It’s All Over

Well my friends, this is it.

I’ve finished University.

Well, technically I finished it nine days ago, and life’s been a bit mad since then. I say mad, I mean more trying to survive on a bowl of pasta or rice a day and spending days at a time in my room, playing on my Xbox or reading Deadpool comics. Fucking love Deadpool. A week in bed is a good way to spend time, seeing as come the end of this month, I won’t get to do that again, probably for the rest of my life.

I have to admit, I have mixed feelings about finishing uni.

On the one hand, I’ve finished with a course that was a complete waste of my time, boring, and ultimately pointless. Who’d have thought that at twenty two years of age I would still be sitting exams like I did when I was sixteen? That’s uni for you. I no longer have to worry about assignments or coursework or lectures with stuffy old monkeys trying to explain why their lecture slides haven’t been changed in the last decade and why they’ve been teaching us the wrong stuff. Soon enough, I’ll be out of a house that’s mostly filled with people I really don’t like, best mate being an exception of course.

Speaking of which, he came home yesterday, which is nice. I don’t have to put up with boring, infuriating idiots by myself anymore. Plus he promised food. I like food.

Another bonus of finishing uni is that I can finally try to make something of myself, be it in terms of writing or a worthwhile job that I enjoy.

But then, it’s kind of a negative as well.

Seeing as I was a teenager when I was forced to choose what career path I would take for the rest of my life, I made a mistake. I don’t want to work in Psychology. I understand humans, I can get inside their heads, I can make them better or I can fuck them up royally. But it’s not something I want to do as a career. Fuck that.

I did a placement on Clinical Psychology last year, and it was absolutely pants. Not only was my boss a massive moron, but she never gave me any work to do. Kind of a pointless placement really. The impression I got was that all you did was a routine inspection and then a lot of paper work. No thanks.

But, seeing as that is what I have a degree in, other career options are few and far between. Oh well, Zoo it is. I’ll get there.

Leaving the house is going to be sort of negative as well. Even though I don’t like three quarters of them, and the house is ALWAYS a mess, and even though I miss my mother and dogs and nephew, it’s going to suck massively moving back home for an indefinite period of time.

I did it last year, lived home for a year after two being independent. I hated it.

I had no desk, a terrible, uncomfortable bed that does nothing for blissful sleep but exacerbates my already shitty back problems, and I have to live with a crotchety old fart, put up with a slut of a sister, live in the middle of nowhere when all my mates are elsewhere.

But, with some luck, I won’t be there for long. I’ll get me a job, save as much money as I can, and move on and get a better job. Here’s hoping.

I’ll miss my mates at uni. I’ll miss spending days lazing around, doing what I want. I’ll miss my super comfy bed. But really, this is the start of something new. So here’s hoping I make it out okay.

Mouse Problem

So, we have a bit of a mouse problem in my student house. It’s been around for ages, but I thought we’d caught them all a while ago with Captain RiffRaff’s very own homemade humane mouse traps. Plus, having a cat should act as a pretty good deterrent to any rodent bandits.

But, about two weeks ago, I found a cheesy bastard in my potatoes.

Naturally, the spuds went in the bin and I went on the hunt. I made another mouse trap, set the bait and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

No mice were taking the bait. Either I wasn’t making it accessible enough or mice don’t like peanut butter. I sure do.

So, when I nipped into town today to get some bits and bobs, I picked up a couple of cheap mouse traps. Just the simple snap ones that break their necks nice and clean, so the mouse doesn’t suffer.

After a little while and some bruised fingers, I set the traps with the bait, popped them in the cupboard and settled down with some revision.

Not two hours later, I heard a loud snap and a clatter. I’d got one!

I quickly scooped up the little body that was still twitching, taking a moment to say sorry and appreciate how soft it was. I am seriously considering some mouse fur gloves. I scooted outside to find my cat, who was overjoyed at the prospect of hunting a just-dead mouse.

So after I dangled it in front of her nose and she almost peed her little kitty pants, she grabbed it and ran off to the middle of the garden, where she proceeded to bat it about and chase it before settling down to a tasty snack.

Even though I technically caught the mouse, I’m still proud of her for playing her hunting games and gobbling it up. I guess that makes me her kitty mum.

Hopefully she’ll catch some herself soon.

Spam Wank

I hadn’t even considered the idea that I would get annoying spam here; I’d never really paid that much attention to it, and just deleted it and got on with my day. But, for shits and giggles, I thought it would be a good idea to have a look at what some of them say.

And my my, was I disappointed.

It’s like spammers aren’t even TRYING any more. In the past, you could get a spam email or something that actually looked legit. Now? Full of grammatical and spelling errors, clear idiocy and the inability to speak English showing through as clearly as a skidmark on tighty-whiteys.

And some of them came from such websites as “sexline” and other similar places.

Gooby pls.

For a start, if I want porn, I know damn well where to go. For another thing, advertising prostitution (I made an educated guess about one of the spammers) was illegal the last time I looked.

Look, if you’re going to spam me, at least make it a bit more personal. I’m clearly a student with a thing for pirates and complaining about life. My blog is certainly not intended to be educational, I consider the information shared in these pages to be of a standard.

So I’m bigheadded and vain too. Your standardised messages are boring and cliche. Do it properly.

Christ, it feels like I’m talking to an ex…

Yarrrr I Can’t Be Thinkin’ Of A Title…

It’s getting to that stage again where I am forgetting to blog.

I have loads lined up, more complaints mostly, but I never seem to get around to sorting them out.

So today.

I was supposed to be in work, and after getting all psyched up for it, I find out that I’m working from home today. It took all of my self control not to fall back to sleep. I’m still technically working after all.

But tomorrow, it’s back to the office, back on those god forsaken busses costing me stupid amounts of money because I hate driving and won’t put myslef through it and back to learning more about stuff.

This keyboard annoys me.

I can hear mother and “sister” talking through the wall. I don’t wanna fucking hear, I’ve got to go to sleep soon if I’m to have any chance of getting up on time tomorrow. But nope, miss 17-and-pregnant is going to be up all night talking to mum and keeping her awake, even though she’s got work in the morning too. Baby this and baby-fucking-that… Drives me up the motherfucking wall.

I can’t be fucked to go on a rant about why I hate some of the people in my family right now

 

Strangely though.

 

You know how parents are supposed to be those innocent people who are shocked by sex and stuff?

Mum just came in and offered me a cock-shaped mint.

I don’t know whether I feel awkward because it’s my mum, or the fact that I ate one.

Ship WRECKED

So I went out to Birmingham this weekend, for once able to leave all my toubles behind and enjoy my birthday.

I had drinks bought for me, people listening to what I had to say, and virtually no drama, aside from a couple of foolish people who had their own private little drama after they both said it wouldn’t happen. Welp, it’s not my problem any more.

Oh, and one twat who I didn’t want to see turned up uninvited, but he seemed to get the message pretty quickly and fucked off, but not before following me around, oblivious to the fact I was deliberately trying to avoid him. Seriously, this thick cunt has had some fantasy about he and I for months, no matter how often I told him I was simply not interested and wanted nothing to do with him. He’s lucky he got lost when he did, I’d had enough to drink to be more than happy to be violent towards people I really dislike.

Anyway.

Other than that, it was a lovely weekend and I got to leave my worries behind for a bit, I got to meet some new people and have fun with old friends.

I’m not watching the 100 scariest moments 2003 on Youtube, trying to decide if any of these films will scare me if I haven’t seen them before.

Lol no.

A Hearty Slap Up! Or Not.

Being a seafood loving creature, I tend to eat fish quite often, though I will very rarely say no to a thick, bloody steak!

That being said, I had to say no today, as one of my favourite pubs at home recently underwent a transformation into a bar / restaurant type deal.

It looks lovely on the inside, but in reality, it’s not all that great.

The food was overpriced and of poor quality. I had fish and chips, as this was one of the few things I was able to afford. The starter was some mushroomy thing on toast (it had a fancy name, but that’s all it was) with was underseasoned, soggy and unappetising. It was generally wet. While the fish itself was nicely cooked, the batter was soggy on the underside, the chips were floppy and tasteless, the mushy peas were a mound of solid, shredded giant snot, and the whole thing was covered in salt. Thanks, but I like to be able to add salt to my own meal if it needs it.

Other than that, I tried some of my table’s other dishes; and lets just say I was not impressed. The parsnip mash was not mash, but half liquid, half lumpy vomit, the broccoli was undercooked, the chicken under-seasoned, and the bloody wrong meal come to the table for one of us.

Dessert was okay, but nothing to rave about. I can’t even remember what I had, it was so underwhelming. Something with peach ice cream in it. I love ice cream, I love peach, but this thing was nothing special.

I’d have LOVED to have started my meal with fresh dressed crab, and then had steak (blue, obviously), but that would have left me about fifty quid out of pocket. Fifty! I can go to Weatherspoons and get a perfect steak and a pint for about six quid. And I bet you, a pound to a penny, the steak at spoons would be nicer.

Needless to say, I won’t be eating there again. Yuck.

 

The Long Voyage Home

Seeing as taking a trip in a car to or from work is a disastrous and stressful experience I’d rather avoid, I decided to once again take the bus.

Though I was shielded from the dreaded cyclists, I cannot say these were pleasant trips.

Okay, the journey there was fairly uneventful, but the one home was a completely different matter.

Bearing in mind I’d been at work all day and was as thus tired, hungry and irritable (like I need an excuse) I was in no mood for irratants. On observing a child in the front seat, I nearly backed out and walked home. But, she was asleep, so I reckoned I could bear it.

Five minutes passed as I stared out of the window, lost in my own thoughts. We soon stopped at the local Sikh temple to pick up worshipers. It all went downhill from there.

The main passengers coming on to the bus were elderly Indian ladies, all wearing those pretty shawly things they do (which I actually quite like) and jabbering like a bunch of little monkeys.

Seriously, you know when you sit in a café or restaurant or such like, and you zone out slightly and become aware of the background noise? The babble and clatter? The sound that’s always used in films?

That was the bus for half a fucking hour, except it was all in old lady voices, and a different language.

I actually felt like I wasn’t in England any more for a moment or two.

Seriously though, this noise was the kind of eardrum stabbing din that would make a parrot hang its head in shame. It was incessant and unrelenting, and several times I felt myself sliding off the cliff of sanity into the frothing, foaming sea of delightful lunacy. Many homicidal fantasies were had.

If the noise wasn’t bad enough though, the woman in front of me smelled like curry. Stale curry. If you don’t know what stale curry smells like, you’ve never been a student. I know it’s a “stereotype” to say Indian people smell like curry, but this one seriously did.

I kept getting blasts of it in my face every five minutes or so. You know how you get used to a scent? I’ll bet this woman had a sensor in her hair to tell her when I’d got used to stale chicken tikka masala from last month, and her scalp would send out a pulse of old food Eau Toilette right into my poor nose.

To make matters worse, some mad old cat lady decided she’d park her big ol’ arse next to me, and spent the next twenty minutes or so trying to expel her lungs from her ribcage into my hair. I’m too scared to look just in case there’s phlegm there.

Wait, it gets even better.

When I finally escaped the noise, odour and potential tuberculosis of one bus (having to sidestep the women who sat in front of me, as they’d decided to have a conversation right in front of the bus doors) and jumped on the connecting bus, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Which soon turned into a retch.

There was a tramp on the bus, and by god did he stink.

 

I have a lot of sympathy for some homeless people, you know, life’s got you down and used you as its toilet paper, but having a fairly good sense of smell, I really don’t like being near them for longer that it takes to give them a fiver or a sandwich. Being in a confined space with one with the heating on?

Fuck.

There were also a bunch of dirty chavs in the back, swearing and playing Nikki Minge or whatever her name is, or Justin Beaver (I can’t tell the difference) like chavs tend to do. I was ready to commit murder.

Coupled with a tantrum throwing child, a woman who kept trying to engage random people in conversations about her frog collection and the bus’s squeaky brakes, I’m lucky I haven’t been incarcerated yet.