What Beth learnt today.

… that any club claiming that ‘pretty girls get in free’ will involve said pretty girls being treated like public property, a concept I am entirely uncomfortable with. Seriously considering investing in a neon stop sign for my arse, although that might make things worse. Two 18th birthdays in one weekend is going to destroy me beyond measure, we’re out tonight for round two and I’m already flagging. Thankfully, tonight, we’re at Bulletproof, a slightly less pervy alternative to where we were last night.

I am officially a bit of a fan of ‘Gossip Girl’. This is what happens when I can’t be bothered to move after watching ‘All Star Family Fortunes’, which by the way was very wild. I am, however, slightly disturbed by how hot Chuck Bass is, in the most creepy of ways. His voice sounds like gargled gravel, but somehow in a good way. It’s probably just because he’s evil – I have the most horrible taste.

I was considering writing about my trip to Auschwitz on Thursday, feels like something I can’t exactly ignore, but it’s all a bit too personal and strange to ramble about in a blog with grass on the top. Actually, it’s pretty much something I can’t think about without verging on a mini-breakdown. Awful.

I got a letter this morning from the lovely and not at all irritating people at UCAS. Guess whose university applications are currently being processed? AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Scary scary scary. And, on that lovely note, I’m really quite hungry. Time for soup, I reckon.

… that I will do literally anything to procrastinate. Googling my provisional exam dates, trying to remember another way of saying ‘leap of faith’ (polemic leap, incidentally) and even writing this blog – anything but my damned essay on the effectiveness of myths in religion. An essay which I could probably finish in about half an hour and that is due tomorrow morning – but isn’t looking up past America’s Next Top Model contestants on Wikipedia a much more productive use of my time? Still, I’m staying in tonight, so there’s plenty of time.

A weekend like mine requires a night of lazing. Fabulous as it was, I can’t deal with going out two nights running – I’m simply too old for this shit. Or, rather, too underage? Regardless, it’s safe to say Halloween has left me feeling like the zombie I was dressed as. My duvet has splatters of ‘blood’ on it and, if I didn’t know it was really the result of food colouring and cornflour, I would probably be concerned for my health. And, guess what I’m doing on Friday and Saturday? Yes. Yes, I am going out. Friday, in particular, I am looking forward to – God knows I’ll need cheering up after my trip to Auschwitz on Thursday. We’re going to go to Flares, which is probably the cringiest old man place ever (my balding, football-hooligan father goes there) but apparently plays a serious amount of 70s tunes. In typical girlish fashion, whatever will I wear?! My brown wooly skirt admittedly does look like it’s from that decade, but isn’t quite something I’d go to town in. How thoughtless of my friends, two of them turning 18 in the same week. One is in Paris right now as a birthday treat, if I didn’t adore her I would positively hate her. Paris is definitely on the to-go list – I want to cycle down narrow streets in a long dress with a basket on my bike, a basket filled with baguettes and well-read poetry books and flowers. I am the world’s biggest cliche, obviously. Oh, and I can’t ride a bike either. Downer.

I got new specs today, they’re a bit lovely. My face looks bizarre without its frame of red, but I’m sure it’ll adapt to purpley-black. The main concern is, how will people draw me?! Doodles of me are easily identifiable, with a scrawl of red across the face and a hedge of hair exploding from the scalp. Never mind, I’m quite fond of these glasses. At least they’re strong enough for me to see through, now; my old pair were so knackered I couldn’t get the lenses replaced in case they broke. The inside rims of these are purple. The world is purple.

I can’t be the only person excited for Christmas, albeit with multiple reasons. All will be well if someone eventually employs me! I love family Christmas with the dinner and charades and getting very very drunk and watching my Dad sing along to ‘Mamma Mia!’ It’s wonderful. The other reasons are Christmas carols, wrapping up presents, having all of my friends here for a fantastic two weeks and, of course, New Year following imminently. How exciting!

This essay isn’t going to do itself. Although, in slightly less polite terms, I quite wish it would.

… that I am actually much heavier than I thought. This is clearly a clever ploy thought up by the doctors to encourage us all to lose weight. My response? Comfort eating. The carrot cake from Muffin Break was beautiful, although I always feel like I should get a muffin when I go there. Whatever, I have an 8 mile walk tomorrow, I’m sure I’ll burn it off. Before eating even more. Oh dear.

So, my time at the doctor’s was quite fabulous. Aside from the ordinary discomforts (the old women in waiting room looking at me disapprovingly as if they think I’m pregnant or something, the old people in general, the awkward “so, are you sexually active?” rigamarole…), it truly outdid itself. Just when you think things can’t get any worse, they play Green Day in the waiting room. The new album. I was so unamused that I’m surprised my blood pressure wasn’t off the scale when they checked it. I also really enjoyed being offered a chlamydia test, that was a highlight. The doctor was really quite insistent that I get one. That was a fun conversation.

Top tip: never go to the pharmacy to collect a prescription for the pill with a male friend. They will assume you are screwing him. You will want to die. You will comfort eat at the thought. You will gain weight. You will discover that your scales are incorrect and then you will be minorly irritated. And want to bake. Just me? Probably.

The Christmas decorations are up in the Metro Centre! YES! Normally, I would loathe this, it would disgust me to no end – but, this year, it feels different. I’m almost excited already… yesterday, I spent an entire Philosophy lesson with my friends trying to work out which song was the Slade one. And we still got it wrong. Thank God for Youtube. However, as Christmas approaches, it becomes more apparent that I desperately need a job. Urgh!

Nostalgia has me in its grip again. Every October, my school has a sponsored walk… we wander around Winlaton and the Derwent Walk for three hours, generally get drenched, complain a lot and hate it. And tomorrow is my last one. It’s strange how easy it is to be fond of something you know you won’t have for much longer. Time is passing so quickly right now – finished my UCAS form yesterday, felt sick, how scary! I’m only 5″4, I clearly cannot move out and live by myself.

And, just to make this clear… I definitely do not have chlamydia.

… that it’s likely that, now and forever, my face will play host to an array of red spectacles. Since mine are on the last legs, I’m on the hunt for a new pair – and the only pair I liked were, typically, red. Evidently, red glasses have become my ‘thing’. Along with baking. Currently wearing a lovely trampy old green skirt which is covered in cookie dough, the by-product of the batch I just whacked in the oven. It was an “I need to bake something and do it quick” kind of day.

University applications are driving me insane, because nobody will let me finish them – there’s a million channels I have to go through. My tutor is a Maths teacher. Helpful… but at least he means well. I terrified an old man who looked a bit like him whilst returning from the opticians, or what I prefer to think of as the woman with the massive eyes who really frightens me. I was twirling down an alleyway, kicking up leaves and singing along to Skint and Demoralised, when suddenly the song changed. And I entered the street. And, I’m sorry, but it is a crime not to sing along to the Smiths. So I took a leap, screaming about a charming man, and an old man rounded the corner looking quite concerned. I’m going to assume he thought I was being attacked and yelping for help – needless to say, the X factor will not be receiving an application from me. That said, I’m probably better than John and Edward.

Can’t believe John and Edward just made it onto my blog… kill me now. Not as bad as when I quoted ‘Wuthering Heights’ in general conversation today. I don’t even like that book, it’s infiltrating my brain. CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATHY.

Oh crap. The cookies will be done.

… that I will, now and forever, be an incredibly soppy creature. Cue sadface on a train rolling Scotland to England, cheered up by Pulp and Voltaire. I am too cool. It’s only Saturday night, but its already been an excellent weekend. I had a lovely time visiting an absolute retard who is arguably my bestie, and watching him dance like a tranquilised doughnut. He’s actually that terrible. That said, I’m not a whole lot better, typically tottering about in orthopaedic nightmares and swaying like a boat at sea. Speaking of boats… ‘I’m on a boat’ came on last night. Since it’s my alarm, there was a brief but amusing moment where I wasn’t sure if I was awake.

Its been a long day. 4 hours sleep on a pillow made from towels, followed by a three hour train journey only made bearable by me having a table and an empty seat next to me to curl up on. Massively excited by the prospect of getting into bed and sleeping now. Seriously considering not going to the vintage fair and just sleeping instead. Don’t think I’ll go anyway, actually… will do next time. I’m basically skint, and it’ll just make me want things I can’t afford.

So, yes, it’s a brief one. Lessons learnt:

• Do not use towels as pillows. Your neck will still ache upto 15 hours later.
• If you read Voltaire on a train, remember your trashy magazine… or you will look pretentious.
• If you need a cuppa, put on a bra before you go to the kitchen. People can see your nipples through your shirt, and you will inevitably only notice this when it is too late.

Trust me. Especially on the last one.

… that Chinese food is best left to the Chinese, and that if someone has an annoying laugh, an evening with their whole family will grate a tad. That said, I had a few giggles and it was better than staying in the house and watching the tv, but imagine a table full of  hyenas eating your least favourite food and encouraging you to eat it, whilst evindently thinking you have an eating disorder. Wild times, really.

I’m up in 6 hours to go to the York open day. Since it’s a campus, I don’t even think I want to go, but I might as well check it out. Should, if nothing else, be a nice day out with the girls, especially after the drama of today. Now, until this morning, I was not aware that I am a massive bitch. I really do owe a girl I know for pointing this out to me, and telling me how cruel acts I have not performed were, and how they affected her. This is why I do not like most people. Okay, that does make me sound a bit like a massive bitch. But I’m actually not. I just like who I like, and right now I do not like her all that much.

I decided to go visit a friend of mine at University today, was on the verge of booking tickets. A rare tendency for the dramatic, needing a change of scenery. Until we remembered I’m 17, infernal June birthday. And, suddenly, me going doesn’t seem like such a good idea. It’s a damn shame, but these things happen. What’s worse is the realisation that, if this is preventing me from going now, it’s going to prevent me for another 8 months. Which is a very, very long time. Still, I can make other plans and see other people and I’m sure it’ll be lovely.

So, here I am, looking on the bright side of being a massive bitch. The grass is greener on this side, actually.

… that strange dreams can come from ordinary circumstances. It’s a fairly consistent pattern, actually. I dreamt I was in a supermarket last night, waving pens around, and one of my friends was himself but a character from ‘How I Met Your Mother’. Note to self: stop watching telly before bed. The night before, I can see a bit more meaning. I was down the bottom of Whickham bank, a reasonably sized hill, without clothes. Or, at least, I thought I was, I think I was wearing my school uniform. But I panicked, and wanted to go to a friend of mine who lives near there, only to realise he doesn’t live there anymore. A girl I know drove past and didn’t help me. And then Izzy came, and told me it wasn’t such a big hill, and it really didn’t look so big anymore. I’m pretty sure I can find some meaning there.

I have developed a personal vendetta against Philip II. Not kidding. He’s a bit useless really, I could blatantly rule a monarquia better than he could. All he did was write things down and worry! On second thoughts, maybe I’d be no better. Aside from writing things down and worrying, my life is basically one big anecdote. I pour orange juice on my cereal. A renegade water bottle gives me an impromptu shower. I realise, ultimately, that just because bread isn’t ready-sliced doesn’t mean you can’t put it in the toaster.

Not to worry, I’m working on it.

… that writing, “Sort your life out” on my hand in big letters is enough to kick me into action. I mean, sure, I’ve since had a nap and watched like five TV shows, but whatever. It was a power nap. I feel a bit sick actually, have done for the past few days, that’s probably not a good thing – I’m going to put it down to lack of sleep, a horribly unhealthy diet and a medium sized dosage of boredom.

I did, however, have a beautiful moment in Literature today, when my teacher announced that we were going to draw pictures. That was a bit of a highlight. My stickman was AWESOME.

I am SO tired. Might get an early night. For an early start. Fabulous!

… that no matter how much you absolutely love someone to bits, watching cricket for any more than 3 hours is entirely unbearable. Especially when they come off the field and tell you that it’s only half time. For all that I am fond of Gerold, I could not tolerate the freezing cold or suffocating tension of increasingly awkward conversation with Luke and Willis any longer. The following three hours of bad television at Luke’s house hardly helped, but leaving with Holly and watching ‘Sleepy Hollow’ at Faye’s with a Margherita and some of my favourite people made my day lovely.

I know this is a really stupid thing to be concerned about, but I have absolutely no idea what to wear to Auschwitz. I’m going on November 5^th, and literally EVERYTHING I own is flowery or so short that it would actually be offensive to the memory of the Jews. I hate shopping at the best of times, but the idea of buying clothes for Auschwitz? Downer.

Everyone around me keeps arguing, and I feel that a certain degree of emotional intelligence would be useful here. Instead, all I’m doing is intermittently playing solitaire, listening to Kate Nash and going on Facebook. I am helpful. I’ve been told that I don’t understand strong feelings, especially in terms of romance – it’s times like this I’m bloody glad I don’t.

… that if I ask for ice cream, my Dad will drive to Somerfield and buy me ice cream. Admittedly, he will complain about the cost of it when he gets home (£4.40, Beth? £4.40?!), but he will buy me ice cream. This serves as a reminder that he’s not quite as bad as I make him out to be – when he’s good, he’s really good. Besides which, that tub of ice cream cost the same as a double Southern Comfort and lemonade in the pub so in the grand scheme of things, not so bad.

Most of my friends are at the pub tonight. I really was not feeling it, especially when we factor in the whole “oh crap, there will be bouncers, can I be bothered to dress older?” thing. Hello X-factor, cookie dough ice cream and banter with my Mum, more commonly known as MAUREEN. I quite felt like staying in – currently in attempts to convince Holly to come over and watch ‘Ghost’ with me. Since it’s apparently such a weepie, I figure I might need somebody to cry on.

Today was quite a good day; the weather was glorious. I made a playlist a few months back of summery songs for warm days. Slightly unfortunate that walking to the park today was only the second time it’s been sunny enough for it to feel appropriate… since May.

It’s 8pm, ish, and it’s still pretty warm. The window’s open, I’m attempting to cool my room down, but I’m really concerned that a moth’s going to fly in. Especially after last night, when Willis had an epic battle with what I swear to God was the beastiest one I have ever seen, and it took us forever to get it out of my room. I spent the whole time curled up in a ball underneath my dressing gown. He gained serious man points; they almost redeemed his love of Twilight and pink alcopops. Almost.

I think I might watch some strange show about people in a Perspex cube. My Mum loves it, but I’m pretty sure that’s because Philip Schofield subliminally reminds her of my Dad. I really know how to spend a Saturday night.