Hold your hats, folks!

At some point, I made a calendar of the last three weeks of term. I had planned for a couple people to come visit, as well as the Pride-y, debate-y things I'd hoped to do. Attend all the socials, read and gym in the gaps between.

What actually happened is some Tristan time, and lots of other random things creeping in. LGBT Midlands Coalition meetings, WSAF gigs, meetings with David Preiss (DAVID PREISS!), and so on.

In particular, the last five days have been particularly challenging. I suppose I didn't realise quite how challenging until last night, when, in a delirious haze of exhaustion and headpain, I made a cake and then fell asleep almost instantly.

So. This is what I have done recently.

Thursday: Meeting with David Preiss about 4th year project. To get ready for this, I'd had to read a 12-page document, and then read as much as I could about integration in general. On top of this, my brother had given me a piece of work to do too (writing some text for a website), due for Friday. So, already, the week had been quite full of writing and reading. The meeting went really well, then as soon as it was over, Tristan and I drove madly down the motorway to get to my brother's prize giving. After mingling and wine and dinner and "look this is the family house", we drove all the way back.

Friday: At some point in the early morning, say 3:30, we fell asleep. (I don't have a great deal to say about that bit apart from that it was both fun and amazing.) Woke up, eventually, got my brother's work done and emailed to him by the deadline, then rushed into the shower to see my housemate's band play their final ever gig, at WSAF. Came home, made food, went back out, Crash time. Oh, Crash. Drunken, dance-fuelled madness. Nick, Richard, Zal, Mash, Buzz, Engineering Matt, faces and crowds and wonderful things.

Saturday: Entirely unwonderful things, to start. Including lots of chundering. (I did party extremely hard). Hangover started to subside at about 4 or 5, just in time to rush into the shower AGAIN and get to campus in time for dinner in the Duck and watching more bands play at WSAF including the very fun Lilac Joke, and the ever-awesome Hot Magenta. Then, onto Last Exit. More bands, more dancing, and GUITAR HERO which was really good. I chose to play King Crimson. Seven minutes of guitar noodling at an almost impossible pace. Then, Matt and Buzz played Rush, "The Spirit Of Radio". LOL. That was hilariously awful. But, impossible to play. In the end, it turned out that Matt and Buzz had been looking at each other's corners, so they were playing the wrong stuff :P (Matt still won though). After a while, Tash and I crashed out, so Mash and I went home.

Sunday: A relatively relaxing day. Bus trips around the Canley area to pick up icing pens, since my local supermarket doesn't sell them big enough, and it was too hot to walk around, hence the bus. Finally got home, made some chocolate cake, watched England get thrashed. Iced the cake, decorated the cake, went to campus and back to give Katie a disc for the last acronym film social. Early bed time in time for the day ahead.

Monday: 6:45am start, for a 7:45am taxi onto campus, arriving minutes to 8, to await my lift. Why this horrifically real-person start? To teach debating at a school in the Banbury area! A full day with a group of Year 12s. I had a crib sheet, and it worked pretty well. I was nervous at first, but I grew to feed off their enthusiasm and really enjoyed watching the quieter girls grow in confidence over the course of the day. Lunch was 25 minutes, break was 10, the whole day finished at about 5 or so. Got to campus again at about 6 ish. Went to see Tristan. Began to feel kinda tired. Realised I had a cake to make for him. Took a taxi home, collapsed a bit. After resting for a while, I dragged myself outside to get Chinese takeout and then came home and ate it. I felt a bit better, so made the cake bases. By now, it was approaching 10. I realised I didn't have enough icing sugar. Left the house again to get it. Called home; a family member had died. I'm borrowing some of Mom's black clothes to wear for the funeral. (My first ever funeral, occurring the day before we go on holiday.) Mom'd also been to A&E, for some really bad allergic reaction she had. Got home eventually, icing sugar in tow, fell asleep for about 30 minutes. I couldn't help it, I was just so tired and hurty. All the lights and sounds of the house were just throbbing in my head and my eyes. However, I got myself up, took some Norah Jones downstairs on Audrey and dimmed the lights in the kitchen and iced the cake. After this epic set of manly endeavours, I went to bed and passed out.

I'm not sure exactly what possessed me to ignore everything my body was telling me, so I could finish that cake. It's like I found a strength somewhere. I'm glad I did it though. Not sure I'd have forgiven myself if I hadn't. Cake is SRS BSNS.

I guess people do crazy things when they're in... summertime. Yes, when they are in summertime. (That is clearly the word I want to use.)

But is it lucky underwear?

That is what I am trying to work out today.

A few weeks ago, I bought some truly awesome underwear. Three pairs of Spongebob Squarepants shorts, and some pants with My Little Pony all over them.

Probably the most arousing clothing I own, the MLP pants.

So, it occurred to me that I haven't quite studied enough for Manifolds. So, what do you do? Wear your lucky pants to the exam, of course!

Except my previous pair is in the laundry basket, and it's looking decidedly less lucky as the months progress.

So, time for a replacement, perhaps. The plan is to wear the MLP pants to the exam, and if I ace it, they become my new lucky pants.

This is a perfect plan, with no downsides. (And I'm not planning on being naked around anyone today, so nobody will be able to see the pink pony and rainbow on my butt.)

Where is my mind?

Woke up again for the second time by my alarm clock. Normally I wake up a few minutes before it, but I didn't today, and I didn't yesterday. Took me half an hour to get out of bed. I'll wake up eventually, but currently, I'm quite tired.

Living here drains me. My sugar moves, I can't use the kitchen without impeccable timing or stubborn determination, I have to consider the cost-benefit analysis of having a conversation in the house. I can't invite anyone over without pissing him off. I've only got a calendar month left here, but there's enough stress to be dealing with already without not having a home to chill out in.

I'm cold. I have to wear two pairs of everything and a dressing gown to stop shivering. It's May. That doesn't seem right.

I listened to my massive amount of Beatles last night. Played "Komm, Gib Mir Deine Hand" quite a lot.

I've been talking a lot to A. Ever since first year, I've always wondered whether it was healthy to have such a firm foot in my past, specifically a part of my past that hasn't always been good. But, we're talking a lot right now and I think that the more I worry about Something happening, the more likely it is that something will. But, I'm pretty sure that I can just about handle hanging out with him and not having sex. I'm kinda excited about having a proper friendship with him - we never really had one first time round.

I have to shop today. I've run out of basics, but I've also run out of money. All I have to do is buy enough to survive until Thursday morning.

The sky is blue, with a few puffy clouds. One looks like a unicorn goring a badger. Another one looks like a pregnant goat.

I should get dressed and start my day properly. Gotta stay upbeat, nothing else to do... ^^

Tiffany Blews

I have no idea what this song is about really. The band Yes have songs where the lyrics are nothing more than a collection of words that sound gorgeous together; they mean nothing, they are nonsensical. If you listened, it becomes very clear it's not supposed to make sense. Fall Out Boy tricked me into thinking this song made sense, and then you read the lyrics, and really, it's no better than Yes, except Yes were never setting out to make sense.

I find myself at a loss for words, at the moment. There are a hundred thousand words, battling for attention in my head, but they seem to refuse to co-operate and line themselves up in an orderly fashion, so I can tell you, my literate audience, what's going on. Maybe bullet points will help.

• I'm seeing someone new.
• He is my best friend. (was, is? I'm not sure.)
• My most recent ex lives in his house.
• My second most recent ex lives in my house.
• Consequently, we both live in our own versions of An Awkward House.
  
• We have a Guitar Hero band. It's called Unicorn Parade.

That's basically the gist of it. Bullet points did help. First time La Roux did the song "Bulletproof", it was actually about how she uses bullet points to help her write, except her agent didn't think it would work as well in clubs if it was about bullet points, cos they're not sexy. THEY WERE WRONG! Bullet points are beautiful.

I have exams starting today. I'm most confident about the ones coming first, so I can just get through them, do my best, and cram like a loon for the hard ones.

Everything I've learnt this year is being put to the test. And, I hate it when people say, "Good luck," because, if you prepared well, learned from what you did wrong before, if you understand where your gaps in knowledge lie, then you don't need to be lucky. You can just go and do a good job Avoid the bits you can't do, make up for it by doing a kick-ass job in the places you know you can. Luck is for the ill-prepared, it seems.

(Wish me luck for my algebra modules.)

Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes

This title is... insane! The actual song has nothing to do with disloyalty, ordering, water OR buffaloes. But, you know, let's see where we go from here:

Disloyal...

I've been practising being single. Sort of. It's more practising "not having a person around all who does the cooking and the cleaning". Which is entirely different, now that I think about it.

What I have with New Guy is very different to what I had before. It's friends with benefits, but with exclusivity. Sounds a lot like a Relationship, except he's given it a fairly firm expiry date, which... you know, a Relationship doesn't have one of those. Of course, if it turns out he actually sticks around, I'll be pretty thrilled and it'll be interesting to see how it works out. But, I'm not holding out for it. I'd be a fool to.

Order!

Being in the house alone has been quite a nice thing, actually. I play Fall Out Boy as loudly as I like, I always know how much milk I have at all times, I don't have to worry about setting the alarm on anyone, I don't have to be home for anyone. I've been steadily cleaning the house. Bathroom was last night, kitchen was this morning. Over the weekend, I plan to find to vacuum. So, the house will be all shiny and clean and pretty for everyone to come back to.

I'm actually enjoying looking after myself. I got so lazy before, I really did. I am totally capable of buying my own milk and beef, and carrying it home myself, and cooking for myself, and cleaning up after myself, and other things. I don't need anyone to do those things for me, and I really should do them myself.

Water.

My appetite's been a bit off lately. I only managed to eat half of my pasta bol last night, I had to tupperware the rest away. I ate one carrot stick and half a pitta bread dipped in hummous before giving up (I just wasn't hungry). At least I finished dinner today. I don't think I'm sick or anything, it's just a bit weird. I've been going into campus to work 11-3 the past few days. Maybe a bit more walking, and I'll feel okay... :)

Buffaloes!

"Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo." That is all.

Nod to the past.

I decided to change the format of my blog today. It's pretty! ^^

I also decided to do something I haven't done for a long time. I used to theme sets of blog posts; I'd take each phrase of the Our Father, or Hail Mary, and write a post about it (with the occasional hiatus if something happened that didn't fit the theme).

Since Fall Out Boy is probably the closest thing I have to religion right now, it seems fitting to base the next few posts on the titles of each track from an album. I'll start with Folie a Deux, and see how it goes. If you know anything about Fall Out Boy, you'll know their lyrics are hilarious and their titles are mad. For example, the first title I have to tackle is "Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes": I'm thinking wtf just as much as you are. So, this will be a fun challenge, if anything.

So, that's the plan. Keep tuning in, kids! :)

Today...

Woken up at 8, asked what should Dad buy for me in the supermarket. Decided to roll out of bed, grab clothes, and just go with him. Dressed entirely like a boy (except for the skinny jeans). Bought lots of stuff.

Later in the day, I dressed entirely like a girl. Cute t-shirt, ruffly cotton layered skirt. I had hips like a goddess, which makes a change, cos my hips are actually pretty damn narrow. (Thank goodness for my butt.)

Excellent food day: Weetabix, hot milk and chopped banana; hummous, pitta bread and carrot sticks; grapes and dilute juice; cream cheese on bagel, cup of tea; Chinese take out; slice of toast.

Lazy study day. Made some progress. Easing myself into things. Doing Lie Algebras right now.

Discovered Sesame Street videos. Laughed until I cried. Flailed my limbs about in pure joy. Found a great video of Natalie Portman, dressed as an elephant, dancing with an elephant dressed as a princess. So fucking cute.

Talked to Tristan and Dave about things and stuff. Nothing too deep. Linked them to all the Sesame Street stuff.

Watched a gymnastics movie with a Fall Out Boy soundtrack. Kickass.

Had a two hour nap while the Budget was on the TV. Woke up to see Nick Clegg asking politicians to cut the crap and tell the truth.

Listened to Dancing With Myself, and Imagine (the originals, not the Glee covers).

"That's very smart, Banana, very smart."

Today was a pretty good day. Doesn't quite beat the day in the Bullring with a Krispy Kreme, though.

It's to be expected.

For a while (perhaps since first year, even) I've had a bit of a crush on a Christian.

Gasp! Shock! Horror! etc.

He's cute, pretty serious, good at maths, generally not a jerk, and loves God, but not in an evangelical bible-thumpy way. He just radiates NICE everywhere.

I considered asking him out once, but I realised I was too much of an unholy mess to go for a guy that good. So, you know, I didn't.

Then, the rest of my life happened, and we get to yesterday, when I find out he's "In A Relationship with" a Christian girl. She's kinda pretty, I assume she'll be kinda nice - Christian girls usually are.

I felt a twinge of something when I found out. Such a tiny thing, but I dunno. Pretty silly, really. But I did kinda like him.

It's a Reality Check - people date! I don't really want him anyway, but, it was a feeling that I experienced, and I documented it. So there.

Feelings are tricky.

Travelling in Holiday Fortnight.

Before I launch right into another post, let me explain Holiday Fortnight.

This holiday period is the perfect example of Holiday Fortnight, since there is a very neat Monday to Sunday fortnight encapsulating Christmas Day and New Year's Day. Sometimes, you get Holiday WeekPlus, especially if Christmas falls in an awkward place (like a Monday). But a great deal of people really gear up to Christmas Day in the three/four days before Christmas, take the week between Christmas and the New Year off and sometimes indulge in a day or two after New Year's Eve to recover.

This post isn't about the semantics of Holiday Weekend. This post is about what happened when I tried to travel at the beginning of Holiday Weekend. Lovely Boyfriend Face is travelling to see me at the end of Holiday Fortnight, with the added bonus of weekend travel, so I imagine he might have quite the journey.

I went Up North on Monday and came Back Down on Wednesday, last night. Both journeys require three legs. The first two legs are largely similar, except the third leg offers me a choice: either I take a slower Northern Rail service to make the journey from Sheffield to Leeds, or I take the fast Cross Country service that is part of a behemoth voyage from Plymouth to Edinburgh.

On the way there, I decided to take the Cross Country to save time. So I stopped the second leg short of Sheffield to take that train through Sheffield and onto Leeds.

There were no seats. None.

I was standing for about an hour before we got to Sheffield, where luckily one seat became available. People filled the aisles, the hallways, it was difficult to get in and out. It was one of the worst train journeys I've been on for a while.

What had exacerbated how I felt about it was the fact that the first two legs had comfortably half-full trains: not ram-packed, but not eerily empty. (Mind you, I did start my journey at 9, maybe it's to be expected).

Coming back, I learnt my lesson. I opted for the slower Northern service. The best part of that journey was that the first two legs of the journeys begun where I was getting on, so the train is sat at the platform for a good 15 minutes before it set off, and you can always get a seat. So, my journey back home was rather comfortable.

Now I don't have to do any big travelling until Boxing Day, when we're going to London for a party with a family friend with an OBE. He got it several years ago, but it's still a massively big deal to me.

Killing in the name (of conformity)

Funnily enough, writing this post, I am thinking of Jedward. Those awfully highly entertaining, just-plain-awful Irish boys from X Factor infamy.

I think of them because this post is to do with X Factor. Second, they are identical twins. Even though I write this largely independently (bar news sources, Daily Fail, etc), I have no doubt whatsoever that almost-identical copies of this post are out there, somewhere. (Minus blond quiffs, and hopefully not singing Ghostbusters).

So, what's been the fuss this week? X Factor is over, and so is Strictly. Finally we can stop hearing about these shows... or can we?

There's this thing called "Christmas Number One". It's like being the Number One single at any time of year, except it's at Christmas, so the sales are bigger (usually). There's also betting on who will be Number One, cos betting is fun.

For the past few years, the X Factor show has finished just in time for the single released by the winner to be Christmas Number One. Apart from the first series, every other series had got their Christmas Number One... well, except poor little Joe, winner of the latest series.

Joe was faced with the rage of the general public at Simon Cowell for taking away the thrill of a real Christmas Number One, and for ruining their telly with X Factor, Xtra Factor and his manufactured "stars". He also wears his trousers too high and his tshirts are a bit tight sometimes - I think people take this issue very seriously.

So, anyway. The song that won was fueled by a rage of its own - Rage Against The Machine. Four lovely boys from LA who got quite angry with The System and wanted to Fight It and get angry and write a good song about it.

The line that always causes contention is: "Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!"

The thing is, RATM would have never won this Christmas rage without a good deal of conformity. It's all well and good for people to say "Fuck Simon! I'm buying my own choice of single, and not your cookie-cutter pop boy's Miley Cyrus cover drivel". What you get is Joe winning and random singles all over of the place getting one extra download.

What you need is a co-ordinated strike. Suspending your belief in a total anarchy to create an anarchy-lite of sorts.

Moral of the story: If you want to Fight The System effectively, you have to create your own. But, we knew that already.

Thank you, Professor Jones.

He was my favourite lecturer in second year (combination of actually being interested in what he taught, and just liking him). In the lectures he would do, he'd write quite swiftly, and as a result, often misplace the bars of t's. So, we spent a good deal of time studying "integralion". Which I enjoyed immensely, since lions are one of my favourite types of catcat.

Every now and again, we'd be looking at "partilions". I actually drew pictures of a partilion in the margins of my notes. They'd often look like this:



You can tell he is a partilion because of his long brightly coloured hair, and dancing shoes.

Sometimes, we'd be seeing quite a lot of funclions.


The step funclion is going for an 80's vibe here. You can't really do a step class without legwarmers. And, the regulated funclion just looks groovy and cool.

There are many more lions in maths than the university prospectuses would like you to think.

Hmm.

I get to see the best person in the world on Wednesday.

I have discovered Spotify. It's like all the freeness of Youtube or torrenting music, with the warm fuzzy feeling of not breaking the law.

I think I suck at ring theory. This isn't a massive problem. Set theory intrigues me though. Sometimes, you have to ask yourself if you can ask yourself a question, and then you get into a recursive loop of logic and wtf.

I obtained ice-cream today. I think I might eat it while watching skinny, toned people try to become "supermodels".

I got fat. Well, I was never skinny, but sometime over the past two years, I'm way closer to fitting into size 16 clothes than I thought I ever would. I should lose a stone, but I can't be bothered.

It's getting darker in the breakfast room.

I can't afford books right now. Not *really*.

I am being taxed wrongly.

I am in love. I am so much in love that sometimes I walk down the street with a stupid grin on my face that I can't get rid of, and everyone stares, and I just look to my feet, then the sky, then the walls of buildings I past, and I just smile. I smile so hard because it feels so good.

It's just life, right?

This might be weird, but...

When I was twelve, I wanted to have a disco for my birthday to herald the Beginning Of My Teenage Years. I shared it with two other girls (neither of whom I talk to at all anymore).

Despite the fact that my mother had done most of the work, everyone mostly thought it was their party, and it was also mine - like I was a afterthought.

A boy called Daniel was in my class, and I'd always thought he was someone I'd like to be arranged to marry, if I was unfortunate enough to be 35, unmarried, and desperately wanting a family. His dad was English and his mom was Jamaican, so he had the most gorgeous hair and skin, and I just quite liked him. Never seriously, just as a "Well, it would be perfect, if it wasn't for the complete lack of chemistry."

At the birthday party, he brought one present. It was for me. It was a kilogram of Cadbury's Whole Nut, which is my all-time favourite chocolate bar.

How did he know it was my favourite? He must have known I liked it, for chocolate is a risky buy given that so many kids don't deal with nuts well, and Whole Nut is about as risky as it gets.

For a long time, I read this simple gesture as his way of telling me that he felt exactly the same way as I did, and that eventually we will marry and have a loving and completely non-sexual relationship.

I still don't know what the chocolate meant. I still think to ask him, but he would probably be very freaked out that I still think of that moment seven and a half years ago, when I was shy and unattractive, and he was the quiet boy with the curly hair in the back of the class.

Sigh.

I have work tomorrow. 10:30 start!

I also failed at "house, etc." I want to apologise to people, but feel it's not really enough of an issue to apologise. I feel a bit rubbish though, if that's satisfactory.

It's too hot.

I have a new charger. If this one breaks, I'll get very upset with the good folk at Maplins.

I wrote down all the Sims careers in my notebook, and noted the pay of the highest position for each. Hacker is the best. Also good are Music, Entertainment and Pro Athlete. Crime pays better than Law Enforcement (by a significant amount!) and the worst careers are Slacker, Military, Law Enforcement and Politics. Just like real life then. I'd like to be a Mad Scientist; they get paid $1000 a day!

Made the error of weighing myself. I am Officially Fat, like, according to NHS charts and whatnot. But, thank you Madame Heatwave for being too hot for me to exercise. Maybe I'll sweat myself thin.

There's far too many carbs in this house, and not enough meat or vegetables. We had a barbeque yesterday, so we've got leftovers from that; pasta, rice, chow mein, curry sauce, chilli sauce. There was quite a bit Vegetables Ahoy! left, so I ate that with sweet potatoes.

Bleugh... Wednesday!

Frank!

I was in the living room, looking up various things related to Paralympic sports classifications and conjugacy classes when my housemate (the one I don't normally talk to) told me to come and see something.

There was a slug! On the side of the stairs! Just crawling vertically up. It was so cute, except it was in our house. So, I suggested we get a piece of paper for the slug to move onto, then put the paper outside.

So we did that. My housemate named him Frank. Frank the slug.

It was nice that we didn't kill Frank. He's slimy and quite pretty.

Exams.

My head is melty inside and it hurts.

What's in a name?

I always thought that my name was too plain to be worth achieving anything. Sarah. Meh.

Now, I'm having a James Brown moment, and you can't really get more standard than James Brown. And yet, you never think of any other James Brown types - you just think of one.

Maybe there is hope yet.

Le talk petit.

Being in Small Talk situations automatically makes me inappropriate.

Not naked-inappropriate, or anything like that. I just can't seem to think of sensible, normal small-talky things to say.

I'll talk about raisins, or ninjas, or shellfish that ate my mother.

Or, I'll just be silent, to stop those mad-crazy things entering the conversation.

Small Talk situations also make me want to giggle a lot. Because, people are talking, but saying nothing.

"Nice weather, isn't it?" Yes, it is. Talking about it doesn't change the weather, and it doesn't make me emotionally attached to it either.

My favourite thing to do is making incredibly awful puns that only I understand, or just say "Thanks, ants. Thants." as I have been saying for a while now.

My mother was right, you can't take me anywhere!

Observations.

The light from outside my window is so erratic today. The sun ducks and weaves behind clouds, and it looks like someone's going mad with a big dimmer switch. I can't quite see what the weather's like behind my net curtains, but it looks like it's windy. We have a set of tall, fragile looking trees in a bunch in the garden, and they're being thrown about all over the place.

Omigosh, I have *such* a crush on Hayley Williams, from Paramore. I think pretty much the entire world does - I say the entire world, I mean all of the "I might be gay? Maybe?" teen girls who decided to get Hayley hair to match her, or teen guys who are slightly embarrassed to admit they like Paramore, or... anyone who's ever seen her and is attracted to girls. She's just so cute. She's quite Christian though, and friends with Miley Cyrus... so, maybe I'll stay out of this one.

But, if she ever wants my number... Ha, I'm just kidding.

A weird dream.

(Thankfully, no dead babies, or blood.)

I'm in a green room, wandering around, and then my housemate Matt, the drummer from his band and a girl I was friends with at school appear, and tell me to get on the stage. They manage to find some shortcut, so when I eventually find the stairs to the stage, they're already half-way up. I finally get to the top, and I see a huge stage with a giant orchestra, and two stools at the back.

I remember at this point that I was supposed to be playing the drums for Matt's band, and he was going to teach me how, but I hadn't been to any rehearsals.

I sit on one of the stools, then Wiggy (another guy from my school) appears and produced a small drum and about five drumsticks, one of which is white. He then starts playing with the orchestra.

I panic. I can't play for the band, and they're the next item in the show. I tell Wiggy this, and he says, "Well, you should have practised," and keeps playing. I tell him I can't practise, I don't know the song, and he says, "You should have gone to rehearsal," and his song ends, and the rest of the band set up and are waiting for me to start their song with a drum solo I don't know.

I wake up here. I didn't like that dream.