#33 - An ode to bacon

Oh bacon, you complete me!
I could never be a Jew.
I'm a Chinese atheist,
We eat everything, it's true.
The smell of bacon sizzling
Makes me salivate,
I'll rush down to the kitchen,
Get a knife, fork and a plate.
I'll sit there quite impatiently
Until the bacon's done.
But the wait is always worth it,
'Cause bacon's number one.

It doesn't stop at bacon,
I love all kinds of meat.
To be a vegetarian
Must be some kind of feat.

I wrote a poem dedicated to my one true love, bacon. That's how much I love it.
If people weren't so judgemental, I would put the words to music and serenade a piece of bacon. Unfortunately, this may be misconstrued as mentally unstable behaviour, and so I shall refrain from doing this.

Tish tosh to all those people against eating meat. We are naturally omnivorous creatures - that's why we have canine teeth.
Follow this logic. Animals eat animals (e.g. lions eat zebras). We are animals. We should eat animals too.
I rest my case.

Good day to you all, and eat some meat.

Oh £%*&! School tomorrow and no work done!

Question of the Day No.1

If you catch a cold through sex, does that make it an STD?

#32 - Scars

I like:

Babybel.

I dislike:

Insurance adverts.

I have several awesome scars that make me look like a ruffian with a rich story to tell, but alas they have faded and are only visible under certain lights.

Once I walked into a fence when I was playing football (...Yeah, well, I'm not very good at it. They tell you to keep your eyes on the ball but also to look up, so I did both - which evidently confused me greatly - and hence I ended up crashing into a fence) and there was a sticky-outy kind of thing that scarred the corner of my eyebrow and just missed my eye, much like Scar from The Lion King.

I had a scab there for about a week and to add to that I had burst a massive zit near my nose that bled really badly. When people asked me what had happened to me, I told them that I fought off three massive thugs who were mugging an old lady and I landed them all in hospital (except for the imaginary old lady), while I came away with just a couple of scratches.

Needless to say, no one bought it, but it was much more impressive than the truth.

I have another scar on my hand from when I got it caught in barbed wire. That was the truth, only I joke and say, 'Yeah, I got that when I was escaping prison/the mental asylum/[insert dangerous place here]', but in reality, I got it when I wasn't paying attention on D of E while walking through a sheep pen or something. Actually, it was a matter of concern, because my teachers and parents thought I might die of tetanus or something, but it's all good, because I'm still alive. Or am I?

An innocent sheep.

Anyway, there seems to be a recurring theme here, in which I just... don't pay attention to my surroundings.

So that leaves me with... Ali's lesson of the day (alternatively, Ali's tip on becoming a ninja):

Be aware of your surroundings.

#31 - I'm a little teapot, short and stout

I like:
Eating cake. And tarts. And brownies. Well, anything sweet like that, really.

I dislike:
When it drizzles lightly and you don't know whether you should put up your umbrella and look like a coward (but stay dry and happy), or be brave (but get wet and cold).

My friend had a tea party for her eighteenth yesterday, and it was lovely. The teashop is sort of hidden on Caledonian Road and it's called 'Drink, Shop & Do', and it's quaint and pretty. We sat and drank tea and ate cake and triangular sandwiches; it was a very proper and civilised affair.
We even played Scrabble, but soon got frustrated and gave up. (Grr. Why is 'affix' spelt with two f's? Is it that necessary?)
The furniture was all mismatched and colourful, the teacups and saucers didn't match either and it gave a really offbeat feel.

Teaparty! Rave! JK.

Before I'd left the house, I'd told Doug that I was leaving for a party, to which he replied, in a mocking voice:
'Ooh, going to a house party, eh? Gonna be dancing the night away, eh?' (- which shows just how well he knows me.)
And I replied:
'No, Doug, I'm going to a teaparty.'
... which sounded quite sarcastic, but it was the truth!
An old young person like me isn't that much of a party person.

#30 - Sleeptalking man on the bus

A conversation between a sleeping man and himself.
Overheard on the 82.
A one act play.

Act I

Middle-aged man, fast asleep. Tall in stature, cooped up in the corner at the back of the bus. Wears a bright waterproof and glasses.

Man:  Urrrrrrrggggghhh....... Uhh... Mmmm................ Yes.
          No.................... Blrrrggghhhmm...

Bus is filling up; passengers have no choice but to squeeze in the back and sit next to sleeping man. 

[Silence]

[More silence]

[Yet more silence]

Man:   IT'S NOT BECAUSE YOU'RE A JEW!...

Passengers jump up, eyes wide.
A young man next to the sleeptalker sniggers quietly.

Sleeping man snorts, raises his head, half-opening his eyes but then immediately drops his chin back to his chest.

[Silence ensues]

The End.

#29 - Wut.

Oh what, it's Valentine's Day?

[That's not me, by the way, I'm a monstrosity.]

Meh.
I shall have chocolates all to myself :D

#28 - Old age + time (part 2)

[NB: I wrote this in the early hours of a night sometime ago, so apologies for any outlandishness...]

I had a conversation some time ago (with some IBer most probably, straight after their TOK lesson) about our perspective of time. You know how as we get older, time seems to pass by more quickly? Well of course, this isn't really the case; time doesn't change its speed at all.

But then again, having said that, its all relative, isn't it? It's only because we humans have decided to regulate time that we're able to 'measure' it.
We all talk about time as if we control it. We 'have' time, we 'find' time, we 'give' time to do something, but time isn't something you can possibly own.

Ah, I haven't answered my own question. Time seems to pass by more quickly as we get older because of the proportion of time we have spent alive. If that makes sense. (It's late, OK? My mind's a bit like cotton at the moment.)

OK, so a year is a relatively short time, right? Just 365 days, nothing more. (Irritating Nerd Reader: "UH. But what about a leap year?" Yeah, well stfu, Irritating Nerd Reader.)
But to a two year old, a year is half their life.
So... One year to a two year old is like twenty-five years to a fifty year old. Right?

Meh, goodnight/good morning to you all.

#28 - Old age (part 1)

I feel prematurely old.

Grumpy old man.

When it's cold, my joints ache, no joke.

It's not just my physical ageing that worries me, it's my mental state too. My memory is quite bad. I can be in the middle of a conversation and... wait, what was I talking about?

Oh my gosh, I'm going to be 18 soon and this is how I feel? What will I be like in 60 years time?

I don't enjoy what the young people do, I don't understand what they say. Their constant references to butter ("dat girl is buttaz"), illness ("sick one, fam") and random *brrrap* noises puzzled me rather. I have since learnt what these terms mean, but there were some confusing moments before that.

Anyway, as much as I can't wait to be the world's most awesome grandma (you know I'll be), I am a little wary of old age. I mean the real deal, not my 70 year old mind trapped in a 17 year old's body.

Pros of being old:
- You can do anything you damn well want, and blame it on your old age if you get into trouble
- You can be an awesome grandma and spoil your grandkids
- You can terrorise your neighbours and obtain a reputation for being "the crazy old lady/man who lives down the road"
- You have experience, and are now worldly and wise. (Maybe.)
- No one can tell you off if you buy loads of sweets
- People will (well, should) give up their seats for you on the train or the bus, and you can be like, "Hell yeah, bitches, make way for the BEAST!"
- You can dye your hair all sorts of colours/wear odd clothes and get away with it
- You have all the time in the world...

Incontinent old lady with a zimmerframe. Poor girl.

Cons of being old:
- You will most likely suffer from some chronic or degenerative disease
- You may become jealous of youths
- Everything sags. Quite literally.
- You have experience... but you're too damn old to do anything with it
- If you get plastic surgery, you may end up looking like a frozen duck
- You can't dress young anymore, or else you'll be accused of being mutton dressed as lamb
- People will patronise you and treat you like an idiot
- You may well be milling around until your imminent death

Woah. What originally started off as a light-hearted look on old age has become some morbid view on life. I'm sorry, dear readers.

But then you wouldn't want to be some monstrous Peter Pan creature who never grew old. That's weird.
Perhaps even weirder, Sleeping Beauty, who is, what, 18 when she goes to sleep, and wakes up a century later, at the grand old age of 118. (Beauty sleep taken to a whole new level there.) And some young strapping prince kisses this ancient pensioner old enough to be his great-grandmother and marries her. That's wrong. But you don't think about it when you're young.

Anyway, cheerio, m'dears, I hope you have a pleasant evening. I shall leave you with a quote from Ashley Montagu, anthropologist and humanist:
"I want to die young at a ripe old age."

#27 - Stats/Oreo milkshake

So I looked at my stats just now, and discovered the most viewed post is the one about Kit Kats.
Not because it's well written or funny or anything, but purely because there's a picture of a Kit Kat.
I didn't even take the picture.

This is disappointing. Oh well.

Disappointment

Kit Kat Chunkies are about 42 x better than standard Kit Kats. Subjective fact.

If I include a picture of a Kit Kat Chunky here, perhaps this will be my second most viewed post.

Or better still, some crazy celebrity that always makes it into the papers, like... Lady Gaga. If I put a picture of her in my blog, that would definitely get my blog views up...

Also, my friends and I made some Oreo milkshake and Oreo truffles (using Philadelphia cream cheese...) yesterday. They were godly.
Unfortunately, we drank/ate them all before I could take a picture, so here's how we made the milkshake instead:

NB: This is not a proper recipe. But it works.

Ingredients:
- A whole packet of Oreos
- A few scoops of vanilla ice cream as you like
- Some milk so it doesn't become too thick
- Chocolate syrup so it's proper chocolatey like

1) Put everything in a blender (but remember to take the Oreos out of the packet)
2) Blend it all
3) Try it and add more ingredients to suit your taste
4) Serve and sing a song about Oreos.