January 26th: Bloglings, Cyberbirds and swapping strangers in the street

'Ello bloglings!

I seem to be reverting to my old informal blogging style these days... I hope I'm still making sense, because I tend not to when I'm writing. Whichever examiner reads the English paper I wrote this morning is going to be very well acquainted with the sense of coherency I lack when he or she is finished. I just hope they understand what I was getting at or it's hello retake for me.

But yeah: maybe drop me a comment and tell me which you prefer. Do you want to hear my 'inspirational' pretentious ramblings or do you want to be let into this mediocre existence I call my life, of which only the somewhat interesting bits make it onto here (and mostly not even then). Up to you, bloglings.

Random LOL moment: stumbled across this Facebook group the other day and it really made me laugh, so I thought I'd repeat it here to amuse you lot.

"Old people at weddings always poke me and say "You're next". So I started doing the same thing to them at funerals."

Soooo as of today, I am officially an exam free bitch; free as a Cyber-bird (Doctor Who series two bloopers - YouTube them if you don't know what I'm on about) and ready to... get on with my history coursework. Oh how I love my life. But actually life is looking up - now the exams are over I can look forward to half term, which means jetting orf to Denmark to see my very best friend, the amazing Cora, to whom I am rude enough to live in a different country. And that is brilliant and yet so depressing, because I miss her so much it's like someone ripped half of me off and gave it to her, and now everytime we have to leave again she takes that half away with her. The few days we have together always go so fast and then it's so long before I can see her again... life's not fair. Although saying that, getting to see her at all is so worth how much I miss her when I leave.

It always makes me wonder, thinking about this; why is it that we can be surrounded all day every day by people we're acquainted with, people we don't like, people we don't even know, and yet the one person I wish could be here isn't. I'm jealous of people who pass Cora in the street because at least they have the chance to go up and hug her if they wanted to (not that they would. I mean, I adore hugs, but even I would find it a bit weird if some random person came up to me and hugged me in the street. It'd be like one of the... 'different' people at college coming up and talking to you for ages about whether or not to add you on Facebook (give them a fake name. Just take my word for it. DO NOT TELL THEM YOUR NAME.) They will stalk you.)

Why, of everybody I pass on a daily basis, why are they here and not Cora? Why can't I swap one of them so I can have my best friend here with me like everyone else has theirs? And yet I know that what we have is deeper than normal friendship; it is unbreakable by things that would be detrimental to other friendships - like distance, for example. I know that when I go to uni I will lose touch with people whose company I very much enjoy at the moment, not because I want to but simply because it's hard to keep a friendship going when you sluice away some of the immediacy and intimacy that comes with seeing a person on a day-to-day basis. But Cora and I have built our friendship on so many coincidences - on an internet connection, on both of us being free at the same time, on me posting that fateful comment in the first place, on us both having enough credit to text each other (thank GOD for BBM, it is the BEST invention ever for overseas friends - the hours of conversation we've clawed back from both being in possession of a BlackBerry is incredible)... we have a relationship reliant on technology and therefore distance will never be a problem for us communication wise. But it still sucks. More than it's possible to describe.

All those months of anticipation and excitement we endure before we see each other and then it's over in a flash; not having your best friend there to hug when simply nobody else will do; not being able to look at them when a private joke comes up in conversation and know they're thinking what you're thinking... and then, on a bigger scale, what if something happened to one of us and nobody thought to tell the other? What if she, the person I am truly scared to lose, just disappeared from my life, or I from hers... what would she think? How would I feel, never knowing? (Those of you who know both of us: this is now your responsibility. If anything ever happens to me, you know what you have to do.) This is a really basic, really crappy description, but it is impossible to put into words what I feel regarding this.

This has turned into quite a random post, but since we're on this subject: think about it. Think about your best friend, think about how it would feel to have her or him a thousand miles away from you, or disappear without telling you, and then go and tell them how much they mean to you. It's important that you tell people these things because, morbid as it may be, people don't last forever, and it's a shame that we have to rely on things like death to make us say the words we really mean.

Molly x

January 13th: A piece of ass

I was just skimming through my post from the other day to get to the comment left by the adorable Lauren, and it occurred to me just how many times I wrote the word "ass" or "arse". As I'm English, my brain automatically reaches for the "arse" (better than my hand reaching for one, after all), but sometimes that R is just clumsy - we, too, deserve a smooth word to colloquially describe the rear end of homosapiens like ourselves. Oh, Americanisms, how we love you. Seriously though: "arse" or even "ass" is a good word. It rolls off the tongue like marbles off a table - trundling along slightly haphazardly, savouring its last moments of captivity before it makes a break for freedom and hits the floor.

And oh yes, I am aware of how dirty this blog post could sound - but only, my friends, if your minds are that way inclined. If you choose to see in-your-end-os where there are none intended, it's your brain that needs sorting out, not mine.

So anyway, while I was musing over the pros and cons of the American and English colloquial word for bottom, the phrase "piece of ass" popped into mind. Now I happen to find this a completely brilliant phrase - there is nothing quite like it, is there? A simple yet amusing, highly descriptive and connotative way of speaking of (according to yourdictionary.com) a. a woman regarded as a sexual partner and b. an instance of sexual intercourse. And I suppose if you will consult Urban Dictionary, you will end up with definitions that go something like:

a. Any female person
b. A 'hot chick who is ready for sex'
c. To 'get some action, have, or get to have, sex with a fiiiine female'
OR, my personal favourite,
d. Something you find at a crime scene

And that is why we don't consult Urban Dictionary.

Seriously though. Great phrase - indeed, so great that I felt I had to blog about it. But then it entered my mind that I was tagged on YouTube to play the Google Tag Game a long time ago and I never did because I don't 'do' vlogs (or if I do I get accused by my friends of flirting with the webcam) and so I should do it here now, since my post is already breaking all the rules of things I probably shouldn't talk about before nine o'clock.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Google Tag Game, the rules are thus:

You have to Google your name followed by a series of verbs and see what comes up. It's pretty easy to do. Just watch and learn.

Molly needs a smack.

Molly needs a special home.

Molly looks like she has a googly eye.

Molly looks fucking scary.

Molly says she sees, reads and writes. It feels okay.

Molly says NO!

Everything Molly says is a lie.

Molly wants some doggy friends.

MOLLY WANTS TO BREAK FREE!

Molly does not approve.

Apparently, Molly does Eeyore.

Molly hates the camera but loves Justin Bieber.

Why does everyone hate Molly?!

Molly asks you. She doesn't know what she asks you, but she asks you.

Molly asks for bacon.

Molly likes to hump chickens.

Molly likes it raw.

Molly eats algae off the sand.

Molly eats food. (Really?)

Molly wears a bit thin.

Molly wears really small panties to show off her killer legs. (Uh-huh.)

Molly was a pregnant Harvey girl.

Molly was a fantastic host. (Thank you very much.)

My big Molly loves a good spa.

Molly loves to roll in the sand.

Molly loves to bark at everything.

So guys. I hope you learned a bit about... Molly. And no. It's not all true.

Only some of it. Woof woof.

Molly x

January 11th: I've got words

I've got words. Everywhere. Inside my brain, floating in the air, decorating the walls... I've got words. They follow me around and they haunt me, and now, sitting here in this darkened room where the only light emanates from my computer screen and the fog creates unseen mystery beyond the glass behind me, I should be able to translate the words that haunt me into letters. I should be able to let them flow from my brain out through my fingers and into my keyboard; I should be able to write a song or a story or a poem. But I'm here instead.

This is where I come when I can't translate my inner words to outer words. When these words I've got won't show themselves, I come here and let my fingers pluck other words from the air and put those down instead. Because I can't do much in this life I'm living, but I can find words.

To see the world through the eyes of a grammar freak is to live a rare existence indeed. One finds themself, at the most basic level, reading everything they see, the words before their face's eyes imprinted on their mind's eye long after the words have disappeared. One muses about the pragmatic and literal meanings of simple declaratives like "good morning" and finds a simple greeting between strangers enough to keep their mind occupied all day. One sees every word they think, type or say dance in their imagination as it passes through their lips or fingers. One repeats a B grade English Language exam three times because they're in search of that elusive A, and risks sounding like a stalker by emailing random language theorists just so they might gain a stronger grasp of that linguist's theory. We all know that to be a grammar freak is to annoy people by correcting them; to have the 'urine extracted' from you (or the piss taken, for those who don't speak Received Pronounciation); and for you to be thought of as highly strange and bit obsessive - but we grammar freaks know that this is what we were meant to do, and when you know, you know, you know? (Yes Becky - that was for you.)

I could say the same for all 'callings'. Take Glee, for example, since the new series returned here last night and Glee fever is heating up the UK with a vengeance - Rachel is patronizing, intimidating and incredibly annoying, but she knows what she's good at and she does whatever it takes to follow where her voice may lead and that is a good trait to have... especially if you can be less of an arse about it than she is. Speaking of arses - Sheldon from the Big Bang Theory. He actually reminds me of myself a little bit, only he's much, MUCH worse. I don't claim to come anywhere near the awesomeness that is Sheldon Cooper. Anyway, I'm getting off track.

I know this is a bit soon to be wrapping up today's post, but I'm currently experiencing a complete evaporation of inspiration, so you'll just have to suck it up. (Sorry, disgusting phrase, but very pleasing to say. Oh, Americanisms.)

Basically, kick some ass. (I'd go all British on you and say kick some arse, but it just doesn't have the same ring to it, so ass it is.) It doesn't matter whose ass you're kicking or the subject at which you are kicking the aforementioned ass; just do it. You'll be awesome, so even if people say you're a freak or call you obsessive or get annoyed with your constant showing off, remember you're following the path in life you've chosen, and therefore nobody but you has the authority to tell you how to walk.

Molly x