Monday, 22 August 2011

That Thing In Libya

There’s a bit of a revolution going on in Libya at the moment. You may or may not know about it.

I know about it though, because I watched Sky News for a solid six hours last night.

I wasn’t going to mention it at all. I try not to talk about anything too serious on here. The only reason I am doing so now is because APPARENTLY I have to.

Who says that? I hear you cry.

Twitter does.


Last night, when Sky News was being quite exciting, it quickly became obvious that I would not be allowed to make a single comment about something interesting non-Libya-related without getting a ridiculous reply regarding my ignorance.

According to the snarky-remarkers - who tended to be people too stupid to have a proper sense of perspective - it was indelicate of me to be getting on with my life at a time when the future of a nation was being determined.

Well. SOD OFF.

It’s not that I don’t CARE about the people of Libya. Not at all. I would just rather let them get on with it and congratulate them when it’s all over. I’m sure they understand.

Contrary to the tone of this blog post, I think it's BRILLIANT that everyone on twitter is so into politics. Especially now that the world appears to be falling to pieces. In fact, aside from introducing me to Daniel, I think that increasing political awareness may be twitter’s greatest achievement.

Unfortunately, it has also given a lot of idiots a remarkable dose of self-importance.

You want to talk about Libya. I would rather talk about Britney.

Let’s just try to get along, shall we?


Sunday, 14 August 2011

Boys Don't Make Passes...

At Girls Who Wear Glasses.


Here is a little story for you. If you don’t already hate Idiot, this should do it.

Once, in the aftermath of an argument, Idiot told me that red nail varnish made me look cheap and tacky. There was no provocation, no relevance. He just said it.
Before that comment, I had worn red nail varnish every single day for three years. After that, I didn’t touch it for six months.

It physically hurts me to admit to that, you know. I let a horrible, spiteful, badly-aging man tell me what not to wear. Had he been going out with the Laura of today, he would probably have ended up in hospital.
When things started going badly (because that actually happened when things were relatively OK) I broke out the red nail varnish again. Partly it was because I knew he hated it, but it was mostly because what I chose to wear was nothing to do with him. Or anyone else.

Why am I bringing this up now, you ask?

WELL, a couple of weeks ago, you may recall, I mentioned on twitter that I had just read a blog post entitled Ten Trends That Guys Hate On Girls. As of right now, it remains unpublished. It was written by a friend of mine who does freelance work for the online version of a fairly well-known magazine.
Despite my unrelenting adoration of the girl who wrote it, I was absolutely appalled by its content. She was too, as it happens. She fully intended to be a political journalist by now, and yet here she is. Telling women how to impress men.

When it rears its ugly head online, her article will dissuade the women of the world from wearing jumpsuits, playsuits, headbands, the colour pink and t-shirts with cartoon characters on them. All because MEN have decided that these things are unattractive.


Ultimately, it’s up to you if you want to listen to that kind of drivel. And if you do, there’s plenty of it out there. Two seconds into a google search on the subject and I was OVERWHELMED by articles telling me that I will never get a boyfriend if I don’t step away from my Ugg boots*.

But I URGE you to ignore anything of the type. Women are much too brilliant and attractive to have to pander to the aesthetic preferences of men. By all means, be gorgeous. Wear makeup, dress well, have excellent hair – but do it because it’s what YOU want to do. And, for the love of god, if anyone EVER dares to tell you that you look cheap and tacky in red nail varnish, maim them.


*REGARDLESS of the fact that Ugg boots are incredibly hideous to behold, I like them. I have more than one pair and, in the winter just gone, I would probably have died a horrible death without them. It would certainly take more than A BOY to stop me from wearing them. Also, if you still aren't convinced, Britney Spears wears them. And that's good enough for me.

Monday, 1 August 2011

Dear Laura

For the last two days #dearyoungself has been trending on twitter. Aside from the fact that I am almost sure this should be #dearYOUNGERself, I like the idea.

To save my long-suffering twitter followers from an unrelenting torrent of situation-specific advice aimed at college-aged me (which is when I was at my most ridiculous), I’m joining in through my blog.

You are welcome.

And so, without further ado...

Dear Me,

You’re starting college. I know this seems like an amazing opportunity to cultivate an entirely new image, but it will ruin your first day. Be yourself. Nobody will thank you for trying to become Avril Lavigne.

You’re in your first Psychology lesson. For god’s sake, please don’t sit next to that boy with the long hair. You will not retain even a tiny bit of information all year.

You’re in your first English Literature lesson. PLEASE don’t sit next to Leigh. You two are destined to become best friends, but she will definitely have you branded as a troublemaker before Christmas.

You’ve just been asked out by one of the best looking boys in the year. I know you think he’s joking, but I promise that he’s not. You should go for it.

That boy in English Language has just told THE WORLD that he fancies you. Instead of ignoring him for the rest of term, let him take you out for a coffee. Apparently, his family are disgustingly rich.

That boy with the long hair is now your boyfriend. Don’t try and change for him. You will later find out that he was amazed that you even gave him the time of day.

You’re at a gig, and your boyfriend is in the band. Don’t ruin his night by flirting outrageously with every single male person in the bar. This is his night, not yours.

When you break up with your first real boyfriend, do it in private. One day someone will break up with you in a restaurant and you’ll understand exactly how he felt.

You’re offered the chance to work on the college newspaper. Take it. Writing will be really important to you one day.

You’ve fallen in love with a friend. You should definitely tell him. If you tell him you like him now, he’ll say he likes you too. And then he’ll never go out with that girl who makes him stop talking to you.

You’ve developed an all-consuming crush on a boy called Mike. Dying your hair red will not make him fancy you, but do it anyway. And when he tells you it looks nice, try not to walk into the doorframe.

There’s a boy in your life that will tell you he’s gay. Even though you guessed a long time ago, this is still an amazing moment. I know you’ll worry about it afterwards, but the way you react is perfect. He’ll tell you so himself one day.

Finally, stop worrying. Especially about how you look. Your hair recovers from all the damage, your skin clears up and your eyebrows grow back. You are literally GORGEOUS.


p.s. To save us all from the abject misery of my more recent love life, I am choosing not to tell my younger self about any of that horrible business. And, to be honest, I think that some mistakes are necessary.