Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Guest Slutting

I was looking at TLD's blog, and got vaguely sad and moody. HE got a guest spot Novel Adventures. Just because he's written a stupid book. I could write a book. If I were talented. If I had the attention span of a adult, rather than a ferret on crack. If I had any ability with the English language... And then I became even sadder, because frankly, I'm never gonna add 'author' to my list of Special Skills (unless you count dirty e-mails, in which case HOLLA! Just ask The Lieutenant), which as noted, seems to be the first step to guest slutting.

HOWEVER.

I have decided to eschew negativity, and go Zen on this conundrum's arse. When the Tibetans want something, they give something away (perhaps explaining why Tibet's such a global powerhouse, but I digress...) Therefore, I'm offering y'all (or anyone who's interested)...

This blog. Rite here. For the month of November.

That's rite. I'll let YOU guest slut on MelWuv. Help yourself to anything in the fridge, feel free to drink the wine on the bench, and don't worry about doing the laundry - I'll change the linen when you go.

After all, y'all couldn't make a worse hash of this blog than I have.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

I'm Surprised

If Justin Bieber was to stand on the top of a tall building, preparing to jump, I reckon 99% of teenage girls around the world would sob, beat their breasts, and beg him not to do it.

Seriously, only 1%'d be sitting down below on deck chairs with popcorn, screaming 'Do a BACKFLIP!'

I'm disappointed in you, teenage girls. The backflips'd be AWESOME.

Dear Diary, Nobody Understands Me But You!

My goodness, when did it become so hard to be a teenager?! I remember that my teenage years, when coupled with the travails of high school, did occasionally move me to tears and fits of great stabbiness. However, the ways of the tortured artiste were unknown to me. I was never on medication. I was never admitted into psychiatric care. I got over it.

This ability to get over it, which I maintain is the base-level resilience needed to survive 80+ years of existence on the planet, seems harder and harder to find. Instead of realising that sometimes, life does indeed suck dogs' balls, and all any of us can do is keep breathing and wait for it to pass, such moments become an opportunity to tie oneself in knots of self-reflexive upset, demonstrated by a deep personal depression.

Excuse me? When the f*ck did it become The Done Thing to self-harm? Or up the anti-depressant dosage? Or, even more dangerously, sing songs about self-harming? Before y'all become shouty, I do believe medication has a place. I do believe that it is one option for treating psychiatric conditions which would otherwise be unbearable. But also, I wonder if you'd feel better if you simply stopped listening to songs about dead goldfish, and how nobody understands us, and why it's all for nought, and hardened the f*ck up. For God's sake, please stop pretending it's cool to be so unhappy. It's horrible for the rest of us to be around - mainly because we get bored of listening to your whinging - and I'm pretty sure ain't the best way to care for your own neurochemical balance.

Let's all try something new, shall we? The Bloggess has coined the Furiously Happy Movement, and motherf*cker, I'm ALL for it. Let's be 'FURIOUSLY HAPPY, OUT OF SHEER SPITE'. It certainly can't be more painful than dead goldfish.

P.S. It's NOT cool to be emo, depressed, and rock an air of ennui when a) you've never seen what the rest of the world has to offer (yeah, chick whose happiest years where in high school, I'm looking at you), and b) you don't know what 'ennui' means. It's self-indulgent, self conscious, too cool for school POSING. Kisschasy and I are on to you:
They both go to all of the same clubs
Where everyone takes all the same drugs
And talks about how they're 'so fucked up'
Note: This was not written in a nice way. We're laughing our guts up at you