New Year, New You?

For about a fortnight I've been thinking about what I can say with regards to New Years.
I kicked about a few ideas: evaluating the shocking failure of mine and other people's New Years resolutions; a guide to how to write a good New Years resolution... then I realized that can offer even less advice on those matters than the other things I frequently write about. As someone who can't stick to their own resolutions, I'm not the person to dictate your aspirations.

But it's just turned midnight here, so it's New Years Eve. Having just made a vodka and blackcurrant squash combination (it's not a poor man's Cosmo, it's a street-beggar's Cosmo, but it tastes alright) it feels like the right time to write.

Around this time of year, the saying "New Year, New Me" gets kicked about a lot. But I don't think many people wake up on January 1st suddenly 10lbs lighter with the resurrected Heath Ledger by their side (people wish for that kind of shit, right?)
We're a lot more likely to wake up hungover and vowing that our first resolution is to kick drinking this time - only to give it up as soon as the next chance arises.

To avoid further signature cynicism I am going to cut to the chase.

Whilst I could have said "New Year, New Me" a billion times last December, I spent the first 6 months of 2011 as someone I'd never like to be again.
Until June this year I had been on a relatively low dosage of anti-depressants for two and a half years, for something not entirely related to depression. I knew they weren't working for me because I like to drink, and they don't mix. Like a typically defiant teenager I mixed them anyway, and then a complete bitch always came out to play. I felt like I was sharing my body between two people - someone hell-bent on inflicting misery upon loved ones, and someone constantly apologizing for the infliction and promising to change.

I can't really remember why I decided I'd come off them, or why it took so long. In the Spring I'd taken a go at 'cold turkey' having forgotten them for a few days. I was freezing, sweating, dizzy and distraught. Two friends at the time took charge of telling me what to do: the first babbled a bunch of hippie shit like "keep at it"; the second (who actually has experience with anti-depressants) told me to go home, take two, go to bed, and get out when I felt alright again. I still talk to the second person.

By June I decided I'd give it a proper go. For a very short while I took one every other day, then I stopped taking them altogether. If I'd spoken to a GP they'd have given me half doses and time scales, but I was off them within about two weeks. I was dizzy all the time, and I was scared of the stairs at work in case I passed out on them.

In true "everything all at once" style, I also went through a break-up. I went drinking every night, took up smoking, lost about half a stone and spent every night sleeping in my best friend's bed. I went home for free food and clean clothes. It's not my place to promote all that, but I reckon it helped. It took about 6 weeks, then I was on form. Really, really good things started to happen.

Since all that shit I've found my feet. The other night my friend went, "I was thinking about you in the shower the other day" which is always a weird start to a confession. She told me that in the last 6 months she feels like I've become more of a whole person. Let me tell you now that if you've ever been a half person, someone telling you that is probably the sweetest thing.


Here's where it stops being about me, and starts being about you. No calendar year is going to change you. Essentially, you are the only person who can change you - how much do you want to change? Sometimes the things that are really hard to do will turn out to be the best things you did. If I come anywhere near a belief or life-guidance system, it's that the more you go through, the more you get. Take that however you want, or not at all.

Don't make promises about change that you expect to fulfil overnight, and have as much fun as you can. That's the only resolution advice I can give.

Happy New Years Eve, and worry about next year when it comes.

Reasons why I hate Christmas Day

So, you may have read a previous blog entry of mine regarding Christmas, in which case you would already know that it's not my favourite holiday (nor is it my least favourite, mind you, wait for my rant on Valentines Day come late January/February.) If you haven't read it and you have some time to kill you can find it here (http://ponderinglifeonmars.blogspot.com/2011/12/debating-christmas.html) but it's a long one. All you need to know is that I think it's commercial bullshit.

Today is Christmas Day, and here is a list of more things that I hate about this particular day.

Disclaimer: I know I'm a Grinch-esque dickhead. Deal with it, or read no further. Simple.
As usual this is written with my tongue very firmly in my cheek, and I don't mean to cause any offence. Then again, if you're easily offended, why the hell do you read my blog? Dumbass.

1: I don't care what you got you for Christmas. Whilst my family celebrate Christmas, the gift giving isn't a giant thing here. My parents subsidize a lot of my basic needs throughout the year (clothing, transport, food) so when it comes to today there's a budget of about £50 going on. This year they cleared £50 debt for me, and bought some sweet little odd bits. Families where you guys get iPads, laptops, ponies - I just don't get it. To me, you just look like a complete brat. And those of you in relationships are the worst! "Omg I luv you bby thank u for all this stuff it proves u luv me". No. Love isn't how much shit someone can buy you for one day of the year. I'm in no place to talk about what love actually is, but I know that much about what it isn't. Get over yourselves.

2: I don't care how much you eat: it isn't a competition. Why is it so important to you that you eat more than you can possibly accommodate? In 2007 I had my first Christmas with an eating disorder. I know for a fact that you can do Christmas without gaining 5lbs that a week later you vow to lose, alongside a bunch of other shit resolutions you can't keep - for example: "get a job; join the gym; stop cheating on my girlfriend and buying her nice stuff so she never knows" - I'm onto you all! Christmas dinner is essentially white meat, potatoes and vegetables. That's diet food. Eat less Quality Street and you won't have any problems. Alternatively, keep eating until you want to die, but don't come crying to me about weight gain. Get some fucking self control.

3: I don't even care about finishing this blog entry. Started writing in a really bad mood, but another vanilla vodka & diet coke and Morcheeba album later, I'm in better spirits.

Now, in all honesty guys, I hope you had a good day. Christmas is a great time to be with your loved ones and even I felt a little twinge of love for it all earlier - a very little one, mind you, followed by a shed-load of anxiety and apathy. I'm just super fun like that.
Christmas Eve, however, exceeded my low expectations a lot. For a miserable bitch I can safely say I enjoyed seeing everyone I went to school with, and I didn't even like school, so I don't know how I managed that. And I've enjoyed having a day off from work today, so there we go, it was pretty alright. Back to the real world at 6:45 tomorrow morning when I wake up for the Boxing Day Sales rush. Prepare for a whole host of anger about that, you lucky bastards, the ultimate Christmas gift from me to you.

Love from Scrooge.

Debating Christmas

WARNING: Topical blog post beginning approximately 2 lines from where you are currently reading.

The popular topic I am choosing tonight, ladies and gentlemen, is Christmas.
Earlier this evening I was advised that if I wanted to maintain originality I should publish this post in June. However, there are certain feelings that I won't remember in June - when the sun is shining; when men stop wearing their shirts so much; and when I don't spend every day having commercial nonsense shoved in my face. I regret to inform you that mine is not a particularly positive view of Christmas.

Jumping right in at the deep end with a matter I am not formally educated in - let's start with religion.
The Wikipedia definition (of course I didn't read any further than the first webpage Google suggested - I have a life) of the celebration is: "Christmas or Christmas Day (Old English: Crīstesmæsse, literally "Christ's mass") is an annual commemoration of the birth of Jesus Christ, celebrated generally on December 25 as a religious and cultural holiday by billions of people around the world."
Whilst the 2001 census of the United Kingdom showed that 71.6% of the population are Christians, a different survey by Tearfund showed that only 10% attend church weekly.

Unsatisfied by the results of these census', I set out on my own data-gathering mission. On Twitter and Facebook I asked everybody,

1: Are you a Christian?
2: Do you celebrate Christmas?

Of 12 respondents there were 12 who celebrate Christmas; 8 non-Christians; 4 Christians; and a partridge in a pear-tree.

This is the part where I must clarify my own religious standing. As the daughter of a church-going Catholic and a man who swings between attending Quaker meetings and Anglican services, I was forced for several years to attend all Catholic Christmas masses - and trust me; there are a bloody lot of them. Because of this, I remain very aware of what Christmas has historically and traditionally meant. Yet my views on religion are completely grey. I no longer attend church, I don't have any particular beliefs or non-beliefs, and I don't spend much time exploring what 'faith' I might have... apart from after I've sunk a few bevvies and I start ranting about my views regarding Life on Mars, but that's another story for another time. (Or for the next time I get drunk, if you happen to be there.)

With a heavy heart I must admit that nowadays I believe that Christmas is a holiday that has been swallowed by advertising and consumerism, used to manipulate absolutely everybody. Including people who describe the Bible as "the most ridiculous fairy-tale ever written" and who liken Jesus to folklore characters like Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy. Sometimes I just have to ask - isn't it a bit hypocritical to deny the existence of Jesus and yet partake in festivities linked to his birth? I'm not saying that I think it is, I'm only musing.

But actually, Christian celebrations of Christmas were not entirely new. Several other religious doctrines had a 'Festival of Light', including the Hindu celebration of Diwali which is a celebration of "the victory of good over evil." The church adopted December the 25th as Jesus' date of birth despite opposition from Jerusalem, and the date was also the birthday of Mirthra - the Iranian 'God of Light'. What I am basically saying, is that the church was a little bit like J.K. Rowling writing Harry Potter - they just nabbed some of the good stuff that other people had done before them. Sorry, J.K. - I love your work.

Now, here I wanted to argue some stuff about how people get depressed in the winter and that Christmas is celebrated in an attempt to banish 'winter blues'. Then I did some research into the epidemiology of suicide and found that the idea of 'increased suicide rates in winter' is merely a myth pushed by the media. In fact, suicide rates are better categorized by days of the week - in the Unites States more people commit suicide on a Monday, and Saturday is the least popular day for suicides. So Bob Geldof was scarily correct when he sang "I Don't Like Mondays". I would love to suggest that we abolish Mondays, but that seems a bit tricky, don't you think?

It may be a valid argument that Christmas is a much needed cheer-up from the bleakness of winter - and that people put lights up in the streets and their homes to make up for the lack of the sun; and cut down trees for their homes as a substitute for the bare ones everywhere else. For people who have families it also seems a good time to gather and enjoy food, drink and each-others company - and you certainly don't need any religious beliefs to partake in those activities.

Besides the religious upbringing, the other factor that shapes my opinion of Christmas is my sector of work: retail. For the last four Christmases I have sold flowers, smelly cleansing shite and classic female gifts to Joe Public. The aim of the retail game is to have as many trading days as possible, resulting in minimal rest and relaxation for those who work in a shop, and maximum me-me-me for Joe. We work until around 6pm on Christmas Eve; Christmas Day may be our only day off in a week or more; and on Boxing Day it's back to work for the sales to start, and for Joe to return all the gifts he didn't like this year.
Yesterday I ended up discussing this with a customer who asked me how I felt to be working on Christmas Eve. I told her, "It doesn't bother me, I'm not big in to Christmas." With a slightly sad look on her face, she asked me why, and I facetiously replied "I dunno. Maybe because I work in retail."
Whilst I enjoy facilitating the gift-buying of people who are looking forward to a cosy Christmas, I am forced to listen to some of the worst Christmas pop 'music' known to mankind. Unwillingly, I know every single word to PJ & Duncan's 'Eternal Love', and all I want for Christmas this year is for Boxing Day to hurry up so that these painful attacks on my eardrums are halted for the next ten months. If you work in retail and Christmas hasn't been ruined for you, please teach me how.

In short, dear reader (but God knows you've been reading this a long time now - I bloody wrote it) this Sunday it doesn't matter if you are a Christian, an atheist, or a Jedi Knight. When you raise your glass and pull your cracker and carve your turkey, it doesn't matter if you choose to remember God, or Santa Claus, or Han Solo. But if you don't remember everyone who works in retail, who sold Joe those gifts he bought for you, I hope you go to Hell, or Lidl, or the Death Star (insert your personal idea of torture here.)

Merry Christmas.

post-note on Becoming a Man

A few hours ago, after I published this blog entry, a friend who I believe sometimes reads it sent these kind words over -

"I read your new instalment. From understanding your previous background, and reading your new thoughts, I do not think the problem is weight or winter, or infact a new style of fashion, and looking at you from a guys point of view, you dont look like a lesbian either, I also cut my hair because I know I'm going to like it, everyone has down days, I look at myself and think im disgusting, but there's some element of enjoyment I get from knowing I look good in skinny jeans
You're not fat
And try not to feel rubbish about being single either,
Be happy with yourself first
Boys smell
And most of them have one track minds"

It's incredibly sweet to know that people do read these, even the ones I know are rubbish pieces of writing.

However I'd just like to highlight something:
I do make jokes and self-digs about it, but I'm incredibly lucky to be single. Right now the whole scene isn't for me. The idea of referring to someone as my 'boyfriend' makes me feel a bit physically sick and I quite honestly feel sorry for most of my friends who are in relationships. Maybe that's just cynicism at a whole new level of bitterness.

What I do really need though is a food buddy. Like a fuck buddy, but with no fucking, ever. Only food - because the other day I realized it's impossible to buy food for only one person, and I need a platonic buddy to eat my leftovers, maybe afterwards we could cuddle and watch Mock The Week, but saying that, I'd rather be by myself or not at home at all...

So that's that. I put some lipstick on and decided I'd get a new 'weave'. I've cheered up a considerable bit and I'm going to watch something funny until I fall asleep.
The world is back as it should be.


In true self-redemption style, I feel the need to list 5 good things about the past week:
1 - Outstandingly awesome assessment of the 6-week art project I'd just completed
2 - Managing to get home alive on Thursday night
3 - My hilarious co-workers
4 - Those little girls at dinner, because actually, sometimes being mistaken for a lesbian is pretty amusing
5 - Amazing Thai food with my mother and the realization that mixed seafood is a terrible idea (life lesson, check!)

Becoming a Man

Maybe it's time to reassess some aspects of your life when you are sat in a restaurant with a female friend and hear two young girls say: "Mummy, when I'm older I'm going to marry a woman, like those two."

Perhaps the worst part is that it's not the first time this week something like this has happened to me. I dyed my hair brown and stupidly cut it myself earlier this week, and one of the first responses was "Do you look like a boy now?"
A few nights later another friend remarked, to myself and a different female friend, "I can see you two being in a relationship. But you [Kat] would definitely be the butch."

I have got to admit, this has been a long time coming. Since the summer I've been single, which means I've had no male set of 'ideals' to live to; so I've been drinking cider and eating chips like there's no tomorrow. (Not that I've ever liked those ideals anyway, so I'm bloody thankful for that.) I have also taken to wearing elbow patches and shapeless clothing, although I think winter is partly to blame for that one. In short, I look like shite, and apparently, a lesbian. Not that I have anything whatsoever against lesbians, but since I'm straight it's not something I like to give off.

The end of a year is always a time when we plan to make changes about who we would like to be in the new year, but I think a few of my changes need to be enforced sooner.
I need to lose some weight. In the past I've been an absolute waif, or I've been how I am now. I've never managed to maintain an in-between stage but I can imagine it would look more feminine, despite my biological lack of boobs.
I need to stop cutting my own hair. That's always a bloody stupid idea.
I need to dress like a woman, rather than keeping up my new careless and androgynous approach to clothing.


Writing this is getting even more depressing now, so I'm going to stop.

There's little to nothing I can think of to save this blog from the self-pitying whiny writings I have complained about in the past.
But if anyone knows a personal trainer or dietician or stylist they could send my way, I'd appreciate it.

More positive writings soon, I hope.

Man up, England.

For a country with pretty grim weather we all seem so bloody surprised and shell-shocked when it rains.

Today, Tuesday the 13th of December, it rained from morning to... well the time of writing this which is 6pm.

As a girl who has grown up between England and Dublin, I understand that the rain is an unfortunate but inevitable event. We do not live in a particularly sunny or warm country, and according to the Met Office the South of England sees between 35 and 40 'wet days' between December and February.

You would assume that the sensible approach for individuals to take is to check the weather forecast before dressing in the morning, then dress appropriately, and if it is a predicted 'wet day' to wear a some relatively hardy outerwear (I own a selection of wonderful coats so I'm sorted), waterproof shoes (if you live in England and don't own at least one pair of Wellington boots you probably shouldn't describe yourself as English) and an umbrella. Simple! That's only three items, and two of which (the coat and shoes) are essential staples in the English winter wardrobe anyway.

Sadly, very few humans seem to be as advanced as I am. (That's a joke, I'm an 18 year old art student, this is a pause where you should laugh about how tongue in cheek I'm being.) Girls still manage to leave their homes wearing ballet flats and subsequently whine about how cold and wet their feet are. People of both gender manage to forget an umbrella - but look, men, you don't have to do your make up in the mornings, you can't even bring an umbrella out? Having one up is an ace way to meet women, trust me. In this kind of weather umbrella sales sky rocket - and I know this because I work in a shop that sells umbrellas to soaking people who look so irritated by the sky deliberately picking on them and only them.

But I think the worst thing about the rain, forget how cold and wet it makes you because you're ill-dressed for the season, is how British people still manage to get so surprised about it. "Oh bloody hell, it's raining"... er well yeah it is... because we live in England - the country famed for bad weather and no signature dish. So when I set up to wait for the bus today I shouldn't have been surprised by the electronic timetable reading "280: Thame/Aylesbury - 10 minutes" followed by "15 minutes" and in the end I waited 30 minutes for a bus that was due 20 minutes ago. Thank you, Arriva. What I don't understand is why the buses have to run so slow. I know it's raining, I know it's slightly more dangerous, but I am pretty sure tyres nowadays are built to stand up to that kind of thing. If it can run in the snow, it can run in the rain.

So the jist of this blog is: man up, England. It's only a slightly colder, more clothed version of a nice hot shower! Just remember your umbrella, your coat, and your sensible shoes. And don't make me talk to you like I'm your mother, I don't like it.

evaluating on an empty stomach...

All I can say right now is - bloody hell!

The night before a deadline is always a toughie and I've hardly finished everything for the night but I really think I have to call it a day - or call it a bedtime. I've just evaluated the 6-week project and I'm already realizing all the stuff I missed out but I just have to go to sleep! Everything looks fuzzy!

Since I spent the whole time writing this dreaming of my bed and some food, I think it's only right I share the fruits of my labours (oh God do I even make sense any more? SO HUNGRY) with you, in case you are interested by art at all. I think it started quite eloquent and ended up with me dying inside! But here you go. If you hate art I advise you to give this a miss...

I believe that the ‘Human Form’ project has been a pivotal point in my art practice so far. Writing at the end of the project, though not necessarily finished with concepts and certain pieces, I can say that there is still the mixed-media element seen within my previous ‘Collections’ project, though my interests are far more evident and I have pushed them further.

My approach to this brief began near the end of ‘Collections’ as my friends and I had been discussing this slightly philosophical matter over our pints and lunches – “Would you rather be blind or deaf?” That was my starting point because I started to imagine myself in the position of people who are physically disabled, and in the past I have only explored mental health and lifestyle in terms of personal differences to others. Over the project I became sensitive to the use of derogatory slang terms such as ‘flid’ after I’d read some articles about Thalidomide, which isn’t a funny matter at all. I think that when a project can tap in to your life on these emotional levels it’s definitely an exciting one. In response to “Would you rather be blind or deaf?” I filmed a social experiment where I asked 8 girls to walk around the drama studio, blindfolded, for about 5 minutes. The aim was to watch out for behaviour patterns and it was incredibly insightful, though the video itself wasn’t great quality so I didn’t use it any further. Within my sketchbook this project only surfaces towards the middle.

After the filming I took a step back because I didn’t want to become too focussed so early in the brief. A visit to the Tate Modern clarified to me just how vast an exploration of ‘the Human Form’ could be if I didn’t refine it in some way eventually – so many artists across the ages study nudes, from Caravaggio to Ron Mueck to Francis Bacon, and they all execute this interest in a way so different to each other.

At college we were asked to make these large tracings of our bodies then develop them with mark-making or printing. I found this quite unappealing but tracing my body took 5 sheets of A1 paper and there wasn’t a chance I’d let them go to waste. The start of my sketchbook sees some experimentation with this line drawing of me – photographs of me next to it, almost like a crime scene or an idea of moving through time. My body shape has been roughly like that for over a year and I have kept all the A1 sheets in case I ever fancy comparing myself to it again. Translation between collage, drawing and digital media ensued.

We had compulsory metalwork and sculpture workshops. At the beginning I wasn’t particularly interested by either, but the encouragement and ideas I received from the tutors prompted some interesting work and a new passion for working in 3D.

I looked at the work of Henry Moore, Jenny Saville, Francis Bacon, Kienholz and Tracy Emin to assess how other artists approach work regarding the human form. However the most interesting and relevant studies were of Frida Kahlo (who I had never studied before) and Gillian Wearing’s ‘Homage to the woman with the bandaged face who I saw yesterday down Walworth Road. Kahlo’s art seemed, to me, quite similar in ways to that of Tracy Emin, as they both deal with the painful and unattractive truths of womanhood within their art. However Kahlo is arguably a more traditional artist as her work was all 2D, whereas Emin, part of the Young British Artists, blurs dimensions and media. This may account for some of the stigma against Emin’s art – the combination of her brutal honesty and non-traditional artistic approach and I still believe that her art receives more negativity than necessary, but that’s a whole essay topic I could dive in to there. Gillian Wearing is also part of the Young British Artists and the video I studied is something I’d consider to be conceptual art. It exists now as a series of stills and interviews about the video and her inspiration for it, and the motivations behind the video are the most interesting part of the work.

After that my sketchbook explores the blindfolded experiment and video that I had made, as well as the transcript from that. The audio of the video is more exciting than the visual occurrences and I did hope to use the transcript at some point, though I never decided how. I don’t believe that I’m done with that yet; regardless when I pick it up again it remains unfinished. I find it far too interesting to abandon. The audio provides some kind of voyeurism - without the accompanying video footage could be rather disturbing, as the laughter within it seems to disguise insecurity and panic.

Further metal and sculpture workshops inspired an idea for a wax sculpture which I would film melting. I still believe that’s a great idea, but I didn’t execute it correctly as my knowledge of the materials was insufficient and my video was too grainy and the camera too amateur for attractive results. But I still have the cast that I moulded the wax work in, so I could revisit this with a better video camera and knowledge of how to melt the sculpture, however it may be something I put aside now.

I set out to film a paper chain made from one of my life drawings, several short clips in three different locations on my way to college. Fortunately I had a friend’s good video camera with me so the quality is better than the other videos I made. This video explores the idea of agility and fragility in every person – the fluttering of the man in the wind reflects the younger and freer body, but the use of paper as a material suggests how easily we can become physically broken, especially in older age. The movement in the film is interesting, but 12 minutes of fluttering would have been rather dull and incomplete. A side project had developed an interest in audio work so I bought a Dictaphone and started interviewing people about their bodies, especially their fears of age and experiences of growing so far. So far I have only interviewed 3 females of 17, 19 and around 40 years old, and I am more interested in the responses of mature adults. I plan to collect more responses and then slice the audio up (partly for anonymity) keeping the words and phrases I find interesting and relevant to the themes within the video. Parts will be played over other parts. Fortunately I have friends who are savvy with audio technology so I will be receiving guidance for this - so far confusion has prevented me from starting the audio work, I have no idea what software I’d use or how I’d use it. The audio work will be played over the moving images and I’m hoping to put this piece of finished work in my portfolio as a successful piece of intermedia art since that’s where my interests are heading.

This project has been quite experimental for me, I’ve explored things I hadn’t thought about before and I’ve taken risks. It’s been quite concept based but that’s when I can really sink my teeth into a project. It’s been my first attempt at using time based media and I hope to improve these skills and use them in future projects.

Look, I don't mean to complain, but...

I am about to complain about people who complain, and it's not something I want to do.

It's also not something I think I should have to do.

Sorry to anyone who actually read the last blog entry on More Reasons to Hate Social Networking which did touch on this, but I feel compelled to expand on it since the world hasn't responded yet. I realize that if that is my aim then I'll probably write about this 'til I die.

This is my qualm: People do not realize how good they have stuff. This qualm is also a bit of a qualm about social networking (oh and am I using 'qualm' correctly? - because I don't really care right now) and how they use it as a tool to grumble their way through life.

You'd think that when people have had good things handed to them on a plate that they might respond in a positive and grateful manner. What you don't expect is to witness online statements (eg. Tweets or Facebook 'statuses') in which they manage to complain about the brilliant thing they have been handed. Take, for example: a job. In the current climate a lot of young people are struggling to find part time work, and graduates struggle to find work suited to their level of qualification. A lot of people are unemployed and they'd kill to be working. (And I know this, because I'm 'friends' with them on Facebook.) To have a job is a big part of social status, independence and, most importantly, income. As a young person in full time education who doesn't pay for food or rent or NHS or tax, I realize that I'm incredibly lucky. There is actually no real need for me to have a job if all I wanted to do is survive, but unfortunately I have this love affair with a girl called Old Rosie, and so I work part-time to sustain this affair. And I'm going to say it: I like my job. I like my co-workers, I like my hours, I like working in the city... and maybe most of all I like having the financial independence for the things I do not actually need. It's a smashing set-up and I'm happy about it.

So why can't more people say that sort of thing? "Work is shit" (or along those lines) is a tedious statement to read repeatedly. How about - and I'm just being totally wild here - adding "but I like the money" to the end? "Work is shit but I like the money." There you go! A negative and a positive, balancing each other out, making you sound like less of a dickhead. How did nobody think of it before?

Our problem is a widespread Western disease of dissatisfaction. There is a quote from the 1999 film 'Fight Club' which I believe addresses this:

"We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off."

Credit cards allow our society to buy countless 'things' with money we don't have, and we've become greedy. When we gain the things we think should make us happy (a boyfriend, a job, a car) we still find ways to complain about them. We are not unfortunate people - but we want more, and not only do we want it, we delude ourselves enough to believe that we deserve it. "No. Everybody deserves clean water." (Zadie Smith.)

So dear reader, what I am trying to say is this: everyone enjoys some cynicism. It's sometimes what I believe social networking is practically based on - complaining about entertaining or baffling events for the amusement or enlightenment of somebody else. But every now and again try take a step away from your life and reassess the good bits, and maybe share some of those too.

On that note, I want to finish this entry with my 5 best bits of this week:

1. The mind-blowingly awesome bacon and chicken sandwich I ate today.
2. The lovely Monday night at the pub with Amy, followed by late night McDonalds and in-bed comedy shows.
3. The discovery of Australian comedian Steve Hughes who has provided me with several laughs.
4. The absolutely beyond incredible early Christmas present on Wednesday (and I hope you're reading this - thank you.)
5. The people who have listened to me complain, even if it was just a little bit, for resisting the urge to slap me across the face. I love you guys. And it is only fair that I grant you minor slapping permission.

I am an incredibly thankful human being.

ANTI-DISCLAIMER: Unlike most of my blog entries this is not a joke and I will not be disclaiming anything. If you think that this is addressing you in any way then maybe it is, go write about something positive right now to atone for your whinging.

Reminiscing: let's face it, it's a nicer and more romantic word for 'procrastinating'.

But, since I'd not like to admit I've spent the last two hours procrastinating, I'm going to call it reminiscing.

Let's be honest here, even if it makes me sound vain: I was looking for a Twitter display picture. In the past me and my friends took a lot of photos, we took photos of everything - eating lunch? Take a photo. On the toilet? Take a photo. (Oh, in case you don't believe me, here's a photo my friend kindly took whilst I was 'avin a wee at Pendulum this time last year)

Lovely that, isn't it?

Moving on.

So the moral is me and my friends took pictures of everything we did. It was actually pretty intrusive and materialistic and I spent a lot of money on camera batteries when I wasn't carrying my SLR which was a lot of the time since the places we sometimes go are, again being frank, a bit shit.

So whilst rummaging around on file folders this evening, failing to find pictorial proof that I still have fun, I came across a lot of photos taken in the last year. There are some good photos, some very bad photos, some incredibly ugly photos, some toilet photos (but of course, you now know that already), some blonde photos, some brunette photos, some red-head photos, some photos of me having a wicked time with people I haven't spoken to for about half a year now.

It seems like a pretty reasonable time to reflect on the last year, and this blog so far has been very wordy. [Though after posting this I realized why, I prefer actually writing about real stuff. Oops.]

So this feels like a few weeks ago but actually it was way back in February. Hannah and I always thought Year 1 was a massive doss so we took days off college to visit galleries in London... but we usually wound up in Camden eating Chinese food. We once even tested out the Camden tattooists, which is one of those things you have to do when you're a young dickhead. So I've done it now.

Slowly starting to realize the majority of good things happened before March, and after June, but anyway - in February I was introduced to the music of Frank Turner by my boyfriend at the time. Sometimes I actually think about emailing him to thank him for that (though I haven't yet and probably wont) because Frank Turner is bloody great. Not only is he bloody great, but he sparked an entire love for men with beards, "I like that in a man". Seeing him live at the Bullingdon Arms on Cowley Road and then at Reading Festival, though 2 entirely different atmospheres, well basically I think he could be the second Jesus. He has the beard. Anyway.

So on the subject of Reading Festival and to prove that good things outside February happened... Reading Festival! That was pretty good, until the third day where I started hallucinating and passing out and vomming, until then it was the most hilarious weekend I'd had with Hannah and Jarvis Cocker and Julian Casablancas ever.

Anyone who knows me nowadays knows I have this nutty life partner Coxxy (or Amy) who has this nickname probably based on how entirely crude, drunk and cockney we are when we're around each other. Oh and the fact that her surname is Cox. Which opens so many other crude doors. If you have any ideas that I might be a polite or eloquent young lady, you've clearly never met me in her company. Anyway the point of this is that we weren't as stupidly cockney/in love before June the 14th - a night of cocktails and anti-heroin lighting. (Because when reminiscing it's important to get sentimental)

Aaand back to February, I went to Lanzarote for a week - and I went with my dad. Now I know what you're thinking and I know it's along the lines of, why would you go on holiday with your dad? And here are the answers. One: going on holiday with your dad means you pay for nothing. Two: going on holiday with your dad means you can enjoy family company without your mum's cooking (sorry mum.) Three: when your dad is as bloody hilarious as mine, you will probably be drunk every night and making him order you 'Sex on the Beach' at the bar just because he's a good sport and it's funny to watch him do it. Also, if you've never been to the Canary Islands, they're kind of commercial and tacky but the weather is gorgeous and after a really shit British winter a week or more there is exactly what you need. I came home with an incredibly alluring sunburn.

So actually, I'm going to wrap that up for now. There are a zillion other highlights from the last year - way more important ones, but have you ever noticed that when stuff is genuinely really fucking good you're not thinking too much about wacking your camera out? Just a thought.

More Reasons To Hate Social Networking

In addition to a previous blog entry, I hereby present more reasons that social networking is ruining your life.

The blog entry I am referring to can be found here (http://ponderinglifeonmars.blogspot.com/2011/11/how-social-networking-ruined-your-life.html) and brings us to:

7: You've become, or realized how easily you could become, a giant coward.
Do you have strong feelings about the behaviour of an individual? Fair enough if it's David Cameron. Write as many pissed off things as you like about him - because he can't see them, and he wouldn't care even if he did. Social Networking can too easily utilise indirect bullying. That might sound extreme - but how many girls have you ever seen write something like "You're pathetic", "I love how hypocritical you are", so on and so forth. There is a pattern: it will address a specific event or individual, use the word "you" and it will be written by a girl. When have you ever seen a guy try to sort out his emotional issues on the internet? (Besides Charlie Sheen in early 2011! Here's an ellipsis while you try to think about it)... probably never, though it depends somewhat on your calibre of male contact. Girls, please, if somebody has upset you enough for you to be spitting venom about them online, you should probably address the issue with that person. Save people a lot of sad, nail-biting "But does she mean me?" moments.

8: You're happy. Woop-de-do, well done you.

Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with a cheerful chappie... however, there is a fine line between being happy, and being a smug wanker. Congratulations, I'm so glad you and your new boyfriend are so happy. I'm so glad he's buying you drinks and dinner and diamonds and other great things beginning with a 'D'. But try not to smear it in everyone else's single, diamondless face! Bloody hell, do you have no idea how self-satisfied you can sound? Don't be surprised when people are pressing 'like' on "Smug-Wanker has gone from 'In A Relationship' to 'Single'" - HA HA! Come join us down here why don't you? Dickhead.

9: And now you're miserable. Have a pat on your miserable back.
This actually leads on from 8. Most of these brilliant 'D' inclusive relationships are going to take a U-turn. Why? Because if you were honestly happy in your relationship you'd have been busy enjoying that person's company, not Tweeting about it. Duh. Regardless of this fact (because you'll never realize it for yourself) your Facebook Friends/Twitter followers will be able to enjoy inspiring nuggets such as "the world is only going to screw you over" or "I don't know why I get out of bed some days"... OH GOD, CHEER UP! If you're so gutted then go to see a counciller, go get some Citalopram, write a diary, buy a punchbag, sleep with someone who's going to degrade you completely, drink until you're blind. I don't mean it's wrong to write the occasional upset or annoyed sentiment, but if it's everything you're writing you probably have a problem. If every single miserable update we read inspired great pity or sympathy we'd never get anything done besides writing motivational comments for people who really just need a bit of fresh air and a slab of cake.

Now, if you have read this in a certain way you might quote back at me "There is a pattern: it will address a specific event or individual, use the word "you" and it will be written by a girl".

Firstly, aren't you apt! Ten points to you. Yes, I've used 'you' a lot in this, and, in case you hadn't guessed by my endless supply of bitterness, I am a female. However, I am not addressing an individual but a group of individuals: careless social networking users. If I really wanted to take up my qualms with them one-by-one I'd never have had the time to write this big long rant, would I? Blimey. Minus ten points for thinking I've got hours of time coming out of my arse.

Additionally, congratulations to everyone who follows me on Twitter or is my friend on Facebook, and has noticed that I too do my fair bit of complaining. Well done - it's true, I love to complain. Why else would I write this? But when I start writing things like "OMG I'm so sad I could slit my own wrists :'''(" please hunt me down, and slap me in the face. Really hard.

The same disclaimer as written in the first entry about Social Networking applies.

DISCLAIMER: This post is almost 100% tongue in cheek but it might offend you a bit. If it does, my best advice is not that you leave me any feedback, but that you go get a therapist for your inability to take a joke - even a badly written, long winded joke by someone who took no essay writing subject further than AS level, and cannot tell jokes.