In my entirely unscientific (and 1am) opinion, human nature dictates that we throw a million seeds on a field and then sit back while watching the seeds grow (and generally die because we forgot they needed water, oops).
I have been fortunate enough in my life to meet some of the anti-grainers, those stand out-ers, those Organised People.
I am not one of them.
I am lazy and so do not try and 'go against the grain' or whatever the
saying is, but simply crowd surf over the tide of bad seed-growers*.
*Farmers?
However, I am one of those people who pretend to be organised. Proof includes:
1. Snapchatting photos of my revision when in fact those books were not opened and that pen was not even touched, except to position it for the perfect photo.
2. Panic-buying stationery when the shop assistant in WHSmiths asks you if you need help.
3. Writing hundreds of random and useless 'Notes' on my phone, just in case someone happens to find themselves on my phone. If they actually bothered to open them, they'd discover an odd mixture of blog post ideas, lists of clothes I want but can't afford, and present ideas for friends/relatives which I promptly forget about when it comes to actually buying something. But mostly, quotes.
These quotes are a mixture of fictional characters from films, my friends' strange outbursts and genuinely inspirational figureheads. In fact, the reason I write them down is because I find a little bit of inspiration in all of them.
Here they are (in order of when I wrote them down, starting from the oldest):
1. "Abraham was too old, Joseph was abused, Gideon was afraid, Jeremiah and Timothy were too young, Naomi was a widow, Zaccheus was too small, Lazarus was dead, Noah was a drunk, Peter was a coward, Jacob was a deceiver, Rahab was a prostitute, Samson was a womanizer, Moses had a self-esteem problem, David was a murderer.' Not sure who first comprised this list.
These people are all from The Bible, in case you hadn't figured it out. Whether you believe the stories about these guys are real doesn't really matter. What I got from this, from a non-religious point of view (even though I am religious), was that everyone has flaws*, and everyone fails. That doesn't mean we're failures. We can still all do amazing things.
*Most of the 'flaws' of these people aren't really flaws, just things that other people might see as being deal breakers.
2. "You don't know you're a poet until you're in love." No idea who said this either.
There isn't much to say about this quote and I don't know why I wrote it down but I still love it. For some reason. Don't ask me why.
3. "No-one can make you feel inferior without your permission." Eleanor Roosevelt.
If you haven't already, write this down. Somewhere. Anywhere. On a random piece of paper in your pocket. On your phone. On your wall (if you don't have a deposit to pay, of course). On your hand. On your twitter. It really doesn't matter. Arghhh I'm so passionate about this quote. If I meditated, this would be my mantra. It is so, so important.
4. "Isn't that how God works? He pieces the jigsaw together." Anna S, August 2014.
5. "Sometimes we are the only Jesus people meet".
This is relevant for everyone. Smiling at a stranger on the street can make their day. Giving a homeless person your lunch can restore their faith in humanity. Lending a pen to someone in your class can make the difference between them failing and passing. I'm not advising you to start walking around grinning creepily, to starve yourself, or to fund someone's entire pencil case, but just to never be frugal with that little bit of happiness that you could share so easily.
6. "Sadness is waiting for someone else to make you happy."
I don't think this quote is describing the only way to be sad, but just that thinking another person will fulfill you completely is an easy route to it. I'm a firm believer in love, and in two people completing each other to some extent, but I also believe that everyone should have the ability to be happy without relying on someone else. Of course, that isn't possible for some people, and that's okay. But we should strive for it, and never take that self-fueled happiness for granted.
7. "Why does wearing pink grant you permission to say that I'm naive?" Lily Copping (during one of my scary, angry, ranty moods)
Nuff said.
8. "When life gives you lemons, steal yo' grandma's jewellery and go clubbing."
Parks and Recreation is my life and my love.
9. "You know how picky I am with my shoes, and they only go on my feet." Cher, Clueless.
If you have one other motto, other than number 3, this should be it.
Monday 29 December 2014
Wednesday 10 December 2014
David Cameron Looks a Bit Like Ham
I know I said I'd write this post about the comment from that crazay guy, "If you support Christianity you support anti-gay, anti-choice and anti-science beliefs", but I'm not going to. I'm not sure who I'm trying to reassure as I justify why (most likely myself) but here goes.
The main reason is, I honestly don't know what to say. Obviously I disagree with his opinion.*
*This is coming from a non 'anti-gay', pro-choice (I think, the politics of it is all very confusing), Biology and Chemistry AS-level taking person so I feel like I'm allowed to disagree.
One thing I do agree on, however, is the bit about 'support'. People have different opinions. Some I agree with, and others (the larger portion, surprise, surprise) I don't. That doesn't mean I have the right to inflict my views on them, or to automatically shrug theirs off. Everyone has reasons for what they believe, and who am I* to make a judgement on that?
*Or anyone, really. Everyone's equal y'all.
But that's all I want to say, really. Abortion, in particular, is a topic I care deeply about but have no desire to write about on here, at this present moment. I just know I'll say something stupid (as my past dictates) and it's not really an issue you can cover with pink glitter to resolve. I know this blog is supposed to be like a place where I can concentrate all my feelings and not worry about starting a debate, but with such a sensitive subject, and the need for eloquence, I don't want to attempt to share my thoughts on this and end up in a bigger whole of desperation and pointlessness than I usually do. I don't want anyone to think I'm scared of the topic, or dismissing it as it's not of great enough importance to be included in my ramblings, just that I don't want to end up accidentally offending someone (I'm really quite good at that) or accidentally making light of such a serious topic (I am almost always inappropriately informal). I will probably write a post about it in the future (if this blog lasts that long) but until then, nuh uh honey.*
*I feel like that's a quote from something? Ah well, it sounds sassay.
So. After that lengthy explanation of why I'm not writing about something, here's a little update on the things I am totally rating at the moment:
1. Coats.
This is the thing I have missed most about cold weather. Not hot chocolate, or cinnamon (people pretend to be really into it but they just want to sound seasonal) but coats. I am one of those people who firmly believe that an outfit is not complete without a bag and a coat. That sounds so ew and go away Lily-y but I cannot count the number of times I have taken my (fairly big) satchel out with me, with nothing but my phone and a packet of chewing gum being tossed around in it. I also believe that whatever you wear, stained, holey or just my-mum-bought-it-ugly, if you wear a good coat you can pull it off. You have to be picky with coats, though. I mean, you're gonna wear it everyday so it's gotta look good. I tend to go for things that distract from the disgusting-ness of whatever I'm wearing underneath. Like fur or vintage or pink or denim or pink or fluffy. Or pink.
2. Tissues.
When the box of tissues comes out in my house/flat/place of residence, you know it's cold season. Everyday before I walk out the door, I have to inhale a few hundred medicines just to keep me from collapsing from the sheer exhaustion of having a cold at school. You hardly notice it when you're at home, when there's a constant stream of paracetamol on hand at all times and no-one to judge you when you blow your nose and abnormal substances appear in your tissue.*
*Too much information? Yeah, I thought so.
But when you're at school, it is a million times worse. Every time you feel a sniff being urgently needed, the class is pin-drop silent in the middle of a test (or something else that requires everyone's attention to be on the poor kid fumbling around desperately in their pockets for tissues, only to find old receipts and crumbs). Yes, I'm that kid at the back of the classroom, sniffing a million times a minute and tissue fluff cascading out of my pocket every time I move. And the school nurse can't give you paracetamol, obviously, so you're stuck sniffing, red-nosed and just generally feeling vile. As you can probably tell, I don't cope well with illness.
3. Modern Family.
My mum decided to buy the box set of season 1 and 2 last month, and obviously, because this is the sort of obsessive person I am, I have now caught up with the rest of the world and am enjoying distracting myself from the mound of work I need to do with season 5. I don't quite know why I have never got into it before. Actually, I do. It's because things like Nashville, The Vampire Diaries and Modern Family are all programmes not shown on the TV channels I have access to. This means that, to hear about them, I have to have friends who watch it, a mum who compulsively buys box sets, or the ability to search on Google (for hours) "Top 10 American TV programmes".*
*Because we all know they're the best. Excluding Sherlock, Made in Chelsea and Wolfblood.
4. Dried dates.
I hate dried fruit....is what I always thought, until I tried dates. As most of you will know, I've recently moved to Bristol. Bristol is basically a city full of middle class coconut water drinkers, bike riders and quinoa* absorbers.
*Pronounced 'keen-wah'.
Everyone's vegan, vegetarian, or on a strictly No Refined Sugar Diet.
So obviously there's a big market here for:
a) Weird, expensive grains.
b) Weird, expensive waters.
c) Weird, expensive dried fruit.
Naturally, I happen to know a few of these Bristolians, and by fate, I happened to be offered a dried date. I've always avoided dates because they literally look like giant raisins, and raisins are the food of rabbits and children who go to 'after school clubs'. But anyway, I tried it and basically my life suddenly had meaning. They are so good.
5. ----- in Parliament.
These are programmes that I watch on BBC iPlayer, and watching them is my new hobby. The '-----' represents a day of the week, and they have them for Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and, if you fancy a bit of a treat, a 'The Week' highlights show. Obviously my initial reason for watching them was because I didn't want to be the least educated person in my politics class, but now it's just because I like watching David Cameron fulfill every single stereotype about British politicians. He has a posh voice, he has perfected the patronizing laugh, and (best of all) he goes really red. It's a bit alarming actually, but not enough to not still be hilarious.*
*I googled 'David Cameron looks like' and basically some people think he looks like ham. Just a little nugget of information for you to take away this week.
So that's it for this week. I'm so sorry I haven't posted in sooooo long but hopefully this one is long enough to make up for it.
The main reason is, I honestly don't know what to say. Obviously I disagree with his opinion.*
*This is coming from a non 'anti-gay', pro-choice (I think, the politics of it is all very confusing), Biology and Chemistry AS-level taking person so I feel like I'm allowed to disagree.
One thing I do agree on, however, is the bit about 'support'. People have different opinions. Some I agree with, and others (the larger portion, surprise, surprise) I don't. That doesn't mean I have the right to inflict my views on them, or to automatically shrug theirs off. Everyone has reasons for what they believe, and who am I* to make a judgement on that?
*Or anyone, really. Everyone's equal y'all.
But that's all I want to say, really. Abortion, in particular, is a topic I care deeply about but have no desire to write about on here, at this present moment. I just know I'll say something stupid (as my past dictates) and it's not really an issue you can cover with pink glitter to resolve. I know this blog is supposed to be like a place where I can concentrate all my feelings and not worry about starting a debate, but with such a sensitive subject, and the need for eloquence, I don't want to attempt to share my thoughts on this and end up in a bigger whole of desperation and pointlessness than I usually do. I don't want anyone to think I'm scared of the topic, or dismissing it as it's not of great enough importance to be included in my ramblings, just that I don't want to end up accidentally offending someone (I'm really quite good at that) or accidentally making light of such a serious topic (I am almost always inappropriately informal). I will probably write a post about it in the future (if this blog lasts that long) but until then, nuh uh honey.*
*I feel like that's a quote from something? Ah well, it sounds sassay.
So. After that lengthy explanation of why I'm not writing about something, here's a little update on the things I am totally rating at the moment:
1. Coats.
This is the thing I have missed most about cold weather. Not hot chocolate, or cinnamon (people pretend to be really into it but they just want to sound seasonal) but coats. I am one of those people who firmly believe that an outfit is not complete without a bag and a coat. That sounds so ew and go away Lily-y but I cannot count the number of times I have taken my (fairly big) satchel out with me, with nothing but my phone and a packet of chewing gum being tossed around in it. I also believe that whatever you wear, stained, holey or just my-mum-bought-it-ugly, if you wear a good coat you can pull it off. You have to be picky with coats, though. I mean, you're gonna wear it everyday so it's gotta look good. I tend to go for things that distract from the disgusting-ness of whatever I'm wearing underneath. Like fur or vintage or pink or denim or pink or fluffy. Or pink.
2. Tissues.
When the box of tissues comes out in my house/flat/place of residence, you know it's cold season. Everyday before I walk out the door, I have to inhale a few hundred medicines just to keep me from collapsing from the sheer exhaustion of having a cold at school. You hardly notice it when you're at home, when there's a constant stream of paracetamol on hand at all times and no-one to judge you when you blow your nose and abnormal substances appear in your tissue.*
*Too much information? Yeah, I thought so.
But when you're at school, it is a million times worse. Every time you feel a sniff being urgently needed, the class is pin-drop silent in the middle of a test (or something else that requires everyone's attention to be on the poor kid fumbling around desperately in their pockets for tissues, only to find old receipts and crumbs). Yes, I'm that kid at the back of the classroom, sniffing a million times a minute and tissue fluff cascading out of my pocket every time I move. And the school nurse can't give you paracetamol, obviously, so you're stuck sniffing, red-nosed and just generally feeling vile. As you can probably tell, I don't cope well with illness.
3. Modern Family.
My mum decided to buy the box set of season 1 and 2 last month, and obviously, because this is the sort of obsessive person I am, I have now caught up with the rest of the world and am enjoying distracting myself from the mound of work I need to do with season 5. I don't quite know why I have never got into it before. Actually, I do. It's because things like Nashville, The Vampire Diaries and Modern Family are all programmes not shown on the TV channels I have access to. This means that, to hear about them, I have to have friends who watch it, a mum who compulsively buys box sets, or the ability to search on Google (for hours) "Top 10 American TV programmes".*
*Because we all know they're the best. Excluding Sherlock, Made in Chelsea and Wolfblood.
4. Dried dates.
I hate dried fruit....is what I always thought, until I tried dates. As most of you will know, I've recently moved to Bristol. Bristol is basically a city full of middle class coconut water drinkers, bike riders and quinoa* absorbers.
*Pronounced 'keen-wah'.
Everyone's vegan, vegetarian, or on a strictly No Refined Sugar Diet.
So obviously there's a big market here for:
a) Weird, expensive grains.
b) Weird, expensive waters.
c) Weird, expensive dried fruit.
Naturally, I happen to know a few of these Bristolians, and by fate, I happened to be offered a dried date. I've always avoided dates because they literally look like giant raisins, and raisins are the food of rabbits and children who go to 'after school clubs'. But anyway, I tried it and basically my life suddenly had meaning. They are so good.
5. ----- in Parliament.
These are programmes that I watch on BBC iPlayer, and watching them is my new hobby. The '-----' represents a day of the week, and they have them for Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and, if you fancy a bit of a treat, a 'The Week' highlights show. Obviously my initial reason for watching them was because I didn't want to be the least educated person in my politics class, but now it's just because I like watching David Cameron fulfill every single stereotype about British politicians. He has a posh voice, he has perfected the patronizing laugh, and (best of all) he goes really red. It's a bit alarming actually, but not enough to not still be hilarious.*
*I googled 'David Cameron looks like' and basically some people think he looks like ham. Just a little nugget of information for you to take away this week.
So that's it for this week. I'm so sorry I haven't posted in sooooo long but hopefully this one is long enough to make up for it.
Monday 27 October 2014
Wam Bam Thank You Mam
I am one of those people that spend a large portion of their life:
a) Reading comments on videos, photos etc.
b) Going on Wikipedia adventures.
c) Searching random names on Google.
It was when I was scrolling through the thousands of comments on a post (loosely) about victim-blaming when I noticed one guy's contribution (I'm good at spotting the ignorant ones). What he said was something along the lines of "Anyone who thinks women are oppressed in modern society has some research to do." and "If you support Christianity you support anti-gay, anti-choice and anti-science beliefs".*
*I was actually impressed that someone other than me could go so off-topic.
I'm going to address the oppression comment in this post, just so all you anti-christianity folks can be prepared for the next one.
Aren't I nice?
I'm going to assume that 'modern society' only refers to the women that he encounters on a day-to-day basis because, if not, then he must not know about the 62 million girls around the world not in school, the 100 million girls estimated to become child brides over the next 10 years, or that 70% of the world's poorest people are female.
And he just happened to forget that 1 in 5 women will be a victim of rape or attempted rape in their lifetime, that the average age of a woman entering prostitution is 13, or that women earn less than 10% of the world's wages but do more than two thirds of the work. Or maybe he didn't forget, and he has a different definition of oppression to me.
How's that for 'research'?
So the next time you hear someone say that feminism is unnecessary, or that there's no such thing as gender inequality, you can Shut. That. Down. #wambamthankyoumam
Another argument that seems to pop up a lot within the anti-feminist community (the slightly more knowledgeable but still ignorant ones) is that how can white, middle class girls complain about injustice when so much worse things are happening in other countries? This argument gets to me. Not only because it puts feminism in a bad light, but also because to people who don't argue on either side of this unending war (between feminists and the people who make the ant-feminist memes), it is a valid point.
And I agree, partially. I agree that girls like me, and most of my friends, shouldn't be so absorbed by our daily grievances that we forget what is happening all over the world. But I absolutely don't think that justifies not fighting at all. Personally, I don't just argue with people who make sexist comments because they annoy me, but to also make a point. That sounds petty but if we let the little, everyday things slide by (like being called bossy for wanting to be heard in a discussion in class, or a guy putting his hand up your skirt etc.) what example does that set to anyone, anywhere?
Until sexism becomes a thing of the past, until teachers stop being surprised when I tell them I either want to enter medicine or politics, and until the guys in my class stop thinking their opinion is worth more than mine, I won't stop fighting.
a) Reading comments on videos, photos etc.
b) Going on Wikipedia adventures.
c) Searching random names on Google.
It was when I was scrolling through the thousands of comments on a post (loosely) about victim-blaming when I noticed one guy's contribution (I'm good at spotting the ignorant ones). What he said was something along the lines of "Anyone who thinks women are oppressed in modern society has some research to do." and "If you support Christianity you support anti-gay, anti-choice and anti-science beliefs".*
*I was actually impressed that someone other than me could go so off-topic.
I'm going to address the oppression comment in this post, just so all you anti-christianity folks can be prepared for the next one.
Aren't I nice?
I'm going to assume that 'modern society' only refers to the women that he encounters on a day-to-day basis because, if not, then he must not know about the 62 million girls around the world not in school, the 100 million girls estimated to become child brides over the next 10 years, or that 70% of the world's poorest people are female.
And he just happened to forget that 1 in 5 women will be a victim of rape or attempted rape in their lifetime, that the average age of a woman entering prostitution is 13, or that women earn less than 10% of the world's wages but do more than two thirds of the work. Or maybe he didn't forget, and he has a different definition of oppression to me.
How's that for 'research'?
So the next time you hear someone say that feminism is unnecessary, or that there's no such thing as gender inequality, you can Shut. That. Down. #wambamthankyoumam
Another argument that seems to pop up a lot within the anti-feminist community (the slightly more knowledgeable but still ignorant ones) is that how can white, middle class girls complain about injustice when so much worse things are happening in other countries? This argument gets to me. Not only because it puts feminism in a bad light, but also because to people who don't argue on either side of this unending war (between feminists and the people who make the ant-feminist memes), it is a valid point.
And I agree, partially. I agree that girls like me, and most of my friends, shouldn't be so absorbed by our daily grievances that we forget what is happening all over the world. But I absolutely don't think that justifies not fighting at all. Personally, I don't just argue with people who make sexist comments because they annoy me, but to also make a point. That sounds petty but if we let the little, everyday things slide by (like being called bossy for wanting to be heard in a discussion in class, or a guy putting his hand up your skirt etc.) what example does that set to anyone, anywhere?
Until sexism becomes a thing of the past, until teachers stop being surprised when I tell them I either want to enter medicine or politics, and until the guys in my class stop thinking their opinion is worth more than mine, I won't stop fighting.
Saturday 18 October 2014
Really, We Wear Pink Any Day.
I was so sure I was going to write a post the day after the last one, just to prove all you #doubterz and #haterz wrong, but instead I find myself writing this while my mum is screaming at me to come downstairs, and the only thing I've packed for this weekend away we're going on is gold eyeshadow.
Basically, I have no sense of urgency. Like, none. In fact, this is mum's favourite thing to tell me, after "You have no sense of direction". As I'm sure you can tell, she's a bundle of laughter and cuddles, constantly spouting out these little nuggets of joy,
Ah, sweet unconditional love.
So, unsurprisingly, I just lived up to my mum's incredibly low expectations and haven't thought about this post until today.*
*a week later
Well, technically, I thought about it but had no motivation to actually write it. Also, I had a little bit of a revelation. That sounds dramatic but basically it's just my cynical side making a brief appearance. What I realised, was that these posts may be really erratic and structure-less(?), but I would rather give you guys something to read that I am vaguely proud of, or I at least think is worth reading, once a month, than write a post every week that is brief and boring.*
*You know the ones, "Hey guys, hope you're all okay. I had an avocado and goat eyelash sourdough roll for lunch and it just made my skin feel beautiful and my soul feel refreshed. Stay inspired, L x'
Like, what?
This doesn't mean I'm going to post once a month, or that I'm never going to write short-and-sweet posts, but just that I see no point in forcing myself to write something just to make sure people don't think I've given up. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't let this blog become another phase in my life but actually something that I can look at and use to reflect on my life.
Gosh, that sounds pretentious.
So while you're all pining for my Wonderful Words of Wisdom and obsessively refreshing the page in desperation, remember I'm still alive, still making horrible, embarrassing mistakes, and still wearing too much pink.*
*pffttt impossible
p.s. I made friends!
p.p.s. Okay, I found people I want to be friends with. You may think they're the same thing but there's a difference between being seen as someone's friend and being the girl no-one knows the name of but is always there.
p.p.p.s. In case you didn't get that, I'm the creepy lurker.
p.p.p.p.s. That makes me sound desperate bu- that's exactly what I am.
p.p.p.p.p.s. I take that back, I'm not desperate just not not desperate.
p.p.p.p.p.p.s That made so little sense I confused myself.
Basically, I have no sense of urgency. Like, none. In fact, this is mum's favourite thing to tell me, after "You have no sense of direction". As I'm sure you can tell, she's a bundle of laughter and cuddles, constantly spouting out these little nuggets of joy,
Ah, sweet unconditional love.
So, unsurprisingly, I just lived up to my mum's incredibly low expectations and haven't thought about this post until today.*
*a week later
Well, technically, I thought about it but had no motivation to actually write it. Also, I had a little bit of a revelation. That sounds dramatic but basically it's just my cynical side making a brief appearance. What I realised, was that these posts may be really erratic and structure-less(?), but I would rather give you guys something to read that I am vaguely proud of, or I at least think is worth reading, once a month, than write a post every week that is brief and boring.*
*You know the ones, "Hey guys, hope you're all okay. I had an avocado and goat eyelash sourdough roll for lunch and it just made my skin feel beautiful and my soul feel refreshed. Stay inspired, L x'
Like, what?
This doesn't mean I'm going to post once a month, or that I'm never going to write short-and-sweet posts, but just that I see no point in forcing myself to write something just to make sure people don't think I've given up. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't let this blog become another phase in my life but actually something that I can look at and use to reflect on my life.
Gosh, that sounds pretentious.
So while you're all pining for my Wonderful Words of Wisdom and obsessively refreshing the page in desperation, remember I'm still alive, still making horrible, embarrassing mistakes, and still wearing too much pink.*
*pffttt impossible
p.s. I made friends!
p.p.s. Okay, I found people I want to be friends with. You may think they're the same thing but there's a difference between being seen as someone's friend and being the girl no-one knows the name of but is always there.
p.p.p.s. In case you didn't get that, I'm the creepy lurker.
p.p.p.p.s. That makes me sound desperate bu- that's exactly what I am.
p.p.p.p.p.s. I take that back, I'm not desperate just not not desperate.
p.p.p.p.p.p.s That made so little sense I confused myself.
Thursday 25 September 2014
On Wednesdays, We Wear Pink.
Sooo sorry I haven't posted in like 12 days (I know it's hard on you guys), but I have been crazy busy starting college and getting lost in bristol repeatedly and getting lost in college and basically just being very, very lost (figuratively and like, literally).
My first few days were kinda a mixture of confused-ness, alone-ness and desperation...ness. I think I imagined starting a new college (in a new city) as being a bit like Mean Girls.*
*Except less bitchiness and definitely no corpse bride costumes.
I thought I'd go into my lessons 'The New Girl' but walk out having found my niche, with a few new best friends, and basically fitting right in. Obviously that's an exaggeration, but I genuinely did expect to find a friendship group in those first few days and instantly feel like I belonged.
Of course, that didn't happen and instead, I spent a lot of time at breaks and between lessons walking aimlessly, trying to give the impression that I knew where I was going and, oh, my friends are just around the corner. I actually had to ask one girl if I could follow her. Yeah, you read that right. Follow her. As soon as I said it I knew that was the end of re-creating myself as an independent, confident Bristolian and the beginning of being known as 'The Stalker Girl'. Luckily, I'd picked a forgiving, and hopefully deaf, victim for my word vomit and she seemed perfectly happy (but maybe she was too freaked out to say anything) to give me the job as her shadow for the day.
And that was only the second day.
I want to say that I turned it around, I now actually have got loads of friends, and I don't get lost anymore, but if I did, I'd be lying.
I don't know how long it'll be before I can stop having a little nervous breakdown every lunchtime when I realise I have no-one to sit with, or when I feel like I've found people I know well enough to hang out with outside of college but until that day comes, I have my Kindle and a notebook full of sassy, feminist ranty songs.
I'd have to say one of the highlights of my week so far was getting free (veggie) burgers from a church near my college. When I heard about this, I thought there would be like a little room in the back of the church where me, and the 7 other lonely people, were sat on fold-out chairs eating soggy burgers while worship songs from the 1990s played through a CD player in the corner. It was nothing like that. I swear literally every single Post-16 (and uni) student was in the queue for these burgers. The queue looked like a crowd waiting to go into a concert at Rock City and the church looked like it was hosting a craft fair. Bunting and all.
I managed to tag along with groups when I went to get my burgers (of course I've been three times), just in case you think I stood eating my burger, ketchup stained and alone. I'm not sure if that image is less pathetic than the reality, which was me hobbling, failing miserably to balance my burger, ice lolly and squash, while the group I was with disappeared further and further into the horizon. Yeah, I still haven't perfected the art of not being forgotten.
I'll get it eventually.
I hope.
In other news, I have been added into a 'Gender Equality Movement' page on Facebook, which is equal parts flattering and terrifying. I'm not sure what these people are going to think of a randomer skipping in, waving a feminist flag and attempting to act casual.
I so, so, hope that in my next post (probably in another 12 days) I will be able to tell you about all my amazing friends I've made* and how much easier college is but I doubt it.
*I've met amazing people but I'm not sure they want to refer to me as a 'friend' yet.
Stay awesome and stay Mean Girls-loving.
My first few days were kinda a mixture of confused-ness, alone-ness and desperation...ness. I think I imagined starting a new college (in a new city) as being a bit like Mean Girls.*
*Except less bitchiness and definitely no corpse bride costumes.
I thought I'd go into my lessons 'The New Girl' but walk out having found my niche, with a few new best friends, and basically fitting right in. Obviously that's an exaggeration, but I genuinely did expect to find a friendship group in those first few days and instantly feel like I belonged.
Of course, that didn't happen and instead, I spent a lot of time at breaks and between lessons walking aimlessly, trying to give the impression that I knew where I was going and, oh, my friends are just around the corner. I actually had to ask one girl if I could follow her. Yeah, you read that right. Follow her. As soon as I said it I knew that was the end of re-creating myself as an independent, confident Bristolian and the beginning of being known as 'The Stalker Girl'. Luckily, I'd picked a forgiving, and hopefully deaf, victim for my word vomit and she seemed perfectly happy (but maybe she was too freaked out to say anything) to give me the job as her shadow for the day.
And that was only the second day.
I want to say that I turned it around, I now actually have got loads of friends, and I don't get lost anymore, but if I did, I'd be lying.
I don't know how long it'll be before I can stop having a little nervous breakdown every lunchtime when I realise I have no-one to sit with, or when I feel like I've found people I know well enough to hang out with outside of college but until that day comes, I have my Kindle and a notebook full of sassy, feminist ranty songs.
I'd have to say one of the highlights of my week so far was getting free (veggie) burgers from a church near my college. When I heard about this, I thought there would be like a little room in the back of the church where me, and the 7 other lonely people, were sat on fold-out chairs eating soggy burgers while worship songs from the 1990s played through a CD player in the corner. It was nothing like that. I swear literally every single Post-16 (and uni) student was in the queue for these burgers. The queue looked like a crowd waiting to go into a concert at Rock City and the church looked like it was hosting a craft fair. Bunting and all.
I managed to tag along with groups when I went to get my burgers (of course I've been three times), just in case you think I stood eating my burger, ketchup stained and alone. I'm not sure if that image is less pathetic than the reality, which was me hobbling, failing miserably to balance my burger, ice lolly and squash, while the group I was with disappeared further and further into the horizon. Yeah, I still haven't perfected the art of not being forgotten.
I'll get it eventually.
I hope.
In other news, I have been added into a 'Gender Equality Movement' page on Facebook, which is equal parts flattering and terrifying. I'm not sure what these people are going to think of a randomer skipping in, waving a feminist flag and attempting to act casual.
I so, so, hope that in my next post (probably in another 12 days) I will be able to tell you about all my amazing friends I've made* and how much easier college is but I doubt it.
*I've met amazing people but I'm not sure they want to refer to me as a 'friend' yet.
Stay awesome and stay Mean Girls-loving.
Saturday 13 September 2014
Goodbye My Lover, Goodbye My Friend
Every so often I go through my twitter and make sure my tweets give the impression of a cool gal with some cute quirks, rather than a social-life-less teenage girl with a slightly addictive personality.
Yeah, it's hard.
So I was scrolling down my twitter profile the other day and decided to (bravely) make a little compilation of the tweets that I probably should have censored a while ago. I'm afraid these tweets don't exactly fit my desired persona but hey, if that was the aim, I shouldn't have made this blog.
1.The time me and one of my best friends, Emma, walked into our physics classroom singing 'I'M SO HOLLOW BABAYYY I'M SOOO HOLLOW" and promptly got sent out. It remains the single proudest moment of my life.
2. The time I got emotional about being the only person I know who will happily watch Japanese animation and eat pink goo for hours on end. How does that not sound appealing?
3. The time I became a one-woman-banana-nesquik-hoovering-machine.
4. The time I decided to break tradition and buy a mini tinsel Christmas tree. Unfortunately, it was more of an aqua colour rather than pink but I still treasured it and even bought little baubles and fairy lights to decorate it with.
5. The time I was rehearsing for one of my GCSE drama performances and during my big, dramatic monologue I managed to obtain an almost perfect welsh accent.
6. The time (two days ago) when I watched the Vampire Academy film then bought the first three books then read them then attempted to run away and become a vampire. I'm now on book six.
7. The time I watched the Vampire Diaries season 5 finale and got my heart broken.
8. The time (yesterday) I was having stationary-withdrawal-symptoms and bought 24 Sharpies.
9. The time I tried to revise physics and music and failed.
10. The other time I tried to revise physics and failed.
11. The final time I tried to revise physics. And failed.
12. The time I packed my bag whilst half-asleep.
13. The time I rekindled my year 5 addiction of cheap milk bottles.
14. The time I went to a talk at church and the guy said something really cool.
15. The time I cried over some hilarious person's ranting.
16. The time I finally realised that the purpose of twitter is to unveil hidden parts of your personlity.
I hope you enjoyed this insight into my twitter. In case you want to keep up with my erratic tweeting and addictive retweeting, my account is @electriclils
Yeah, it's hard.
So I was scrolling down my twitter profile the other day and decided to (bravely) make a little compilation of the tweets that I probably should have censored a while ago. I'm afraid these tweets don't exactly fit my desired persona but hey, if that was the aim, I shouldn't have made this blog.
1.The time me and one of my best friends, Emma, walked into our physics classroom singing 'I'M SO HOLLOW BABAYYY I'M SOOO HOLLOW" and promptly got sent out. It remains the single proudest moment of my life.
2. The time I got emotional about being the only person I know who will happily watch Japanese animation and eat pink goo for hours on end. How does that not sound appealing?
3. The time I became a one-woman-banana-nesquik-hoovering-machine.
4. The time I decided to break tradition and buy a mini tinsel Christmas tree. Unfortunately, it was more of an aqua colour rather than pink but I still treasured it and even bought little baubles and fairy lights to decorate it with.
5. The time I was rehearsing for one of my GCSE drama performances and during my big, dramatic monologue I managed to obtain an almost perfect welsh accent.
6. The time (two days ago) when I watched the Vampire Academy film then bought the first three books then read them then attempted to run away and become a vampire. I'm now on book six.
7. The time I watched the Vampire Diaries season 5 finale and got my heart broken.
8. The time (yesterday) I was having stationary-withdrawal-symptoms and bought 24 Sharpies.
9. The time I tried to revise physics and music and failed.
10. The other time I tried to revise physics and failed.
11. The final time I tried to revise physics. And failed.
12. The time I packed my bag whilst half-asleep.
13. The time I rekindled my year 5 addiction of cheap milk bottles.
14. The time I went to a talk at church and the guy said something really cool.
15. The time I cried over some hilarious person's ranting.
16. The time I finally realised that the purpose of twitter is to unveil hidden parts of your personlity.
I hope you enjoyed this insight into my twitter. In case you want to keep up with my erratic tweeting and addictive retweeting, my account is @electriclils
Saturday 6 September 2014
How To Keep A Tidy Home Without Breaking A Nail
My (well my mum’s, no 16 year old can
actually afford a magazine subscription) monthly Red magazine arrived through
the post this week*.
*That sounds like an awful metaphor a
teacher would use for periods in a Year 6 sex-ed class.
One of the features was the ‘Red’s Women Of
The Year’ awards and I literally fan-girled over it. It not only included
middle-aged women I had never heard of, but also BBC Radio 1 presenters and
even some fellow bloggers*.
*I say ‘fellow’, but I will never, ever be
in the same league as these women.
Of course, being Red, and being just an
all-round fab magazine, these awards weren’t for ‘The World’s Sexiest Woman’ or
‘Greatest Arse of 2014’ but instead were for innovators, leaders and
world-changers. Each one inspired me in a different way, whether it was to
speak more openly about the issues concerning FGM and abuse, to carry on this
blog or to not be afraid of having power.
What I really came away with, however, was
that feminism isn’t just about the women we see on our TVs and hear about,
campaigning for equal rights, or the celebrities (like B-queen) making a stand
at a huge, sold-out arena, but also how the little people, like me and you,
live our lives.
This sounds really patronising but feminism
is all about standing up for ourselves, and for women everywhere, whether it be
to thousands of screaming fans or just to those few guys at school who haven’t
hit puberty yet and are completely and utterly up themselves. This is
especially tricky for me as I go to church. I’m not saying everyone there
believes in a patriarchal society or that they hand us booklets titled ‘Cooking
For Your Husband’ and ‘How To Keep A Tidy Home Without Breaking A Nail’, but if
I can discuss feminism with a male youth leader I can pretty much discuss it
with anyone. And so can you, gurl!*
*Or guy, whoever is reading this really.
I think the last give-away that I was
feminist, to anyone who didn’t already know (I’m 98% sure they lived in caves),
was my Facebook post:
#yesallwomen
"Because the odds of being attacked by a shark are 1 in 3,748,067, while a woman's odds of being raped are 1 in 5....yet fear of sharks is seen as rational while being cautious of men is seen as misandry."
"Because the odds of being attacked by a shark are 1 in 3,748,067, while a woman's odds of being raped are 1 in 5....yet fear of sharks is seen as rational while being cautious of men is seen as misandry."
The worst thing was, some guys in my year
(the prepubescent ones) found it funny.
I’m all for the occasional light-hearted joke about women in the kitchen
(actually I’m not, but I’m trying to appear jovial) but the fact that they
found rape statistics funny was appalling. The status got 97 ‘likes’ and ended up with 435 comments. This status, if nothing
else, proved to me how many people do actually care about this stuff. Another
surprising thing was not only the number
of people who commented on it, but the actual people who did the commenting. Of
course, there were the typical ‘feminist-girls’ (me and a few others) but also
a number of girls who, until now, had never spoken out about this topic or made
it obvious to anyone how much they cared. I also got quite a few messages from
girls too. Even if they weren’t brave enough to publicly comment, it had
stirred something inside (probably anger and disgust) and that was what made me
know all the notifications and hassle had been worth it.
Sorry for the rant, but I’m not quite
finished. I’ve actually had to save half of my notes for this post for another
day because sending you to sleep is not the aim.
Or maybe it is. Mwa ha ha.
One of the quotes from the ‘Women Of The
Year’ awards was from a blogger, Ella Woodward. It went a bit (exactly) like
this, “You need to find one thing you care about. It doesn’t matter what that
one thing is, because if it’s something that you have a passion for, other
people will feel that and connect.”
Ella’s blog is deliciouslyella.com btdubz.
As you can probably tell, I took that quote
to heart when writing this post. I realized that the one thing I’m really
passionate about is advocating equality, particularly centered round gender and
social justice. I know I’m young, and that all sounds pretty pretentious but
I’m fairly sure that’s what I want to do with my life.
Please don’t ask me what job I want to do,
or where I see myself in 10 years because I don’t know. Remember I’m still the
15 year old (except a few months older) whose only current life ambition is to
own an angel delight factory.
Another quote I loved was “Girls’ and
women’s lives have been so confined. What an extraordinary world it would be if
everyone’s potential could be realized.” from Jude Kelly, the artistic director
at Southbank Centre. I’m well aware I haven’t experienced much in my life, and
that so many women have had to suffer and fight through injustice that I
couldn’t even begin to comprehend, but there’s still such a long way to go on
the road to equality. I’m so hopeful that our generation will take a few steps
along that road instead of just sitting there basking in mediocrity. But this
will only happen if the people who keep quiet about these things say something
and make a stand. Sorry for the clichés but that’s the truth. If we are relying
on the amazing women who made history to somehow rise from the dead and do it
again, it’s time to wake up.
So, in fewer words, that’s what a lot of my
posts will be about from now on. There will obviously still be the ridiculously
long ramblings and gushing over fake flowers and pink glittery things, but
along with that will be some 21st century feminism.
I hope you guys can still relate to the
things I talk about (plenty more embarrassing stories to come) and that you
take something from my badly worded rants. I’m not optimistic enough to say
you’ll be inspired but hopefully, as well as enjoying laughing at my mistakes,
you’ll also be able to support me as I struggle through college as a 16 year
old feminist with an unhealthy addiction to cheesy American TV programmes and
the colour pink.
“I would love to see men and women be a lot
less fearful of each other’s power and more trusting.” – Alice Feinstein
(Editor of Woman’s Hour)
Wednesday 3 September 2014
Paperchase Vs. WHSmith
It is official! I have spread my pastel pink, glittery wings and moved to Bristol.
I wish I could say it was for university or because 'I really feel like that's where I'm, like, going to, like, find myself....like' but I basically just followed my parents as that is what 16 year olds with no source of income or real life direction generally do. I would never have the guts to live somewhere where my mum wasn't readily on hand to buy me Quorn ham and to dish out steaming plates of criticism in the form of 'motherly advice'. I like to think of it as tough love (someone please adopt me).
I got lost in the middle of Bristol today and the bus driver confused me and I shouted at my mum and she swore at me and I cried and she cried and the bus driver cried and the whole city of Bristol cried*.
*If anyone has any knowledge of Bristol, please help me.
So, Bristol. I have officially lived here for 4 days now and still get confused as to what road I live on. It seems to be a common thing in Bristol for roads to be called the same name even though they're all very close to each other. It's frustrating and confusing, especially when I'm trying to get a bus and there are three bus stops on, according to their names, the same road. Also, the online timetable says my bus comes every twenty minutes but the timetable at the bus stop says it comes every hour and a half. So I had just started walking back to my flat (because who waits 53 minutes for a bus?) and, of course the bus comes sailing round the corner, singing a happy tune, as I desperately run to the bus stop and then proceed to mutter expletives at the bus timetable as I wait for the next bus*.
*I refused to leave the stop, just in case another off-the-charter bus wanted to make a surprise appearance.
I feel like I'm not portraying Bristol, or at least its public transport network, in the best light. I will list some cool things about it.
1. The shops. Maybe I lived in Nottingham for so long I was immune to its many commercial perks but I swear there are like three times as many shops here. If this was a fashion blog, maybeeee I'd do a post about what I got bought today but it's not and you guys don't want to read that.
2. The grass! Everywhere I look there is grass (as in the green stuff that grows in the ground not the widely-used illegal drug). Literally, the parks make me want to do exercise and be cute + independent and have a picnic-for-one whilst reading a Vogue magazine and instagram-ing the whole thing.
3. The cute little boutiques and individual shops. I saw a hair salon for kids today with little mini planes as seats and it was SO CUTE. Cute, cute, cute, cute, cute*.
*I use this word a lot. Get used to it. Love it.
I have ran out of things but I think that is a pretty impressive list after only four days of living here. There's also stuff I dislike such as: the accent (hopefully I'll get used to it), the water (it tastes like bicarbonate of soda), the confusing road name thing (sort it out Bristol council people) and lastly, but not least, the lack of stationery shops. In Nottingham, you literally step out of your door and there is a new Paperchase doing a lap dance on your car whilst WHSmith heckles. Honestly, Nottingham loves its stationery.
So hopefully this has given you a teeny idea of what Bristol (and its grass) is like and how little I know about its ridiculous bus system.
I wish I could say it was for university or because 'I really feel like that's where I'm, like, going to, like, find myself....like' but I basically just followed my parents as that is what 16 year olds with no source of income or real life direction generally do. I would never have the guts to live somewhere where my mum wasn't readily on hand to buy me Quorn ham and to dish out steaming plates of criticism in the form of 'motherly advice'. I like to think of it as tough love (someone please adopt me).
I got lost in the middle of Bristol today and the bus driver confused me and I shouted at my mum and she swore at me and I cried and she cried and the bus driver cried and the whole city of Bristol cried*.
*If anyone has any knowledge of Bristol, please help me.
So, Bristol. I have officially lived here for 4 days now and still get confused as to what road I live on. It seems to be a common thing in Bristol for roads to be called the same name even though they're all very close to each other. It's frustrating and confusing, especially when I'm trying to get a bus and there are three bus stops on, according to their names, the same road. Also, the online timetable says my bus comes every twenty minutes but the timetable at the bus stop says it comes every hour and a half. So I had just started walking back to my flat (because who waits 53 minutes for a bus?) and, of course the bus comes sailing round the corner, singing a happy tune, as I desperately run to the bus stop and then proceed to mutter expletives at the bus timetable as I wait for the next bus*.
*I refused to leave the stop, just in case another off-the-charter bus wanted to make a surprise appearance.
I feel like I'm not portraying Bristol, or at least its public transport network, in the best light. I will list some cool things about it.
1. The shops. Maybe I lived in Nottingham for so long I was immune to its many commercial perks but I swear there are like three times as many shops here. If this was a fashion blog, maybeeee I'd do a post about what I got bought today but it's not and you guys don't want to read that.
2. The grass! Everywhere I look there is grass (as in the green stuff that grows in the ground not the widely-used illegal drug). Literally, the parks make me want to do exercise and be cute + independent and have a picnic-for-one whilst reading a Vogue magazine and instagram-ing the whole thing.
3. The cute little boutiques and individual shops. I saw a hair salon for kids today with little mini planes as seats and it was SO CUTE. Cute, cute, cute, cute, cute*.
*I use this word a lot. Get used to it. Love it.
I have ran out of things but I think that is a pretty impressive list after only four days of living here. There's also stuff I dislike such as: the accent (hopefully I'll get used to it), the water (it tastes like bicarbonate of soda), the confusing road name thing (sort it out Bristol council people) and lastly, but not least, the lack of stationery shops. In Nottingham, you literally step out of your door and there is a new Paperchase doing a lap dance on your car whilst WHSmith heckles. Honestly, Nottingham loves its stationery.
So hopefully this has given you a teeny idea of what Bristol (and its grass) is like and how little I know about its ridiculous bus system.
Thursday 28 August 2014
I'm Not The Pied Piper of Hamelin
Before I start this post (as if I have actually planned anything to write, ha), I just want to thank you all for your lovely feedback.
I'm well aware I'm not the first person on the planet to have ever received praise, but that's what it feels like, sort of. The difference between someone complimenting me on a (heavily edited) photo of my face on Instagram and being told that someone 'loves' my blog is monumental. This blog is the closest representation of myself that isn't, well, me (great observational skills there) and I pour a lot of energy (+ pointless web searches) into it. I am so impressed that a few of you actually manage to filter through the random facts, ridiculously long introductions and pointless bracketed side-notes to the actual meaning behind my words (not that there is much) and still enjoy it.
So, I think, in roughly 121 words, that is a thank you.
*has anyone else noticed how many commas I use in my sentences?
Now all that disgusting emotional stuff is over, let's get back to the real reason you're here. To watch me (or rather read) as I embarrass myself.
---cue few days intermission as I genuinely have nothing to write about today (27th)---
So, I'm back (29th) and I thought I actually had notes to write around. I wrote these notes after finishing the introduction and now, reading them over, they either make zero sense or make me wonder how I could ever think the note 'moving' would be helpful. Why couldn't 27th-August-Lily have written more a) comprehensible or b) detailed notes for 29th-August-stressing-because-she-needs-to-write-something-Lily? I mean, I can't be expected to remember any of this trivial stuff for two whole days.
I can't believe I am having a rant at myself.
I'm going to use these notes as starting points and see where it goes. I'm wary about this as the last time I decided to 'see where it goes', we ended up with the lengthy explanation of how I overcame my 'need to be different' and it was all very emotional and raw and I cried and you cried and we cried together.
At least I hope I wasn't the only one who cried.
Kidding, kidding (genuinely, there were real tears)...
Anyway, moving. Let's start with that note. I am officially (I think (I'm never very aware of everything going on around me)) moving on Sunday. Well technically all my stuff (and my family) are leaving on Saturday but I decided to stick around an extra day to a) say goodbye to some friends and b) put off moving for one more day. It still feels kind of odd that I'm actually leaving. I think I've been expecting someone to jump out from behind the camera and shout "Gotcha!" but that isn't going to happen, not that I would want it to as it sounds positively breaking-and-entering-esque, and I need to face up to the fact that I'm leaving, maybe forever.
Okay, if you're not crying now then you need to purchase a heart. Or some onions, either will do.
I was going to go on some spiel about leaving my friends and my fears of not going to the college I want to go to but you don't need to hear all that.*
*I'm fairly sure you've heard it all before, but if not check out this post - Semi-blog-consciousness*
*I had to double check this post and on further investigation, it barely scrapes the surface on all my feelings towards this subject of moving and, in true Lily fashion, leaves much to the imagination.
In other news, I've made a promise to myself to get back into playing my guitar and song-writing. It's not like I've got bored or anything but between being away most of the summer and watching endless episodes of Gossip Girl, I haven't had much of a chance. Writing songs used to be my only method of channeling emotions (mostly 10 year old jealousy) before starting this blog, and going through some of those songs makes me so nostalgic of when I was 7, and each song was about being a super-spy or someone called 'babe'. I also keep a diary and that, in a way, makes it easier for me to understand kids and people younger than me. Not because I have suddenly gained loads of life experience (or some weird Pied Piper of Hamelin flute) but because it shows me that when you're that age, little things really matter. Things like falling out with a friend over a paper mache butterfly and losing your favourite pencil.*
*That pencil had my name and pink butterflies on it. Don't laugh.
In the films, people always find their diaries (in a scary-looking dusty box in their dark attic) and they hold some amazing secret about their parents or reveal hidden parts of themselves they had locked away and thrown away the key to. But in reality, these diaries (and the hundreds of songs scrawled onto Tracy Beaker writing paper) just make you cringe and remind you of all the stupid things you used to do. Not that I've changed. I nearly cried when my pink Sharpie ran out and would 100% still love to be a super-spy.
I feel like I'm about to go off on some awful monologue about something irrelevant so I'm going to stop this post here.
Gotcha!
No, unfortunately for you I wasn't joking and this post is ending. Right now.
I'm well aware I'm not the first person on the planet to have ever received praise, but that's what it feels like, sort of. The difference between someone complimenting me on a (heavily edited) photo of my face on Instagram and being told that someone 'loves' my blog is monumental. This blog is the closest representation of myself that isn't, well, me (great observational skills there) and I pour a lot of energy (+ pointless web searches) into it. I am so impressed that a few of you actually manage to filter through the random facts, ridiculously long introductions and pointless bracketed side-notes to the actual meaning behind my words (not that there is much) and still enjoy it.
So, I think, in roughly 121 words, that is a thank you.
*has anyone else noticed how many commas I use in my sentences?
Now all that disgusting emotional stuff is over, let's get back to the real reason you're here. To watch me (or rather read) as I embarrass myself.
---cue few days intermission as I genuinely have nothing to write about today (27th)---
So, I'm back (29th) and I thought I actually had notes to write around. I wrote these notes after finishing the introduction and now, reading them over, they either make zero sense or make me wonder how I could ever think the note 'moving' would be helpful. Why couldn't 27th-August-Lily have written more a) comprehensible or b) detailed notes for 29th-August-stressing-because-she-needs-to-write-something-Lily? I mean, I can't be expected to remember any of this trivial stuff for two whole days.
I can't believe I am having a rant at myself.
I'm going to use these notes as starting points and see where it goes. I'm wary about this as the last time I decided to 'see where it goes', we ended up with the lengthy explanation of how I overcame my 'need to be different' and it was all very emotional and raw and I cried and you cried and we cried together.
At least I hope I wasn't the only one who cried.
Kidding, kidding (genuinely, there were real tears)...
Anyway, moving. Let's start with that note. I am officially (I think (I'm never very aware of everything going on around me)) moving on Sunday. Well technically all my stuff (and my family) are leaving on Saturday but I decided to stick around an extra day to a) say goodbye to some friends and b) put off moving for one more day. It still feels kind of odd that I'm actually leaving. I think I've been expecting someone to jump out from behind the camera and shout "Gotcha!" but that isn't going to happen, not that I would want it to as it sounds positively breaking-and-entering-esque, and I need to face up to the fact that I'm leaving, maybe forever.
Okay, if you're not crying now then you need to purchase a heart. Or some onions, either will do.
I was going to go on some spiel about leaving my friends and my fears of not going to the college I want to go to but you don't need to hear all that.*
*I'm fairly sure you've heard it all before, but if not check out this post - Semi-blog-consciousness*
*I had to double check this post and on further investigation, it barely scrapes the surface on all my feelings towards this subject of moving and, in true Lily fashion, leaves much to the imagination.
In other news, I've made a promise to myself to get back into playing my guitar and song-writing. It's not like I've got bored or anything but between being away most of the summer and watching endless episodes of Gossip Girl, I haven't had much of a chance. Writing songs used to be my only method of channeling emotions (mostly 10 year old jealousy) before starting this blog, and going through some of those songs makes me so nostalgic of when I was 7, and each song was about being a super-spy or someone called 'babe'. I also keep a diary and that, in a way, makes it easier for me to understand kids and people younger than me. Not because I have suddenly gained loads of life experience (or some weird Pied Piper of Hamelin flute) but because it shows me that when you're that age, little things really matter. Things like falling out with a friend over a paper mache butterfly and losing your favourite pencil.*
*That pencil had my name and pink butterflies on it. Don't laugh.
In the films, people always find their diaries (in a scary-looking dusty box in their dark attic) and they hold some amazing secret about their parents or reveal hidden parts of themselves they had locked away and thrown away the key to. But in reality, these diaries (and the hundreds of songs scrawled onto Tracy Beaker writing paper) just make you cringe and remind you of all the stupid things you used to do. Not that I've changed. I nearly cried when my pink Sharpie ran out and would 100% still love to be a super-spy.
I feel like I'm about to go off on some awful monologue about something irrelevant so I'm going to stop this post here.
Gotcha!
No, unfortunately for you I wasn't joking and this post is ending. Right now.
Saturday 23 August 2014
What Filling Do You Want, Babe?
I'm not going to talk about results so if that's what you're here for then leave. Now.
(Please don't leave, I need friends.)
That said, I hope those of you who got results are pleased with them, and if you're not, you're eating bad ASDA Smart Price chocolate (we all know that's what Jesus would eat).
This brings me onto the actual purpose of this blog, which is me causing you to slowly and painfully wither away while I talk about myself, as if that hasn't happened already. For those of you who manage to survive, you can look forward to a fairly tedious list of things I like and dislike. People, ketchup brands, pasta shapes, music, flowers, feminism and TV programmes. Lucky you.
1. Heinz*. Any other brand is a sin against the entire human population. And tomatoes. The ring leader of this disgusting-ketchup-cult is Sainsbury's' own brand. I don't know whose job it is to control the brands of ketchup they stock but whoever it is needs a serious priority upheaval. And any of you who dare like it need to have a serious look at your lives.
(*btdubz*, it's available at poundland)
*by the way/for your information
2. Spaghetti. Any of you who are fortunate enough to know me (up close and personal yo) will be well aware of this addiction. I even asked for it for my birthday. I think I got about 6 packets overall. I could list so many foods but you already got all that in my second post so I won't go into it again (even though I could talk about it for hours).
3. Lily Allen. I literally love her a bit more (if it's possible) each time I think about her. That sounded so creepy and stalkery and maybe slightly lesbian but it is the absolute truth. Her lyrics are hilarious and actually tackle tough topics like the objectification of women and internet trolls. (I think it's so odd that we use the same name for someone who 'shows discord on the internet by starting arguments or upsetting people' as a 'supernatural being in Norse Mythology and Scandinavian Folklore'. I imagine the troll from the first harry potter film sitting behind a computer posting comments on photos of Britney Spears). Her videos are also great, most of them are really odd due to her alarming sense of humour and dress sense so I love them.
4. Feminism. 64 times out of 72, when I tell a guy (or even a gal) I'm a feminist, I can actually smell fear and see the panic behind their eyes. People are so scared of the word because of the violent/scary things people think it connotes but really it just means I don't agree with gender pay gaps and girls being expected* to make sandwiches for their boyfriends. I'm a feminist. Run.
*There's no crime in a devoted girlfriend making her boyfriend a sandwich (or any sort of food) if she's feeling generous but it is definitely not on the checklist.
5. Nashville, Made in Chelsea and The Vampire Diaries. In case you are interested in blessing your life (and TV screen) with these programmes, I'll give y'all a breakdown. Nashville is set in the city Nashville, Tennessee (in the U.S) and centres around the music industry there. It is fictional and amazing and full of beautiful country music. Made in Chelsea is a series that basically follows rich English people around. If you do happen to watch it, don't worry, it's all staged. The Vampire Diaries is.........perfect. I actually hated the first series because, having read the book, I felt the characters were undeveloped and unrealistic but once I got into it, there was no stopping me. I watched like 2 episodes a day for half a year (I started when they were already on series 4). It is pretty self-explanatory but in case you have no clue, it's about a girl who falls in love with a vampire. And another one*. And back to the first one again. Then back to the second one. Watch it. Love it.
*It's not just her that falls in love with him. You need to look after your heart if you decide to become a fan and prepare for it to be broken. So many times.
6. Little mini fake flowers. Don't get me wrong, I love real flowers too but these are low maintenance, don't take up any space and look SO CUTE. You can buy them from craft shops, I think. These are also self explanatory. I have put lillies, and different colour roses in bottles on my shelf. Three of which are Coca Cola bottles (one is glass, one says Lily and one is wearing lingerie) and one is a pink lemonade glass bottle.
7. Eliza Doolittle. I would have to say she is up there with Lily Allen on my girl crush list. No, she doesn't write as poignant or hilarious lyrics as Lily but she does write some fab songs*. She is very similar to Lily in that she has a ridiculously amazing voice, weird but wonderful dress sense and a frankness when it comes to song lyrics. She's just good with words, guys.
*Faves are Team Player and Missing Kissing.
8. Angelina Jolie. I have so many girl crushes, soz guyssss. I love, love, LOVE Angelina. She is a UNHCR Goodwill Ambassador which means she visits countries and raises "awareness of the plight of these people". She also co-lead a campaign against sexual violence in military conflict zones. All whilst having six kids and awesome cheekbones.
Well that's it. Can I just mention, I started this post at like 11 o clock this morning so it's taken me 10 hours to write. During that time, I have watched an episode of The Great British Bake Off, googled 'trolls from norse mythology', scrolled through the Everyday Sexism site, spent at least an hour on Lily Allen's wikipedia page (and about half an hour on Angelina's), eaten some aubergine thing, read my 4 year old brother about 73 stories, listened to the albums Sheezus by Lily Allen and In Your Hands by Eliza Doolittle and stared at hundreds of photos of Ian Somerhalder.
I am the queen of procrastination.
(Please don't leave, I need friends.)
That said, I hope those of you who got results are pleased with them, and if you're not, you're eating bad ASDA Smart Price chocolate (we all know that's what Jesus would eat).
This brings me onto the actual purpose of this blog, which is me causing you to slowly and painfully wither away while I talk about myself, as if that hasn't happened already. For those of you who manage to survive, you can look forward to a fairly tedious list of things I like and dislike. People, ketchup brands, pasta shapes, music, flowers, feminism and TV programmes. Lucky you.
1. Heinz*. Any other brand is a sin against the entire human population. And tomatoes. The ring leader of this disgusting-ketchup-cult is Sainsbury's' own brand. I don't know whose job it is to control the brands of ketchup they stock but whoever it is needs a serious priority upheaval. And any of you who dare like it need to have a serious look at your lives.
(*btdubz*, it's available at poundland)
*by the way/for your information
2. Spaghetti. Any of you who are fortunate enough to know me (up close and personal yo) will be well aware of this addiction. I even asked for it for my birthday. I think I got about 6 packets overall. I could list so many foods but you already got all that in my second post so I won't go into it again (even though I could talk about it for hours).
3. Lily Allen. I literally love her a bit more (if it's possible) each time I think about her. That sounded so creepy and stalkery and maybe slightly lesbian but it is the absolute truth. Her lyrics are hilarious and actually tackle tough topics like the objectification of women and internet trolls. (I think it's so odd that we use the same name for someone who 'shows discord on the internet by starting arguments or upsetting people' as a 'supernatural being in Norse Mythology and Scandinavian Folklore'. I imagine the troll from the first harry potter film sitting behind a computer posting comments on photos of Britney Spears). Her videos are also great, most of them are really odd due to her alarming sense of humour and dress sense so I love them.
4. Feminism. 64 times out of 72, when I tell a guy (or even a gal) I'm a feminist, I can actually smell fear and see the panic behind their eyes. People are so scared of the word because of the violent/scary things people think it connotes but really it just means I don't agree with gender pay gaps and girls being expected* to make sandwiches for their boyfriends. I'm a feminist. Run.
*There's no crime in a devoted girlfriend making her boyfriend a sandwich (or any sort of food) if she's feeling generous but it is definitely not on the checklist.
5. Nashville, Made in Chelsea and The Vampire Diaries. In case you are interested in blessing your life (and TV screen) with these programmes, I'll give y'all a breakdown. Nashville is set in the city Nashville, Tennessee (in the U.S) and centres around the music industry there. It is fictional and amazing and full of beautiful country music. Made in Chelsea is a series that basically follows rich English people around. If you do happen to watch it, don't worry, it's all staged. The Vampire Diaries is.........perfect. I actually hated the first series because, having read the book, I felt the characters were undeveloped and unrealistic but once I got into it, there was no stopping me. I watched like 2 episodes a day for half a year (I started when they were already on series 4). It is pretty self-explanatory but in case you have no clue, it's about a girl who falls in love with a vampire. And another one*. And back to the first one again. Then back to the second one. Watch it. Love it.
*It's not just her that falls in love with him. You need to look after your heart if you decide to become a fan and prepare for it to be broken. So many times.
6. Little mini fake flowers. Don't get me wrong, I love real flowers too but these are low maintenance, don't take up any space and look SO CUTE. You can buy them from craft shops, I think. These are also self explanatory. I have put lillies, and different colour roses in bottles on my shelf. Three of which are Coca Cola bottles (one is glass, one says Lily and one is wearing lingerie) and one is a pink lemonade glass bottle.
7. Eliza Doolittle. I would have to say she is up there with Lily Allen on my girl crush list. No, she doesn't write as poignant or hilarious lyrics as Lily but she does write some fab songs*. She is very similar to Lily in that she has a ridiculously amazing voice, weird but wonderful dress sense and a frankness when it comes to song lyrics. She's just good with words, guys.
*Faves are Team Player and Missing Kissing.
8. Angelina Jolie. I have so many girl crushes, soz guyssss. I love, love, LOVE Angelina. She is a UNHCR Goodwill Ambassador which means she visits countries and raises "awareness of the plight of these people". She also co-lead a campaign against sexual violence in military conflict zones. All whilst having six kids and awesome cheekbones.
Well that's it. Can I just mention, I started this post at like 11 o clock this morning so it's taken me 10 hours to write. During that time, I have watched an episode of The Great British Bake Off, googled 'trolls from norse mythology', scrolled through the Everyday Sexism site, spent at least an hour on Lily Allen's wikipedia page (and about half an hour on Angelina's), eaten some aubergine thing, read my 4 year old brother about 73 stories, listened to the albums Sheezus by Lily Allen and In Your Hands by Eliza Doolittle and stared at hundreds of photos of Ian Somerhalder.
I am the queen of procrastination.
Thursday 14 August 2014
Compartmentalisation, It's a Trap.
I bring good news, a king has been born!
She's actually, well, a she, and 16 years old, but her blog is new and full of glorious, hilarious potential. Like I said, good news.
The name of this oh-so-revered blogger is unicyclelouise.
Such a brilliant name, so witty and colloquial! Yes, yes, I'm exaggerating in this awful attempt at advertising a blog but in all seriousness, she is destined for great things. I have complete faith that she will perform many literary-miracles, and bring many people to the blog-faith through her wise words.
Aside from the biblical metaphors, the only way I can describe unicyclelouise's blog is as having a perfect balance of useless ramblings and thought-provoking ideas.
As you can hopefully tell, it is fabulous. I was actually quite reluctant to mention her on here, simply because I know that as soon as you get a whiff of her witty banter you will flock like athletically-gifted sheep around her.
The other day she wrote a post loosely centered around results day. For anyone reading this who has been blessed to not live in England, the results day for 17 and 18 year olds is today and the one for 16 year olds is in a week. Basically, mine, unicyclelouise's and the rest of the 16 year old population results day is coming up.
We have very different approaches to this. She decided to write a vaguely-self-help-y-in-a-good-way post about it, with a dash of insight into how we, as humans (or whatever you want to be, peace) deal with pressure.
She will go far.
I, however, am refusing to acknowledge it. I have this acceptance/denial system. I say I but I'm 96.3% sure most people experience this at least 96.3 times in their life.
Anyway, my theory is that whenever there is something not in my favour (results day, blood tests, paying back money, job applications, cleaning etc.) my brain is like "Nah mate". I swear I don't do this deliberately but I just completely block it out and 95 times out of 96.3 forget about it. Now this can actually be quite helpful, there's no point worrying about something inevitable like results day or blood tests for months, but it becomes a problem when you realise you owe your parents £136 and you have almost zero chance of getting job because you opened every job alert email you got and then promptly never thought about them again, until they had all gone to someone with a lesser tendency to put things off.
I like to call it compartmentalising but in reality it's just me being hopelessly unorganized when it comes to anything relatively important.
I'm really selling myself here.
So the difference between me and the blog-messiah unicyclelouise, is that will she not end up in debt to her parents, she will not forget to actually apply for a job, and she will most certainly will not compartmentalise to such an extent that she finds herself a week away from results day with no idea how she got here.
She already has one disciple.
She's actually, well, a she, and 16 years old, but her blog is new and full of glorious, hilarious potential. Like I said, good news.
The name of this oh-so-revered blogger is unicyclelouise.
Such a brilliant name, so witty and colloquial! Yes, yes, I'm exaggerating in this awful attempt at advertising a blog but in all seriousness, she is destined for great things. I have complete faith that she will perform many literary-miracles, and bring many people to the blog-faith through her wise words.
Aside from the biblical metaphors, the only way I can describe unicyclelouise's blog is as having a perfect balance of useless ramblings and thought-provoking ideas.
As you can hopefully tell, it is fabulous. I was actually quite reluctant to mention her on here, simply because I know that as soon as you get a whiff of her witty banter you will flock like athletically-gifted sheep around her.
The other day she wrote a post loosely centered around results day. For anyone reading this who has been blessed to not live in England, the results day for 17 and 18 year olds is today and the one for 16 year olds is in a week. Basically, mine, unicyclelouise's and the rest of the 16 year old population results day is coming up.
We have very different approaches to this. She decided to write a vaguely-self-help-y-in-a-good-way post about it, with a dash of insight into how we, as humans (or whatever you want to be, peace) deal with pressure.
She will go far.
I, however, am refusing to acknowledge it. I have this acceptance/denial system. I say I but I'm 96.3% sure most people experience this at least 96.3 times in their life.
Anyway, my theory is that whenever there is something not in my favour (results day, blood tests, paying back money, job applications, cleaning etc.) my brain is like "Nah mate". I swear I don't do this deliberately but I just completely block it out and 95 times out of 96.3 forget about it. Now this can actually be quite helpful, there's no point worrying about something inevitable like results day or blood tests for months, but it becomes a problem when you realise you owe your parents £136 and you have almost zero chance of getting job because you opened every job alert email you got and then promptly never thought about them again, until they had all gone to someone with a lesser tendency to put things off.
I like to call it compartmentalising but in reality it's just me being hopelessly unorganized when it comes to anything relatively important.
I'm really selling myself here.
So the difference between me and the blog-messiah unicyclelouise, is that will she not end up in debt to her parents, she will not forget to actually apply for a job, and she will most certainly will not compartmentalise to such an extent that she finds herself a week away from results day with no idea how she got here.
She already has one disciple.
Sunday 3 August 2014
Horrific Onslaught Of Cliches
So recently (like the last few months) there's been an influx of new blogs, all of them pretty similar. Vaguely humorous, relatively informal and suitably relatable.
Sound familiar?
I know mine pretty much fits into all these categories, well maybe not the relatable one (don't tell me your lives are as tragic as mine) or the humorous one (unless you find my failings oddly hilarious) but definitely the informal one.
Living the dream guys.
Anywayyy, my point is that for a reader, or anyone who has multiple blogger friendies on facebook, these blogs can become pretty repetitive and annoying.
(Yes, yes, I'm a hypocrite but that won't stop me spamming you all with URLs in a desperate plea for love.)
I go so off topic in these posts.
My initial thoughts for this post were to address the steadily-spreading infection of identical-blog-virus but when I think about it, I don't expect anyone to change the way they write, or what they write about, just to stand out. That defeats the point of being different in the first place.
*I feel like this post is stemming into a completely different topic but I'm going to roll with it.
I came back from this christian-y, music-y, amazing-y summer school I have done for the last four years yesterday and while I was there, being prayed for, I was told that God called me to be different and that He was proud that I was unique.
Call it divine intervention or just friendly encouragement, it was still a big wake up call.
I had strived to be different my whole life. I even went though a phase of wearing all my clothes on top of each other and calling it carefully picked layers, a phrase I had read in a magazine, in the hope of someone noticing how different I was. I think that's where my bag-lady thing came from.
It almost became an obsession. I focused on what everyone else wasn't wearing instead of just wearing what I liked and looked good on me.
So this carried on all the way through junior and primary school (age 7-15) until a few months ago when I came to the conclusion that it was exhausting changing my hair style, fashion choices and music taste everytime I noticed someone wearing/listening to the same thing as me.
I decided to just wear what I wanted to wear (and listen to as much Camp Rock as I desired) and not care if I was wearing the same top as someone on the street or if I had done my makeup the same as all my friends (like it matters).
So, the 'wake up call' was that as soon as I stopped trying to be unique and instead let myself be who I am, (which is naturally kinda weird), that was when everybody noticed.
And not just everybody, but God.
The fact that He was proud of me, and that He could see into my heart, not just what was on the outside, made me realise how lucky I was to have come to this conclusion so early on in my life.
This post isn't to convert you or fill you head with scary God-stuff but to simply say that being different isn't wearing weird, uncomfortable clothes (that's fine if you do, go for it sista) or listening to obscure music that sounds like a whale vomiting to a funky beat, but simply what's inside your heart.
Sorry if this is a horrific onslaught of cliches, I just need to get it out of my system.
The people who are truly different are the ones who see the good in someone before the bad, the ones that choose compassion over revenge and the ones that sort out their issues rather than writing bitchy indirect tweets.
I'm not saying I'm not guilty of any of the aforementioned deeds, I used to be the queen of indirect tweeting, but that that's the sort of person I want to be.
That's the sort of different I want to be.
In case any of you are interested in entering the music industry, and/or are open to making a new best friend in the big J-man, check this organisation out yo: http://www.ngm.org.uk/
Sound familiar?
I know mine pretty much fits into all these categories, well maybe not the relatable one (don't tell me your lives are as tragic as mine) or the humorous one (unless you find my failings oddly hilarious) but definitely the informal one.
Living the dream guys.
Anywayyy, my point is that for a reader, or anyone who has multiple blogger friendies on facebook, these blogs can become pretty repetitive and annoying.
(Yes, yes, I'm a hypocrite but that won't stop me spamming you all with URLs in a desperate plea for love.)
I go so off topic in these posts.
My initial thoughts for this post were to address the steadily-spreading infection of identical-blog-virus but when I think about it, I don't expect anyone to change the way they write, or what they write about, just to stand out. That defeats the point of being different in the first place.
*I feel like this post is stemming into a completely different topic but I'm going to roll with it.
I came back from this christian-y, music-y, amazing-y summer school I have done for the last four years yesterday and while I was there, being prayed for, I was told that God called me to be different and that He was proud that I was unique.
Call it divine intervention or just friendly encouragement, it was still a big wake up call.
I had strived to be different my whole life. I even went though a phase of wearing all my clothes on top of each other and calling it carefully picked layers, a phrase I had read in a magazine, in the hope of someone noticing how different I was. I think that's where my bag-lady thing came from.
It almost became an obsession. I focused on what everyone else wasn't wearing instead of just wearing what I liked and looked good on me.
So this carried on all the way through junior and primary school (age 7-15) until a few months ago when I came to the conclusion that it was exhausting changing my hair style, fashion choices and music taste everytime I noticed someone wearing/listening to the same thing as me.
I decided to just wear what I wanted to wear (and listen to as much Camp Rock as I desired) and not care if I was wearing the same top as someone on the street or if I had done my makeup the same as all my friends (like it matters).
So, the 'wake up call' was that as soon as I stopped trying to be unique and instead let myself be who I am, (which is naturally kinda weird), that was when everybody noticed.
And not just everybody, but God.
The fact that He was proud of me, and that He could see into my heart, not just what was on the outside, made me realise how lucky I was to have come to this conclusion so early on in my life.
This post isn't to convert you or fill you head with scary God-stuff but to simply say that being different isn't wearing weird, uncomfortable clothes (that's fine if you do, go for it sista) or listening to obscure music that sounds like a whale vomiting to a funky beat, but simply what's inside your heart.
Sorry if this is a horrific onslaught of cliches, I just need to get it out of my system.
The people who are truly different are the ones who see the good in someone before the bad, the ones that choose compassion over revenge and the ones that sort out their issues rather than writing bitchy indirect tweets.
I'm not saying I'm not guilty of any of the aforementioned deeds, I used to be the queen of indirect tweeting, but that that's the sort of person I want to be.
That's the sort of different I want to be.
In case any of you are interested in entering the music industry, and/or are open to making a new best friend in the big J-man, check this organisation out yo: http://www.ngm.org.uk/
Monday 21 July 2014
Let's Share The Hairspray
So recently I've had a lot of people coming up to me very interested in my 'feminist' beliefs. I'm not sure whether I've missed something monumental on the news concerning this topic or if a surge of boredom has plagued everyone I know, bad enough to start a conversation with me about feminism (bad idea, seriously), but I may aswell just try and wrap it all up here.
Obviously this issue will never be completely resolved, and I won't even come close to covering everything concerning it here, but I will try and give you a clearer idea as to why I believe what I believe.
First things first, I don't hate the male gender. How can I with superior beings such as Johnny Depp and Ian Somerhalder roaming the Earth?
Seriously, no.
Feminism has become, in society's eyes, a veil for which man-hating, non-armpit-shaving, conflict-attracting women can hide behind while secretly plotting the demise of all things penis-shaped.
I just said penis on my blog. That will never, ever happen again, promise.
While it is true that women who choose to keep their body hair can be feminists (there are no rules for/against), someone who is fundamentally against the half of the human population that doesn't have two X-chromosomes cannot.
I'm sure you've heard this a million times before (why don't you listen for a change?) but the definition of feminism is......wait for it....
The advocacy of women's rights on the ground of the equality of the sexes.
Can I get an Amen?
For some stupid reason, no matter how many times they hear "Feminism is equality." some people just don't get it. I for one am bored of being asked why feminists hate men. It's like asking someone why pacifists shoot people.
They don't. A woman who doesn't believe in equality is not a feminist but a feminist who believes in equality is still a woman. Wait, I just confused myself.
Basically, a feminist is an advocate of gender equality and in the meantime, empowerment of women. I say 'empowerment' with great care. Yes, building self-esteem and confidence in women is important, hell, it's important for humans, but that isn't to say that women are always in need of empowering. It seems that, in most magazines, our lives revolve around making ourselves look nice with makeup and posh clothes but then taking great care to know that we don't need any of that because we're beautiful anyway, and here's a cream to help with that.
So, for future reference, why don't we just concentrate on the foundations of feminism? Instead of worrying about a label and what it isn't and what it is, let's just focus on making sure both genders have equal rights, equal opportunities and an equal amount of hair products.
Obviously this issue will never be completely resolved, and I won't even come close to covering everything concerning it here, but I will try and give you a clearer idea as to why I believe what I believe.
First things first, I don't hate the male gender. How can I with superior beings such as Johnny Depp and Ian Somerhalder roaming the Earth?
Seriously, no.
Feminism has become, in society's eyes, a veil for which man-hating, non-armpit-shaving, conflict-attracting women can hide behind while secretly plotting the demise of all things penis-shaped.
I just said penis on my blog. That will never, ever happen again, promise.
While it is true that women who choose to keep their body hair can be feminists (there are no rules for/against), someone who is fundamentally against the half of the human population that doesn't have two X-chromosomes cannot.
I'm sure you've heard this a million times before (why don't you listen for a change?) but the definition of feminism is......wait for it....
The advocacy of women's rights on the ground of the equality of the sexes.
Can I get an Amen?
For some stupid reason, no matter how many times they hear "Feminism is equality." some people just don't get it. I for one am bored of being asked why feminists hate men. It's like asking someone why pacifists shoot people.
They don't. A woman who doesn't believe in equality is not a feminist but a feminist who believes in equality is still a woman. Wait, I just confused myself.
Basically, a feminist is an advocate of gender equality and in the meantime, empowerment of women. I say 'empowerment' with great care. Yes, building self-esteem and confidence in women is important, hell, it's important for humans, but that isn't to say that women are always in need of empowering. It seems that, in most magazines, our lives revolve around making ourselves look nice with makeup and posh clothes but then taking great care to know that we don't need any of that because we're beautiful anyway, and here's a cream to help with that.
So, for future reference, why don't we just concentrate on the foundations of feminism? Instead of worrying about a label and what it isn't and what it is, let's just focus on making sure both genders have equal rights, equal opportunities and an equal amount of hair products.
Wednesday 16 July 2014
Mary's Homemade Houmous
Once again, I had 'writers block' this week. But seeing as I could never consider myself a writer, and block suggests impermanence and not a constant state of writing ability, maybe that term doesn't apply.
This time (you may be surprised to know that I actually have a life) it wasn't because I had nothing to write about but because I simply felt that I didn't want to impose my lack-luster attempts at humour and mildly alarming ramblings on you poor people.
Once again, I am suggesting there are people who read this. Relatives and friends reading it out of pity don't count.
I don't think anyone (minus bloggers) understands how hard it is to write these posts without:
a) Sending people to sleep.
b) Causing offence in some way.
c) Going completely off topic.
But because you don't want your blog to just be another tried-and-failed hobby, and because most days you get asked by insensitive people when you're writing the next post (I love you guys really), and because despite your complete incompetence you actually enjoy writing, you force yourself to sit in front of a computer and write something. But this something must not:
a) Send people to sleep.
b) Cause offence in any way.
c) Go completely off topic.
...whilst still being mildly amusing and readable.
It's a lot of pressure.
Here's how I cope. Repeat stuff. Thesaurus.com. List stuff. Repeat stuff. Exaggerate stuff. Italicize random words. Repeat stuff.
Just reading over that, it seems like a slightly simplified model of how I conduct my life. Maybe I should start a support group.
I should probably mention my birthday seeing as, well, it was my birthday. That sounds like I don't want to talk about it (I do, I really do. I could probably spend a few hours describing everything in detail.) but I hate those blogs where it's just some person documenting the mundane happenings of their slightly boring life. I know there are different types of blogs. There are humour blogs, campaign blogs, self-help blogs (I think mine definitely falls in this category), religious blogs, celebrity-shrine-like blogs, cooking blogs, gardening blogs etc. And some people somewhere like to read about how Mary makes her own houmous and Jason trims his own hedges (innuendo not implied) but I am not one of those people. Nor do I care to become the author of one of those blogs. Rant over.
So anywayyy, my birthday was good. I got so many wonderful presents (minus the willy straws) and loved spending two consecutive days with my best friends. My party was eventful but memorable (as The Mothership put it) and being 16 feels amazing. So amazing that there's no difference.
I hope you all got more sleep than I did last week and good luck with the Repeating Stuff.
This time (you may be surprised to know that I actually have a life) it wasn't because I had nothing to write about but because I simply felt that I didn't want to impose my lack-luster attempts at humour and mildly alarming ramblings on you poor people.
Once again, I am suggesting there are people who read this. Relatives and friends reading it out of pity don't count.
I don't think anyone (minus bloggers) understands how hard it is to write these posts without:
a) Sending people to sleep.
b) Causing offence in some way.
c) Going completely off topic.
But because you don't want your blog to just be another tried-and-failed hobby, and because most days you get asked by insensitive people when you're writing the next post (I love you guys really), and because despite your complete incompetence you actually enjoy writing, you force yourself to sit in front of a computer and write something. But this something must not:
a) Send people to sleep.
b) Cause offence in any way.
c) Go completely off topic.
...whilst still being mildly amusing and readable.
It's a lot of pressure.
Here's how I cope. Repeat stuff. Thesaurus.com. List stuff. Repeat stuff. Exaggerate stuff. Italicize random words. Repeat stuff.
Just reading over that, it seems like a slightly simplified model of how I conduct my life. Maybe I should start a support group.
I should probably mention my birthday seeing as, well, it was my birthday. That sounds like I don't want to talk about it (I do, I really do. I could probably spend a few hours describing everything in detail.) but I hate those blogs where it's just some person documenting the mundane happenings of their slightly boring life. I know there are different types of blogs. There are humour blogs, campaign blogs, self-help blogs (I think mine definitely falls in this category), religious blogs, celebrity-shrine-like blogs, cooking blogs, gardening blogs etc. And some people somewhere like to read about how Mary makes her own houmous and Jason trims his own hedges (innuendo not implied) but I am not one of those people. Nor do I care to become the author of one of those blogs. Rant over.
So anywayyy, my birthday was good. I got so many wonderful presents (minus the willy straws) and loved spending two consecutive days with my best friends. My party was eventful but memorable (as The Mothership put it) and being 16 feels amazing. So amazing that there's no difference.
I hope you all got more sleep than I did last week and good luck with the Repeating Stuff.
Monday 7 July 2014
Milk + One Sugar
I'm back! Miss me? 'Course you did.
Saying that, I can guarantee 98.3% of you didn't notice I went anywhere; way to make a girl feel loved. In case you aren't completely clued up about my life and tea preferences, I went to Sicily for two weeks and I'm a milk + one sugar kinda gal.
Now I'm satisfied that you are suitably confused, a mind-set that must be maintained when reading my blog, I'll get back to making you jealous over my barely-there-tan and new Italian linguistic prowess.
Before I went on holiday, I studied the art of tanning. That may sound odd and slightly obsessive but really it was just me flicking through various articles such as 'Putting Hours Into Getting An Effortless Tan' and making mental notes. I realise I still sound odd and slightly obsessive but for a white, british female, tanning is hard. Like next-to-impossible-hard. I know this isn't true for every girl in this skin-type category but I like to not feel alone in this dilemma.
These articles basically suggest that lying on an uncomfortable plastic sunbed for hours on end is only 25% of the whole debacle. There's also shaving, exfoliating, moisturising, wearing the right colours and avoiding sunburn. Like I said, it's hard.
The Mothership is a member of that superhuman cult who can literally sprint through a ray of sunshine and instantly have an all-over, no streaks, Victoria Beckham-esque, bronze glow. I religiously sunbathed for about six days in a row in Sicily and all I ended up with was faintly browner knees and a higher risk of skin cancer.
I'm not joking. How is it that TM can look like she bathed in fake-tan after an hour of sun exposure and I get tanned knees after six days? I know there's some scientific explanation, something to do with melanin in your skin cells, but it's just not fair.
(sorry about this annoying link, just ignore it)
So now onto my slight grasp of the Italian language. By 'grasp', I mean I can say Ciao, Grazie and Spaghetti. Impressive, I know. At least I wasn't like TM, who resorted to speaking in English with an embarrassing Italian accent. Thankfully, most Italians speak at least basic English so, like typical English tourists, we got by without having to speak much Italian.
I hope that one day I will go on a holiday and actually have a firmer resolve to speak the locals' language but will that ever happen? Probably not. Even if I haven't inherited the Perfect Tan Gene, I definitely have the same reluctance to attempt to speak a foreign language with a person of that nationality. I worry I will just offend them with my painful accent and lack of tongue-rolling skills.
Ah well, perhaps one day I will find myself speaking fluent Italian with the locals, marveling over my perfect tan, and maybe even drinking tea without the sugar.
A girl can dream.
Saying that, I can guarantee 98.3% of you didn't notice I went anywhere; way to make a girl feel loved. In case you aren't completely clued up about my life and tea preferences, I went to Sicily for two weeks and I'm a milk + one sugar kinda gal.
Now I'm satisfied that you are suitably confused, a mind-set that must be maintained when reading my blog, I'll get back to making you jealous over my barely-there-tan and new Italian linguistic prowess.
Before I went on holiday, I studied the art of tanning. That may sound odd and slightly obsessive but really it was just me flicking through various articles such as 'Putting Hours Into Getting An Effortless Tan' and making mental notes. I realise I still sound odd and slightly obsessive but for a white, british female, tanning is hard. Like next-to-impossible-hard. I know this isn't true for every girl in this skin-type category but I like to not feel alone in this dilemma.
These articles basically suggest that lying on an uncomfortable plastic sunbed for hours on end is only 25% of the whole debacle. There's also shaving, exfoliating, moisturising, wearing the right colours and avoiding sunburn. Like I said, it's hard.
The Mothership is a member of that superhuman cult who can literally sprint through a ray of sunshine and instantly have an all-over, no streaks, Victoria Beckham-esque, bronze glow. I religiously sunbathed for about six days in a row in Sicily and all I ended up with was faintly browner knees and a higher risk of skin cancer.
I'm not joking. How is it that TM can look like she bathed in fake-tan after an hour of sun exposure and I get tanned knees after six days? I know there's some scientific explanation, something to do with melanin in your skin cells, but it's just not fair.
(sorry about this annoying link, just ignore it)
So now onto my slight grasp of the Italian language. By 'grasp', I mean I can say Ciao, Grazie and Spaghetti. Impressive, I know. At least I wasn't like TM, who resorted to speaking in English with an embarrassing Italian accent. Thankfully, most Italians speak at least basic English so, like typical English tourists, we got by without having to speak much Italian.
I hope that one day I will go on a holiday and actually have a firmer resolve to speak the locals' language but will that ever happen? Probably not. Even if I haven't inherited the Perfect Tan Gene, I definitely have the same reluctance to attempt to speak a foreign language with a person of that nationality. I worry I will just offend them with my painful accent and lack of tongue-rolling skills.
Ah well, perhaps one day I will find myself speaking fluent Italian with the locals, marveling over my perfect tan, and maybe even drinking tea without the sugar.
A girl can dream.
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