Bet you thought you’d got rid of me, huh?
Sorry to disappoint.
It’s been a hella-long while… I’ve been super-duper busy since September, so I shall fill you in…
I started my Upper Sixth. A2 Levels have already killed me. You are talking to the spirit of Zae from beyond the grave. Reporting live from the circle of hell reserved for students with no motivation. WAHEEYY.
They’re not completely bad though. Some lessons are super fun and I sent off my university applications so I should be starting to (hopefully, fingers-crossed, touch wood, pray to the lord jesus mary and joseph hallelujah praise the lord almighty pie in the sky pls pls pls) get offers sooooon.
There is also a boy.
An actual boy.
No, I did not make him up.
No, he is not fictional.
And, no, I did not brainwash/hypnotise/indoctrinate/blackmail him (promise).
I met him late October time at a party, and we’ve been together ever since and yah. I’m grinning like un poco idiota right now and yeah and it makes me really happy and he’s already helped me cross of like four things on my bucket list and it’s kind of great because i’m super comfortable around him and i’m just totally and completely–
I can’t think of anything else to talk about.
I’ve embarrassed myself a lot in the past few months (surprise, surprise).
why did i even say that that’s not an update it’s a bloody dispositional trait i. am. an. idiot.
OOOH I’ve recently become unhealthily obsessed with a TV show called Teen Wolf and I’m in love with it!! It literally has the most attractive cast I think I have ever seen in my LIFE. Crystal Reed’s jawline anyone??? Or Daniel Sharman. Or DYLaN o’bRiEN oH mY lORd.
Right now I should be revising for the mock exams I have this week (had an English Language one today and i swear the school is out to destroy ma frickin carpal tunnel i wrote two essays in two and a half hours and i am deaded). Tomorrow I have psychology (hahahahahahahaha no pls no) and Wednesday is English Literature. Fack.
I should really start caring about my education more.
But anywhoo, I’m going to try and keep up le blogging because I do really love writing (even though i just ramble like a lunatic) so I’ll try keep you posted on life.
PEACE OUT Y’ALL
It’s been a while, hasn’t it?
Sorry about that.
The last two weeks have been frantic to say the least.
My first day back at school was last Tuesday. Upper Sixth is killing me already and I haven’t even finished the second week yet. The workload is ridiculous and the pace is slaughtering my brain, one neuron at a time.
And nowadays, all anyone can talk about is UCAS and university and predicted grades and resits and modules and applications and references and personal statements and futures and jobs and preparations and the rest of our lives and life and life and life and more life rolled on top of it.
HTTP ERROR 404: THE REQUESTED PAGE ‘ZAE’S SANITY’ CANNOT BE FOUND. EVER.
On a lighter note, I had my first driving lesson! It scared the bejeezus out of me, but it was good. I managed to get up to 60mph on the drive home, which I was pretty proud about.
Aaaaaand, I’ve recently been finding a load of new music since I’ve started to use SoundCloud, so if you have any spare seconds, check out Ben Khan (listen to Youth) or Made In Heights (check out All The Places). They’re both amazing and I’ve been listening to them both on loop for days.
I will post more. No, really.
I will try to stay more positive and not have these stupid falterings in confidence that translate into shitty blog posts about how purportedly fucked up I am as a person.
I will try to make my blog posts less shitty overall, to be honest. I’m uppin ma gaaame mothafuckah.
Oh, and I’ll try to stop swearing as much. I know some people don’t like that. So I’ll try to replace said expletives with nicer words. Like… flowerpot.
I have a new post in the works, so that’ll be on its way out to y’all soon. It’s about a book I read yesterday (yes, I read it in a day) called Wintergirls, and it’s accounts the story of a girl called Lia Overbrook who suffers from anorexia nervosa. This book made me wince in all the wrong ways, and I want to hate it but I can’t. I can’t because it’s true. It’s the truest book I’ve read in a long time.
Much like to y’all
This was a shopping excursion with me and my mother.
It was bound for chaos from the outset.
We went to Costco (it’s basically a huge warehouse that sells products in bulk to representatives of businesses etc.)
The journey wasn’t exactly harmonious.
The short of it is that we ended up taking a wrong turn, swearing profusely, cutting up three lanes of angry rush hour traffic and getting eyeballed by a creepy businessman at some traffic lights.
Okay, at this point I’m going to do a quick blame-shifting exercise: the trolleys at Costco are humungous (you could probably fit two of me in there, for crying out loud) and the back wheels don’t turn side-to-side so you’re basically throwing the thing around a corner and praying you don’t take out a nun or something.
This will be of import later on.
We went in and grabbed our complementary coffee/tea (cool, right?) and started to mooch.
On our right, there were flatscreen TVs, games consoles, mobile phones, all the flashy tech you could imagine.
On our left, there was a massive cabinet of expensive jewellery, some with rocks so big they looked fake.
And what did the mother say?
“OH MY GOD. LOOK. THEY HAVE VARIABLE VOLUME STORAGE!” and ran away to basically fangirl over glorified plastic boxes.
So I slid away to look at the books, and was disappointed. Nothing but airport fiction. I did see a pair of gorgeous black Levi’s but they didn’t have my size (me cries.)
Upon meeting up with the motherbird again, we went up to the foodstuffs section, and this is where I renewed my daily tradition of horrifically embarrassing myself.
My first mistake?
I offered to push the trolley.
Bad, bad idea.
So I was trundling along, and we found ourselves in a long stretch of empty aisle.
I don’t know about any of you, but I cannot restrain myself in these situations.
I slowly backed up to the end of the aisle and psyched myself up.
Then, I ran full pelt for a few feet, jumping onto the back of the trolley and flying at hyperspeed down the aisle.
Just before the end I leaped off and pulled the trolley to a halt, giggling like an idiot.
And then I looked behind me.
Three shop employees were staring after me, a mix of confusion and utter bewilderment on their faces.
I just grinned and ran off. Well, as fast as you can run with a trolley laden with enough ground coffee and peanut butter to last a couple of decades.
We carried on having a browse (ducking behind nearby crates when one of the employees materialised who beared witness to my trolley land-speed record) and stocked up on enough everything to survive a few apocalypses and then some.
At one point, I got a little over-zealous with my trolley-handling and I didn’t bother to look when I turned a corner.
I literally came about a centimetre away from full-on mowing down a child. He looked about six and I think I may have inadvertently made him shit his pants.
Oh, did I mention that my evade-making-child-pâté manoeuvre involved off-roading onto an empty crate, almost capsizing my overloaded trolley and nearly T-boning a little old lady carrying an industrial sized pack of napkins?
I managed to get out of the place without killing myself/anyone else thankfully.
The only things I gained from the experience were chicken noodles and an affirmation of my dorkishness.
I’m essentially disaster-on-legs.
At least it makes a good (ish) blog post though.
I regret nothing.
Izaezel: wreaking havoc on wholesale supermarket chains since 1997
Quick sidenotes: I ended up deleting the last post I published (The ‘Proactive’ Summer) because it sounded plain stupid. Sorry for any glitchiness that may have occurred because of that.
Aaaand a superquick THANK-YOU. My follower count has shot up by about 25 in less that two weeks (that may sound pitiful to some of you luminaries of the blogosphere, but it’s all proportional). For me it’s pretty crazy that y’all would want to read my rants/ramblings/the crap that spouts out of my brain, so it means a lot. In other words: you’re marvellous ❤
Well, that was rude.
You know when you need to describe someone and you can’t remember their name?
You immediately list their most distinctive features, right?
Apparently, a guy was asking my friend who I was.
And how exactly does he describe me?
“That short one with the big, weirdly blue eyes who had all her hair cut off. Y’know, the sarcastic one.”
THANK YOU FOR YOUR KIND THOUGHTS, CASANOVA, YOU SURE ARE DOWNRIGHT CHARMING I BET YOU’RE A REAL PANTIE-DROPPER WITH THE LADIES, YOU SMOOTH OPERATOR, YOU.
Okay, fair enough I am tiny (5’3 and growing, I’ll have you know).
And I didn’t have all my hair cut off (only eleven inches or so…)
Cut me some slack, I’m not a damn Kardashian.
I am faced with a potentially awkward predicament (what am I talking about my whole life is an awkward predicament urgh).
My birthday is next week.
I don’t really like my birthday.
*Cue cries of indignation and disbelief*
All the pomp and being the centre of attention and being spoiled really isn’t me.
Plus the awkwardness of receiving presents. For some reason I hate possibility that someone would stress out/spend their money on me.
I’m bad at seeming thankful as well. My only marketable talent is that I’m a world-class liar, but whenever I say I like a present, even if I actually do, I don’t sound at all genuine.
I tend to go down one of three routes with my thank-yous:
Stupidly-bad polite smile (usually reserved for distant relatives, grandparents and those of a sensitive/touchy disposition)
Overly emotional breakdown due to the perfection of the gift — frequently accompanied by blubbing, delirium and visits to the local mental hospital.
(My personal favourite) All-out, full-on, no-holds-barred freakout. Expect hyperventilation, smashing surrounding objects and a strong possibility of passing out.
So, besides the gift-related weirdness, why else don’t I like to celebrate the anniversary of my entry into existence?
The P Word.
I’m fine with them when it’s just casual, but when it’s for my birthday I don’t want to disappoint and I feel a load of pressure and…
I AM TALKING ABOUT PARTIES.
you sick people.
GET YOUR MINDS OUT OF THE GUTTER.
Also, my drunk dancing is HORRENDOUS. I literally channel this gorgeous specimen:
So, I’m leaning towards a big, fuckoff NAYYYYY right now.
Eurgh, I can’t even think about it *shudder*
What do you guys think?
YAY OR NAY?
That was weird.
Went to school with my friend A. We were both feeling trippy. No biggie. She rather suitably had a crewneck on with a huge hand flipping the middle finger.
Got to school. Officially preparing to die. K.
Went into the hall. They were lined up in envelopes in boxes. It felt like some twisted version of the Hunger Games. Fully expected Effie Trinket to burst out and pound me in the head with one of her wigs or something.
Signed off on the register. Got handed my results.
About ready to flip my shit, climb on a table and rugby tackle people I hate.
Or die from heart failure before I could open the results.
Decimated my envelope in the process of trying to get it open.
Looked at the results.
My string of reactions went kind of like this:
I could not fucking believe it.
THREE As AND TWO Bs BITCHESSSSSS!
Pretty good, seeing as in my exams my brain went into lockdown and quarantined the bits with my intelligence in them. I literally ended up like:
I felt bad for people who didn’t do as well as they’d hoped though. It’s hard to seem genuine in those situations, and I always feel like I’m doling out fake sympathy and really bad advice. Well, when I last had a bad set of results and people tried to comfort me, I was like,
I SURVIVED A-LEVEL RESULTS DAY!
(and all I got was this crappy blog post)
YIPPEE KI-YAY MOTHERFUCKERRRRR!