I get it. You’ve had a really rough day/are completely in love with your new date/just want to share something with everyone on a social networking website. But instead of getting on the computer and typing, “I’m feeling really crap and need a hug/I love this person so so much and they’re a really good shag too/I just took a really large shit but it won’t flush,” you post an obscure lyric from a song that “really means something to you” (excuse me while I barf).

The confused friend who reads said status update which contains “what happened to my heroes, they seemed to disappear / the idols keep on singing, but they don’t sound sincere” is then left to figure out why the other person has posted that. Are they depressed? Do they want to be left alone? Should you call them and make sure they’re all right? Or are they just in the mood for funky rhyme?

Mmm, funky rhyme.

The sane thing to do would be to ignore it, right? The problem is, some of my friends need guidance away from sharp objects making contact with their skin, and other fun matters. So if you don’t talk to them when they’re feeling down, aforementioned sharp object will make contact, and/or certain medicinal products will be ingested in large amounts.

Guys, when you post song lyrics, bear in mind that the song may not actually mean what you think it means. “Your song” might actually be about the songwriter masturbating.

If you really need to share your feelings via a song lyric, please consider posting something obvious to your friends. It will cause them to facepalm less, and will more easily attract hugs/”Awwh!” comments/constipation remedies from them.

This leads to the dreaded conversation:
Friend: “What would you like to eat/drink?”
Me: “Erm, I’ll pretty much eat or drink anything that’s put in front of me.”
Friend: “What do you mean, ‘anything’? CHOOSE SOMETHING.”
Me: “I don’t know what (insert foreign word here) means! You’ve been here before. You know what to get!”
Friend, now frustrated: “I’ll get you a glass of ‘anything’, then.”

The thing is, I’m kinda indecisive. When you’re really hungry or thirsty, the last thing you want to do is give me a menu. I’ll sit there happily for hours, weighing up my choices, no matter how much I need nourishment myself.
I’ve found that it’s just easier for everyone if friends order for me. On most occasions, the places we eat at are places they’ve been before, and they already know what they do and don’t like there. So order your favourite dish, and I’ll eat it.
I’m not that picky - I love seafood, eat meat, and am not allergic to anything. Most people know I have an aversion to peppers and bread, but 99% of the time, I’ll eat what’s on offer, regardless of content.

It’s the same with drinks. Going “eenie meanie miny moe” at a bar takes too much time, and I’ll pretty much drink anything. Who knows, whatever you pick for me could be my new favourite beverage next time.
If you really wanted to know, I like all soft drinks, love vodka, ale, wine and most other spirits (which means that you can probably give me a weird cocktail and I’ll enjoy it). I tend to avoid lager (it just doesn’t sit in my stomach too well), but will drink it if it’s given to me.

See? It’s not that hard!

Benefits of choosing stuff for me:
Quicker serving times, as you don’t have to wait until I finally decide what I want from the menu.
I get to try new things.
We’re both happy.

Downsides of choosing stuff for me:
None.

I like playing Russian Roulette with food and drink when I go out, and it’s fun getting to try things I would probably never choose for myself had I seen the description on the menu. I can’t believe my friends aren’t more willing to use this prime pranking opportunity – this is your chance to make me eat or drink absolutely ANYTHING, such as cinnamon and chilli shots.

Anyway, all food, drinks and booze are the same in the very end.

Dictionary.com states that chagrin is “a feeling of vexation, marked by disappointment or humiliation.”

Meyer seems to use this word during all the awkward moments in her books (of which there are many). To illustrate just how many times “chagrin” is used in the Twilight books, I have copied and pasted the relevant sentences from them, in the hope that you will see the overkill like I did.

Twilight

1. His expression shifted instantly to chagrin. “Are you very angry with me?”
2. I wondered to myself why no one else had seen him standing so far away, before he was suddenly, impossibly saving my life. With chagrin, I realized the probable cause — no one else was as aware of Edward as I always was. No one else watched him the way I did. How pitiful.
3. I felt his eyes on my face but I couldn’t look at him yet, afraid he might read the chagrin in my eyes.
4. “You can have shotgun,” he promised. I hid my chagrin. It wasn’t as simple to make Mike and Jessica happy at the same time. I could see Jessica glowering at us now.

New Moon

1. I stared up at her, frightened, but she only seemed chagrined.
2. My face twisted into an expression somewhere between chagrin and horror.

Eclipse

1. She broke off suddenly, and she glanced down at me. “I’m sorry,” she said in a chagrined voice. “I’m frightening you, aren’t I?”
2. “You’ll see,” I muttered, and then I sighed. My face went from white to scarlet in a sudden blaze of chagrin.
3. The plate I dropped this time landed in the sink, so it didn’t make as much noise. I could easily hear the sharp huff as my father exhaled. The blood rushed into my face, fueled by irritation and chagrin.
4. “At least he didn’t threaten to kill himself to make me kiss him,” I snapped. As soon as the words were out, I flushed with chagrin.

Breaking Dawn

1. Caius scowled, looking as chagrined as if Aro’s gentle questions had been blows.
2. Chagrin washed through me, and I waited for the heat to burn in my cheeks and give me away. And then I remembered that I would never blush again. Maybe that would protect Edward from the truth.
3. Aro’s and Caius’s clouded red eyes flickered across our line. I read disappointment in Aro’s face as his gaze roved over our faces again and again, looking for one that was missing. Chagrin tightened his lips.
4. Edward stopped a few steps away from Aro, and I realized with some chagrin that though I certainly could, I should not prevent this exchange from happening.
5. So Renesmee was untouchable because of the way Jacob now felt about her. I tried to concentrate on the relief of this fact rather than the chagrin, but it wasn’t easy. My mind had enough room to feel both emotions intensely at the same time.

Midnight Sun

1. Rosalie turned to glare at me, her eyes sparking with chagrined fury.
2. She sighed, too, and put her chin in her hands. Her thoughts were chagrined.
3. She stared into her rearview mirror, her mouth hanging open with chagrin. When the other car had pulled past her, she checked all her blind spots twice and then inched out the parking space so cautiously that it made me grin.
4. “You weren’t going to do anything,” Alice murmured to him, soothing his chagrin. “I could see that.”
5. Her eyes narrowed, and I guessed that she was debating whether or not to make a run for it. “I’ll just drag you back,” I promised, enjoying the chagrin on her face when she realized I meant it.
6. My mouth twisted with chagrin. I didn’t like hurting Tanya, though her feelings were not deep, hardly pure, and, in any case, not something I could return. It still made me feel less than a gentleman.
7. With perfect clarity, I remembered how her body had felt under mine after I’d thrown her out of the way of the oncoming van. Stronger than the panic or the desperation or the chagrin, I could remember that sensation. She’d been so warm and so soft, fitting easily into my own stone shape.
8. “I’ll just stay back here,” Bella said, embarrassment and chagrin on her face rather than pain. Maybe Mike had got the worst of it. I certainly hoped that was the case.
9. “My mind doesn’t work right?” she asked, her voice rising with chagrin. “I’m a freak?”

Midnight Sun is significant, because there are currently 12 unedited chapters available online. In half a book, Stephenie Meyer has managed to use the word “chagrin” 9 times. God knows how much her editing team had to modify the original manuscripts for the completed Twilight books, thereby reducing the chagrin. I have not read the other books that Meyer has released, but I’m assuming her favourite word will play a prominent part in those too.

This blog post has caused me much chagrin to write.

Overall chagrin count in the Twilight series: 24

Overall chagrin count in this blog post: too many to count.

Being a senior figure in a political party is equivalent to being an A-List celebrity. EVERYONE wants to take a photo with you /shake your hand/fawn over you, from people campaigning to be the next member of parliament (and need a photo for their campaign material) to those who just want a photo for the lulz*.

As I mentioned before, in the youth and student branch of the Liberal Democrats, Liberal Youth, elections are currently taking place to elect the new executive. Members of Liberal Youth are meant to vote for the people they want based on the manifestos shown at this handy site. Now, I made my choices based on the content in these manifestos**, what people were promising vs. what they could actually deliver, etc, but what was a big turnoff for me was people trying to pretend that senior politicians had endorsed them.

More specifically, I’m talking about this (and on a lesser scale, this). Just because you managed to get a photo next to him does not give you the right to say “Nick agrees with me.” Nick Clegg takes photos with many people, and won’t remember most of the people he’s shared photos with (he’s only human, after all).
I don’t care if you were just taking the piss, or if you were just trying to liven your manifesto up with a photo, but I consider it false advertising, unless you can prove that you specifically walked up to him and gave him all your policies as a candidate for a general executive member of Liberal Youth and got his express permission to use his image in that way.
And, considering what a busy man he is (note my failure to try and get a picture of him whilst he was in the same room as me), this scenario occuring is highly unlikely.

If I ever got a photo with someone important in the Lib Dems, I could technically put anything I liked as a slogan, as I would own the rights to that picture. But I wouldn’t. Because I highly doubt the person I took the photo with would agree to support “OMG LET TASERS BECOME LEGAL IN THE UK!!!!1111!!!!”

I understand prospective parliamentary candidates needing a photo with a senior member of the party  - to show that they’re united/actually a member of the party – for campaign material, blah blah blah, but I don’t see the point in using them to advertise people in internal elections, when we already know you’re on the right party to be running for that position. And unless it’s for a leadership position within the federal party, isn’t everyone meant to remain neutral about who they would vote for?

When it comes to Liberal Youth elections…

You’re a bloody youth politician. Like it or not, but the ‘grown-ups’ don’t take you seriously right now. Write a decent manifesto, telling your electorate what you can and cannot offer. Don’t rely on celebrity endorsements, and don’t try to insinuate that senior people have agreed with everything you’ve said, because that just makes you look like a fool.

Or, at the very least, will make me decide to vote for someone else.

*I will hunt down Nick Clegg eventually, get a photo and act like his best buddy. Because I’m cool like that.
** Grammar and spelling may have played a part in my decision as well, as stupid as it may sound. If you can’t be bothered to use spellcheck and/or proofread before you send off something for the last time, then it shows me that you can be careless.

Drink when:

• Someone says the word “dad.”
• Someone says the word “daddy.”
• Someone says the word “father,” etc. etc. You know the drill.
• Someone shares a dad anecdote.
• A voiceover wishes you a happy father’s day.
• An annoying presenter on TV talks about how awesome their dad is.
• Someone does a shoutout to their dad on live TV.
• There’s a family comedy on TV about a dad: think Three Men and a Baby.
• There’s a programme about “World’s Worst Dads.”
• An advert pops up about last minute gifts for your dad.
• Your friends keep talking about what they got their dads/forgot to get their dads/how great their fathers are.
• The websites you’re on are filled with dad-related stuff from friends.
• The tech blogs you love have articles on “gadgets that will make your dad happy.”
• All those fathers on TV make you feel a little bit wistful.
• You feel a little bit sad about the whole thing.
• You eventually get pissed off with the outside world and turn everything off.

BONUS ROUND (just because): Drink whenever someone with a German or Spanish accent says a dad-related word. Examples include German guys saying “Fazzer!!!111!” or “Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

tl;dr version: Drink whenever anything dad-related comes up.

As the youth branch of the Lib Dems, Liberal Youth’s membership database is significantly smaller than that of the main party (less and less young people getting interested in politics, etc). Liberal Youth only accounts for those aged up to 26 (and some people who really ought to be members aren’t tagged as being members, but that’s a story for another day). The small amount of members mean that cliques easily develop.
Like in real politics, certain members will always vote for the person they’re friends with, regardless of what they can offer to the party or what they’re actually promising to do – see Labour’s leadership elections. But I don’t see ‘proper’ politicians smearing other candidates about internal jobs (because that’s just unprofessional, and just gives ammunition to the other parties come election time). So why do we see it so much in youth politics?

Long before I joined Liberal Youth, there were some issues that led to most of the executive of the day resigning, and by-elections having to be held. I’m starting to see things heading the same way again, and the elections aren’t even over yet.
At present, my Facebook feed is filled with squabbling amongst the people running for various positions. People are threatening to leave the party if (insert member name here) gets elected instead of (insert another member name that they’re friends with here), and some are still arguing about what happened last time.

HERE’S A NEWSFLASH. Liberal Youth elections count for practically nothing in the real world. No one outside of the party cares who the current chair or vice chair of whatever is. But it reflects badly on the party if you can’t seem to act like a civilised human being during these elections. The Lib Dems are known for being the ‘third party’ in UK politics, coalitions aside. If none of you can grow up and act rationally, then you can’t expect anyone else to take us seriously.

I joined the Lib Dems because of their policies on equality and fairness. Not because I wanted to stand idly by whilst the person who had the most connections within the party got the top job. Nor did I join to watch slanging matches between people who really ought to know better.

Let people who are voting in the Liberal Youth elections make up their own minds about who to vote for, no matter how stupid – Lulu‘s voting based on the people with the coolest names, but that’s her prerogative. Endorsing another candidate is fine if you’re doing it personally, but please don’t use your existing role within the party as leverage for the candidate you support.

If the youth branches of political parties are meant to be the politicians of the future, then I’m extremely scared. Because, honestly? I wouldn’t vote for any of you based on the way you’re acting now. In ten years, you could be helping to run the country. And that’s a seriously worrying prospect when you can’t treat members of your own party with respect.

…Isn’t democracy grand?

One of Louise’s defining qualities is that she doesn’t understand jokes, most of the time. Louise… takes things, for lack of a better word, very literally. This occasionally causes frustration amongst other friends of mine, as the people I tend to socialise with are extremely sarcastic. Louise takes whatever we say seriously (think of her as a lesser, female version of Christopher in the Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time**), and responds as if we were idiots. This leads to facepalming, long, drawn-out explanations, and finally, some rage directed her way. Most of the time, she still does not understand even after we have explained whatever it was we were discussing. She also makes out like it’s your fault that what you said didn’t make sense to her, not that she doesn’t understand.

She’s also ‘the slutty one’ amongst us. As another friend remarked, “she goes for anything with two legs. Or rather, at least two legs.” I once had to pull her out of a sex shop after she had decided to go in there with a guy we’d only met hours before, and she tends to hit on men immediately after we meet them, regardless of whether she likes them or not. Awkward.

My relationship with Louise is different to that of other friends, in that I have a habit of forgetting that she exists. I don’t mean to be cruel, but I’m just not very good with names. Sure, I can list the names and email addresses of the people I talked to online 10 years ago, and can probably tell you what your friend’s friend’s pet dog is called, but I just have a problem with remembering people I’m likely to meet in real life. So, when I’m given the task of inviting everyone out, I tend to leave her name out of things. It’s only when everyone turns up for whatever it is we’re doing that day and someone goes, “Where’s Louise?” that I stop and think, “Shit” and ring her, tell her to turn up and quickly apologise.

…Let’s get onto the nice things now!
Er, she’s a great cook, “has a noice indie thrifty style”, and “is caring. In a weird way.” Oh, and she apparently has a nice bedroom. She’s also one of the more sane people I know, and that’s saying something.
Louise, we love you really. Sort of. As another friend remarks, “she’s ditzy, but intelligent. Underneath it all. You have to dig a while though.”

Please don’t try to kill us.

*All my friends seem to be blogging lately. Grr. Considering I don’t use RSS, they’re a bitch to follow (but it’s in my best interests to follow what they say). Meh.
**”Lesser version” because she definitely does not have autism.

A factor that greatly influences my decisions is travelling. I HATE TRAVELLING. I dislike leaving the house unless absolutely neccessary, and even then, I won’t stray far because of the time it’ll take me to get back (for example, concerts). I refuse to spend hard-earned money and waste too much valuable time travelling just so I can see someone perform.
I hate the weather as I wait for a bus (with no guarantee of getting on), the smells of the people around me, and the constant chatter I hear as I try to catch up on the sleep I missed the night before. The less time I spend on public transport, the better. However, I am reliant on it to get to places because I currently don’t have the funds to buy a car.
If you invite me to something, and the location is near some form of transport that can get me home (whether it be a train station, bus stop or tram station) without much walking in between the two, then I’m all yours. However, if you do not live anywhere near one of these places and expect me to walk to the place in my stupid shoes*, then I’m going to drop said event like it’s hot. Ahem.
So, given the choice to relax at home or to go to a place where I’m going to have to walk for ages to get to any form of public transport, I’ll take the staying at home choice every time. And if I’m a bitch for not wanting to waste my time, so be it.

*I no longer own any shoes that are good for actual walking. Shiny and beautiful, yes, but blister-causing and useless to walk in after half a mile.

I have to admit it, when it comes to chocolate, Toblerone is my vice. However, I’m also a sucker for chocolate with bubbles in them. And caramel. Mmm, caramel… When given the opportunity to write 12 words or less/924 words or more on what I would do with 48 bars of Wispa Gold, I couldn’t resist. Guess which (insane) option I chose to write about? Yes, the 924 word version!

Note that I actually couldn’t think of 924 words on this subject (Quelle surprise!), so you’ll have to do with my half-baked attempt instead. What I have written already sounds creepy enough as it is – holy crap, I’m turning into Lulu!

So, here’s my answer to:

“If I was locked in a room with 48 Wispa Golds and Ross Farquhar, Brand Manager for Wispa, I would…”

• Open the box. Well, you’ve got to start somewhere, right?
• Then, I would grab all the Wispa Gold bars, and slowly open them, one by one.
• And then, I would make a big long rope out of all the wrappers.
• And then, I would tie Ross Farquhar with the rope made out of wrappers to something secure.
• And then, I would dangle the open Wispa Gold bar above Ross Farquhar’s head.
• And then, I’d wave it about until told me how to pronounce his surname, and whether he was related to Lord Farquaad from Shrek or not.
• And then, I would force-feed him a piece of Wispa Gold. [No matter what he says about loving caramel, he must be sick of it by now.]
• And then, I would eat the rest of the Wispa Gold bar whilst working on my evil laugh. At this point, my evil laugh still needs some work.
• And THEN, with the remaining 47 Wispa Gold bars, I would build a fort (never mind the dirt on the floor).
• And then I would make Ross Farquhar play a game of Cops and Robbers with me… Whilst still being tied securely to something secure.
• And then I would make him lose.
• And then I would eat another chocolate bar to reward myself for winning the game.
• And then I would be upset about losing The Game.
• And then I would comfort eat another bar to make myself feel better about losing The Game.
• And then I would feel quite queasy.
• And then I would start feeling nostalgic about the 80s, when Wispa Gold was a big hit.
• And then I would try and think of 80s music to stop me feeling so queasy.
• And then I would remember this.
• And then I would grab a Wispa Gold bar to use as a microphone.
• And then I would sing the literal version of “Take On Me” whilst waiting until I could physically eat more chocolate. “PIPE WRENCH FIGHT!” [Ross Farquhar, at this moment in time, is, of course, naturally terrified.]
• And then I would eat the slowly melting Wispa Gold bar.
• And then I would grab another bar.
• And then I would pretend I was Willy Wonka.
• And then I would be happy that I had ALL THE CHOCOLATE IN THE WORLD.
• And then I would be disappointed that my chocolate didn’t have magical powers like Willy Wonka’s.
• And then I would be sad.
• And then I would cry a little.
• And then I would cheer up.
• And then I would Rickroll Ross Farquhar.
• And then I would give him up.
• And then I would let him down.
• And then I would run around.
• And then I would desert him.
• And then I would make him cry.
• And then I would say goodbye.
• And then I would tell a lie.
• And then I would hurt him.
• And then I would share another Wispa Gold bar with him.
• And then I would feel bad about my actions.
• And then I would hide the 40-something remaining bars in a box.
• And then I would cry and beg and pound at the door.
• And then I would threaten to taser someone if they didn’t let me out THIS INSTANT.
• And then I would taser the poor sod who came to open the door.
• And then I would demand a refund from another person who hadn’t been tasered.
• And then I would get all stroppy when they refused.
• And then, after they had threatened to press charges, I would run away.

Uh, yeah. And there ends my train of thought on “If I was locked in a room with 48 Wispa Golds and Ross Farquhar, Brand Manager for Wispa, I would…” Incidentally, there are obviously many non PG things I could have hypothetically done, but that would have been awkward to write about. Really awkward.

I’m not going to be eating Wispa Gold bars for a long time. I’m never going to see them in the same light ever again after I click “Publish” on this blog post.

P.S:

Dear Ross Farquhar,

If you ever Google yourself and see this post, I am dreadfully, dreadfully sorry. Um, is this post still worthy of a Wispa Gold bar (minus a restraining order)? I’m a perfectly sane and normal person most of the time, honest! Kthxbaii.

Solnushka nominated me for this ‘award’ a while ago. This blogging meme basically involves you telling people 10 things about yourself. Now, previous attempts at sharing facts about myself have failed horribly, as I hate lists, but here goes…

1. I like flashmobs a lot. I attended the Rickmob in 2008, and have attended many Improv Everywhere events in London.
2. Additionally, I have also appeared sans trousers in several newspapers as part of No Pants Day in January.
3. Chris Blake, a musician I follow on Twitter, wrote a mini-song about this. And corrected it when I complained that my name was pronounced wrong.
4. I have eaten 1 packet of crisps today. And feel really guilty, as I’m meant to be eating healthily.
5. I cannot ride a bike, use a skipping rope, rollerblade, ice skate, skateboard, or do a forward roll. And that’s just the start of my shortcomings.
6. I want to live/work/study in America or Australia, but the only thing stopping me from going there next year or the year after is the lack of free healthcare.
7. I constantly think of bedbugs, and try to wash my pillows at least once a month because I’m scared of what could be lurking in there.
8. I am currently knitting myself a rug. Why? Because my feet are cold and I can’t be bothered to follow a pattern for socks.
9. Sorry. I lied. I have actually eaten 3 packets of crisps today, and will reward myself with another once this rug is done.
10. …This post was actually written 3 months ago, and I seem to have forgotten to publish it. I’m working on the “riding a bike” thing, though.

Addendum: It’s been such a long time since I touched this blog that I have absolutely no idea who to tag. If you want to do this meme, feel free!