Saturday, 30 January 2010

Cynicism, ism ism

I am so cynical.

There are so many wonderful topics I could dwell on here. This is meant to be a blog where I complain about myself and how I am the most cynical and easily irritated person in the history of life and living &c. However, I feel it is just going to become a rant. Well, I've put in several blogs so far about fairly sentimental things and such that weren't angry so it is in my nature to feel it now justified.

Andy Murray. AKA moody bawbag of a teenager turned reluctant carrier of a nation's (and the nation it is attached to's) pride. It is not so much Andy Murray himself I don't like, though I have a certain disdain for the sullenness of teenage boys too but I best not get carried away here. Basically this guy comes along as a decent tennis player and people dont really notice until Wimbledon and then all of a sudden it's like "Tim who? ITS MURRAY MOUND!!!". His management realises he is about to be swept off by the ravenous national-pride-deprived sports fans of the UK (and I do mean sports fans, not tennis fans, as suddenly those only content with football normally are sitting in bars going "ohhh look at that fore hand") and he stops swearing and uses the top end of his pencil to change from the box that says "Scottish" to the box that says "British" under National Identity on any government issued questionnaires. Don't get me wrong, I don't really mind that he can and is loved by many of the United Kingdom's inhabitants, but what I saw in the paper today pissed me off. Apparently, if Murray loses todays Grand Slam Final he remains Scottish, but if he wins he becomes English. WHAT THE FUCK? So basically, English people only want the Scottish sports star IF he can deliver the goods. Like, you know he isn't actually English, but if he is accomplished at his game then, yeah we would like to adopt him. Why must all only support people in sport who are the same nationality as themselves? Why can't someone just support the player who they admire the most in the game? I support Jarno Trulli and I stand by that. Please don't get me started about Lewis Hamilton.

I guess it all boils down to me here. I don't like to share. I don't like it if someone asks "where did you get that" just so they can buy it. But this idea usually only applies to stuff you can't buy. The greatest example is Music. I used to like music and go to gigs. What pisses me off about this is two-fold. You can get a great band/artist that you like and so do someothers and you go to the gigs and you buy the cd and hooray you are a fan. What gets to me is that you can have been a fan for years, literally like 6 years plus, and then, all of a sudden, the band you like is grabbed from you and hundreds of people are suddenly pulling it all ways, stretching it out and making it unwearable. This was justified in the most obvious form at Adam Green. Since when did ANYONE? (anyone beside the Germans) like Adam Green? I will proceed to answer this: Since that fucking Juno film came out and some song by the Moldy Peaches was in it. And then all the morons who will latch onto anything that is "popular", as I guess Adam Green is now as he was in that film, and lie all over it. So people like Adam Green now and I have to leave it there. It's stubborn but it is true and I guarantee to you, that now, after 6 albums, Adam Green will no longer be the same again. Maybe I am too hasty and he will retain his charm, the charm of being undiscovered, but I just don't envisage it happening. I'm sure that you now and convulsing in rages of my stubborness but this is why I have to write this. I am cynical and I don't feel like changing because if I do it will break my heart. I noted that this hatred was two-fold, the second fold being that there are so many popular bands out there, and have you noticed that before they got famous there was always one or two albums prior that no-one knew of but are infinatley better quality and worth listening to? Good Example: Kings of Leon. Great band, 3 cool albums, then the label get involved and they fast track a shit new album with pishy anthem type songs on it, cut their hair, shave and don the skinny jeans. Wasted Time.

I had like 4 more things to talk about but as preidicted the rant took over my brain and englufed me. So I have just one more illustration of my unwavering cynicism/irritableness. People being late. I'm sorry to any of my friends who read this and are like "Ok i'm late sometimes, she must hate me". Don't hate anyone, and if you are a late person and I like to go out with you then I guess I love you so you have nothing to worry about, for I appear not to suffer fools... Yeah but I'm keeping this short and sweet and it is targetted at the general population/human race. If you say you will be there at 9: Be there at 9. This is NOT hard, and all it involves is a simple thought process of "I need to be there at 9. I takes 30 minutes to get there. I need 30 minutes to get ready. I will leave at 8". No more effort is required and I seriously do not understand how people do not do this. I mean, if someone is late it pretty much is like saying, Yeah I wanted to come out but this event/meeting you didn't matter as much as something else I was doing that prevented me from leaving on time. And I am guessing that most of the time this is sleeping. Set your bloody alarm clock - and if you want to snooze, allow another 5 minutes when setting the time on the alarm. Now I sound so patronising. But it is just to illustrate something... I know fine well that 99% of people are aware of all these things, yes they know how to set an alarm and how to get out of bed. Basically my annoyance stems from people not giving a shit about the other person, who has arrived and has to perpetually stand at the bar feeling very lonely, or wait in the freezing cold outside somewhere only to find that delightful text "running late be there in 30 minutes". Traffic is understandable, as is being late by 10 minutes as obviously stuff happens and you might forget your phone and have to go back &c &c. All I will say is that it is very apparent when someone is genuinely held up or late by a little while, and generally up to 20 minutes I can deal with, but why say lets meet at 9 only when you know fine well your gonna be there at half past. It's basically a lie. And I don't understand why people lie to eachother. I must note this is NOT a personal attack and is based mostly on stories from other people about late friends &c, I mean not to offend, only get off my chest what frustrates me about people in general.

So, as you can see, I am cynical and I am irritable and I am stubborn and I am hard to please. Basically I am a pain in the arse you wish you had never met. But this is me cordial, if you get my drift. That's why this isn't going on facebook.

Tuesday, 26 January 2010

The Last Four Months Before the Start of my Life

University. I've been there for half a decade now and it is crunch time. Final Year, Final Semester, Final Coursework, Final Exams, Final Final Final Final. The End. Then the start. I have applied for Teacher Training. I am applying for a Masters with a view to PhD. The plan was that I apply to both of these things and one way or another I get into a career and work on up from there. The prospect of teacher training was always appealling and the idea of being a postgraduate something beyond my ideas of what I could achieve. So that was the plan... one way or other, work hard and there you go.

Now though, I find out there are a total of TWENTY, yes only twenty spaces on the teacher training for history. In addition, the necessity of a first class degree in order to obtain funding makes postgrad not only the hard stretch it always was, but something that I may well be over my head in. I need an average mark of 70 or above and at least half my papers to be that level too. I have recently found out two things that turn the completley uninticingly scarce job market from a grown-up worry to an all too grim future for myself.

1) You cant dual-qualify yourself at Jordanhill for teacher training. So I have wasted 3 years studying bloody political science with a bunch of moronic socialists who go on amnesty international rallies, when I could have been doing all history. This in turn also makes me less employable should I, and it is very unlikely that I will, get into teacher training.

2) I got a mark of 60 for a politics essay. I got this under the tutor who I have only ever received first class marks from before. All logic is out the window and now it is time to FREAK.

But not too fast. I always freak. Then I panic. Then I spend the better part of a year overcoming panic attacks. Then I get back to normal and some shite happens. No more! I'm going to lie back and be cucumberesque, because I beleive I do worry my life away, and lets face it what is the worst that could happen? I don't get into teacher training, I don't get a first and therefore don't do a masters, and I have to face the harsh reality of joining the oversubscribed group of graduate jobseekers (yea, thanks universities for accepting any high school student who turned up enough to get a B and 2 Cs at higher) and work some job earning less that someone who works in tesco.

It's all shit if you look at it through shit tinted speccies. I don't have such eyewear, yet I'm pretty sure I was born with jobby coloured contacts in. My glass is not half full, and it is not half empty. It's split on the floor because I knocked over in a freak out and then no-one can drink 50% of a glass of water.

Ah well I think I'll just go freak out. And nurse my food-poisoned kitty cat.

Saturday, 16 January 2010


This one is about poor little squids.

Look at this little guy, the bobtail squid. Wouldn't harm anyone (as far as I know).

This is because I was watching Michael Palin's Sahara for the second, possibly third, time. I don't know if I missed it before or if I have changed and a new wee bit of brain has been created, but I never saw the squid. This time, when I saw the squid, it hurt me. Basically Palin is on a boat with a bunch of guys from Africa of which country there I can't remember, and they are squid fishing. They put these cosy wee pots into the sea which are prefect squid size and then the bad fishermen bring the pots up. Bring them up, and then they scoop out the squiddies. Squid comes out like what the hell and they scoop him and throw him into a wee tray on the deck. Worse that this, squid is making for escape by squirming across the boat in a way that only a squid could - which looks like a mutated human head with legs having a seizure - and the guys grab him again, by the head I think, and wallop him back in the tray. It is devestating.

I say it is devestating as it is to me. I do not know why. I dislike animal cruelty but I am aware that I am deeply hypocritical in that I eat meat, much meat, tonnes and of every variety. I don't feel bad about it, it's evolution, but that is a bit too contraversial for today, I am still ill. I am not at all squeemish and soppy but it was something in the way the squid was pointlessly squishing its way across the deck that got to me. There was no way it would every get away. It reminded me of Aidriana getting killed in the Sopranos, she is crawling, knowing that it's over, but she needs to crawl away. She could have ran, with the same knowledge, but she crawls. She crawled, the squid crawled, in it's way. It was so sad, it made me want to cry. Even Palin threw the squid, and I think they laughed.

Prior to this I thought squid were odd creatures which freaked me out a bit and didn't appeal at all, but now they seem tragic. I eat squid. Especially at Tapas. Will I still do it? Probably yes. I'm not like that...I just like to attach human meaning to the animal world to make myself feel sad and validate the sadness in my own life. I also do it with inanimate objects. You'll never catch me throwing away anything that still has a use. And if you do I probably kissed it before I did. And don't even start me about Pingin.

Monday, 11 January 2010


Welcome to my Blog. I feel as though I should have a blog. It's a bit like how I felt like I needed a Myspace, and then I needed to get Bebo, and, indeed, Facebook. I am in love with Facebook so it is ok that I am attached. We have a loving relationship based on a lack of a social life - very rewarding.

I must note that I have this blog as Jenny's blog was rather inspiring, especially the New Year Resolutions and sharing thoughts with everyone, of which my parallel feelings are surely quite hidden. I will share now, and it will probably be like watching Mrs Doubtfire or the Office and you just want the ughh to stop but keep on watching and watching and watching.....

Thoughts of today:

First, I am ill. I have been ill for the last week. Delightfully it started with dizzy spells and a sore stomach and it has become a quasi-cold. I don't like being ill, it brings out a clingy, depressingly needy side of me which is usually only 90% uncovered but for the while will be 100%. Stuart puts up with A LOT. It also involves pillows and hot water bottles and Pingin. Pingin will come into his own later.

Secondly, I am studing for exams I don't have for 5 months. I delayed it as long as I could be inevitably my final year has arrived and it is nervous-breakdown central. How cliched, but I am not your average student. I'll have the real breakdown you will see. To fill a gap, I am studying History and Politics at University of Strathclyde, with the knowledge that to get into postgraduate I realistically need a first but I have been a solid 68 for 3 years now. In fact, working towards such grades has dominated my conciousness for a long time and my social life, Facebook aside, involves a bunch of dead people and the ridiculous jardon of Political Science. I view life through an academic "paradigm". That was an example for the people sensible enough not to study such topics. I like History. I get better marks in Politics. Hence the Joint Honours. Anyhow, Semester one has passed but the exams are in May not January and I am studying for them now in the full knowledge that there will just not be the time in May for those AND semester two classes. The next five months are going to be the knees of a bee, as a nice guy once said.

Thirdly, it has occurred to me that Blog writing makes me feel awfully arrogant and pompous. Probably am.

Fourthly, as my other half just pointed out to me, I am getting married. By 27th August this year I will be some guy's wife. I don't want to dwell on this too much as it feels so self-indulgent and I will probably need to have a bath afterwards to wash it off. I will need the bath anyway to wash off the ill feeling. Yep so, it's a love story. Once upon a time a girl called Helen lived in a little town where nothing much happened and all her friends lived in other similar towns too far away to visit without a car. So she used this new-fangled device called the internet to communicate with her friends, but also lots of random people who, according to the media, were all paedophiles. Helen conversed with many paedophiles, finding a select few who were execptionally good at being virtual friends and kept in touch for many years. There were two of most importance, one being the love of her life, the other being one super-cool girl from Australia. The girl from Australia now comes to stay when she can, but that is not the focus of this story. Anyhow, when the girl went to University to embark on the start of a career as a ridiculous word decipherer she ended up meeting the other one from the internet as he lived in the depths of Coatbridge, not Australia. They were friends, then they were best friends, then they were boyfriend and girlfriend, then they were flatmates, then they were engaged. Of course there were many more details in between, but that they had a lot of fun will suffice. Let's return to the first person, and I am getting married. So, apart from the stresses of uni, there is the palava (and please note this is the only word to describe it) of arranging a wedding. For all who have not done this yet, my experience of it is basically you are trying to make A LOT of people all want the same thing and be happy with it to the most minute detail. Of course this is impossible and that is why I am going to have to piss off everyone I know. Yes, so I am fed up of writing about this now that I am going to stop. It is dreary. I should mention the actual event of marrying Stuart is not dreary, but so exciting I could explode and splat all over the granny wallpaper of my flat.

So basically these are the things that are either presently of importance or generally of excessive importance. It is also my cats' (Molly and Maisie) birthday on Thursday and I am planning on making a cake made of Tuna, Cat Food, and Cat Treats, so not everything in my life reflects the regular path I should be taking.

Lots of Love and pizza (as I shall be eating such delicacies imminently) from your favourite Blogging Bobben.