by the hand-driers ever again? It's not a big deal, it's not like she's going to discuss the sounds of weeing with Vera from over the road when she gets home and your urine specifically will be brought into the conversation.
I say wee harder! Get it over with quicker! Let them know you're not afraid, that you are a proud, upstanding citizen in our modern-age society, and if you wanna pee go fucking pee! Don't be ashamed or embarrassed by it, everyone wees.

Lesson #6

Always listen to the music from your childhood.
Face it, life was better when you were eight.
Now, I tend to do this on a regular basis; there's a club in Bristol that on Saturday nights only plays cheesy pop music, one hit wonders and blasts from the past. It sounds ridiculous I know, but there is nothing more certified to cheer you up than a few number ones from when you were six.
I can remember dancing to these tunes at my year five disco before chugging a Panda Pop and wondering why Jamie Shepherd refused to talk to me after I just kneed him in the balls. (I was nine, I didn't know any better...) Life was good back then, and easy and carefree. And singing along to Enrique and S Club bring back all those wonderful feelings.
Yes, you may look like a moron singing into your hairbrush and bopping around like a lunatic on a full moon, but who cares?! You can't deny that amazing sense of excitement when Five or Shania Twain comes on the radio and you feel that buzzing sensation in your legs wuch just screams 'Time To Dance!' There's nothing quite like it.
Which is why I advise it on a monthly, if not daily, basis!
Listen to the songs that made you smile when you were a kid, they'll probably make you smile twice as hard now you're an adult and know how crap the world is. Just let loose, cut loose, footloose! Have a sing-a-long and dance like no one's watching you, go to karaoke nights and wail like Avril Lavigne,just go crazy! At the end of the day no one will really care, you'll most likely put everone else in a stella mood as well! You're never gonna see these people ever again in your life, so what if they laugh at you?! And if they're your friends, then they'll join in too: in the words of Posh, Scary, Sporty, Ginger and Baby Spice 'Friendship Never Ends!' They'll love you no matter what!
So do it, go and find the first CD you ever bought, and take pleasure in knowing that Steps will always be there for you 'After The Love Has Gone'. You might as well face it, life was beter when you were eight.

Lesson #5

Never get involved in other people's problems.
It's just easier that way.
I mean this one with all sincerity, just stay away from other people's lives and their issues, stick to your own. It doesn't matter if you miss out on the latest gossip or are out of the loop, some things should just be left alone.
For instance, two of your best friends, lets call them Alice and Charlie, have been dating for a good three years. And they're perfect together. And they're perfect individuals. And everything is wonderful.
And then some guy, who's sorta your friend but mostly just a tag along, let's call him Adam, tells you that he's been cheating with her. For the past six months.
While it may be a well-known fact that Alice is a total flirt, you never thought she'd hurt Charlie like that. You never thought she'd go that far. You never thought she'd be that heartless.
What's worse is that before they started dating, you were practically in love with Charlie. Who is the most genuine and honest and incredibly pure person you will ever meet. You even tell Alice, who is undeniably your best friend, that you like Charlie. But she goes out with him regardless, and they fall in love all by themselves. And you know what, it doesn't even matter because they're both awesome friends and you're actually really happy for them, and you move on from Charlie and everything's fine for three years.
Then Adam drops this fucking huge bombshell, and nukes your entire perspective to shreds. Thanks Adam, you fucking wankshaft prick. Thanks a whole fucking lot.
So yeah, Adam and Alice have been fooling around behind Charlie's back for half the fucking year, until Alice decides that she made a mistake and doesn't want to jeapordise her relationship with Charlie (quite rightly so, might I point out) and tells Adam its over. Well done, girl!
But Adam, the basarding little knob, can't deal with that. He has to go and tell Charlie about their little arrangement. You spineless weed. Leaving poor Chaz broken. But he stays with Alice anyway, because he's a hopelessly romantic fool. Poor Charlie.
In the meantime, Adam off-loads his secret onto you. Neutral you. Switzerland you. Although, in the fight against two amazing, beautiful specimens of humanity versus an egotistical, obnoxious, vile little turd is it any wonder Switzerland finally caved? Didn't think so.
And now, Adam is threatening suicide if he doesn't get an apology from Alice for what she did to him. No, you're not missing a trick: What. She. Did. To. Him.
When he shouldn't have gone through with it in the first place. He's even friends with Charlie! And he can't handle the fact that he screwed up so badly, so he's blaming everyone else. Like a child. Like a vindictive, malicious, evil child. Like the love child of Tiger Woods and Satan.
So yeah, Adam tells you he's going to kill himself. Which you don't buy for a second; I mean firstly if you are gonna kill yourself, you wouldn't tell anyone, you'd just do it, and secondly he adores his family to the end of the world and back, he'd never do that to them. But the way he speaks about it, it's really scary, and you don't know what to do, what to say, how to react. On the one hand you're a minute away from ripping his head off and just bad-mouthing him to hell. On the other hand, you kinda feel sorry for him, in all fairness Alice has done a pretty shitty thing and she doesn't seem to be feeling the repurcussions of that.
And now you're in the middle of this shitfest, while you have a dozen othr problems that need fixing. And you feel 100% helpless. And so you turn to Blogger to find comfort and solace. And amazingly, you kinda do.
But seriously guys, try to avoid other people's issues, they belong to them for a reason, don't feel that you have to go meddling. And besides, your problems are just as bad as theirs, sort yourself out before venturing onto other people's lives. It's just easier that way.

Lesson #4

Avoid clicking the Next Blog >> button.
At all costs.
Seriously, I made the mistake the other day and it was absolutely horrendous!
Page after page after page of middle aged women bragging about their children and their husbands and their perfect, sub-urban, small-town American lives. With dozens of fake, cutesy photos plastered over the screen with repulsive tags like 'Jack learning to poo!' and 'Lucy in the bath!' Who fucking needs it?! Why am I going to want to read about your boring life when there are 17,000,000,000 other hits about it? Or look at your incredibly ugly kids sat on the loo? I have better things to do with my time!
And if it's not a blog about some loved up family in Austin, Texas, then it's a blog about how many miles some fella just ran at the weekend and his marathon aspirations! Or some jumped up lunatic selling home made pottery for 25p a mug... which has legs on it! Genuinely, what, the, fuck?
Are these people incapable of leading normal lives? Getting a job in an office? Or watching mindless TV for 4 hours on a Sunday afternoon? Are they that delusional that they think other people will take an interest in their sickly little lives? It actually baffles me, I can't fathom it at all!
Trust me, just read your own blog! It will be a much better way to waste half an hour than look at other peoples and try to figure out what drugs they're on! Save yourself the disappointment, don't click that button! AT ALL COSTS!

Lesson #3

Don't make a 'sad playlist' on your iTunes.
It's guaranteed to make you feel even crappier.
Maybe you innocently thought that compiling the likes of James Blunt's Goodbye My Love, Al Green's How Can You Mend A Broken Heart and Duffy's Warwick Avenue into one giant list of depression and misery was a good idea; one that would help you get over that dickhead. I'll tell you now, it's just not gonna do the trick.
Listening to James Morrison tell you that 'love is hard' won't make a blind bit of difference to your recovery rate, other than slow it down. You don't need other people to tell you how upset and crushed you're feeling, your brain's doing a pretty good job of that already, believe you me. And what's worse is that they're paid to feel hideously lonely and write about it. I'm not getting paid for feelng like shit, where's the justice in that?! I could easily write a song about regret and pain and suffering and heartache and all that crap... Though maybe I'm confusing song-writing with shed-destruction and titanic-watching.
Moral of the story is, chums, you'd feel garbage, lonely and insignificant even without the reminders from the Goo Goo Dolls. You'd cry regardless of their heartfelt lyrics and bittersweet melodies. Why give them the satisfaction!
In order to avoid feeling worse, don't make a 'sad' playlist' on your iTunes account, you're gonna feel crappy with or without it.

Lesson #2

Don't go shopping two days in a row.
It's really not good for your bank account.
I know it's specifically hard when you've just been given loads of money for your birthday and your Mum and sister are in the mood for retail therapy, and let's be honest you've had a pretty horrendous month, you need it too!
But you're wrong! Honestly, you are so wrong. So what if that dress surprisingly looks really good on you despite it being pink? So what if those tops are 2 for £12? So what if those shoes and that scarf are buy one get one free in Dorothy Perkins, limited time only? And so bloody what if you've just found a pair of jeans that fit you, I mean really fit you and are in the section Buy Me Now Or Lose Me Forever? SO. WHAT.
Why don't I ever listen to my own advice?
If you like your bank account and have a good friendly relationship with him, and if the cash machine doesn't resemble a torture device that dishes out punishments instead of crisp bank notes, then keep it that way!
Why succumb to the little niggling voice in your head? The one that only ever presents itself when you're alone in the changing room and only knows a certain few phrases: Wow, your legs look so slim!, Blimey, you can hardly see your tummy in that at all! and the worst one, Your bum definitely doesn't look big in that! Why, why, why?
You know you've got it bad when you start pulling out the uni card as well. 'But Edinburgh's cold, I'll need a new coat', 'My clothes aren't cool enough and I don't wanna be the reject with no friends specially before I've even started lectures', the list stretches on as far as the eye can see.
It's pathetic really. I have no job and desperately need to conserve as much money as possible for fresher's week, yet I find myself being dragged around town by my alter ego who lives to shop and needs to be locked away in the Spendaholics Anonymous Headqaurters. It's not pathetic, it's disgusting. I'm ashamed of myself, truly.
Oh well... I've already taken off the labels, it's too late for me now. But not you! Don't go shopping two days in a row! It's really not good for you bank account. Really. Not. Good.

Lesson #1

Never send angry text messages to your bastard of a boyfriend.
Especially when drunk.
Okay, so it might be fun to type out a graphically obscene text to the boy who just shagged you and then didn't speak to you for a good three weeks, but seriously; not one of my better ideas. Don't get me wrong, if this was How to live your life not giving a toss about social boundaries, saying what you want when you want, and generally giving 'em something to fucking talk about! then this would definitely feature!
Sure it's wonderful to call someone - and I quote - a fucking cowardly pathetic shithead knobbing cockweasel of a man, and yeah it's even better when you have a bonefide reason behind it, but trust me ladies, it will not end well!
If you've been dating someone for a while, and they appear to be a lovely bloke, then why not just leave it at that? If they're not talking to you it's probably because you told them you were going on holiday to Spain and they didn't want to waste their credit or minutes. And if you send that bloody text, they will avoid you indefinitely afterward, and with good cause might I add.
Unless of course, you really couldn't care less about them with their dick-fuckish ways and knob-shittish habits. If you really do want them to die sad, alone and miserable in a pile of their own shit surrounded by terminally diseased stray cats and rabid squirrells, then PLEASE be my guest! Lord knows how good it feels to vent your pent up anger and see your rage in Ariel font size 11 appear before your very eyes on a little screen in front of you. And yeah afterwards, you feel absolutely fantastic! (Though that might just be the 5 pints and bottle of vodka you just drained.) I was on the verge of driving to Buckingham Palace myself and requesting I be knighted, or at least given a medal for my services to my own self-respect!
Sadly, in the following days, I'd say about the point where you find yourself watching Calamity Jane, wishing Howard Keel was a good 70 years younger and crying onto the shoulders of your two favourite men Ben and Jerry, that's pretty much when the ecstasy wears off.
I'm doing this, girls, so you don't have to! Never send angry text messages to your bastard of a boyfriend. Especially when drunk.