Hah forgot a title, and put this in after the fact.

Well I always wanted to try stream of consciousness writing, so here I go. Actually that's a lie, I haven't always wanted to, as in my entire life, but this is trite so moving on. Just in my room looking out the window, it's snowing which is nice, although it was as green a Christmas as you could get here (oh wait this is another lie, as it actually snowed on Christmas day. forgive me). Er...Tybalt is sleeping, all curled up like a croissant, croissant chat, oh how I amuse myself. There are dishes in my room that I need to take downstairs, but I'm disinclined to acquiesce society's request for neatness because 1, my brothers are playing in the room next to me and I don't feel like being fucking barraged with nerf shite, and 2, it's cozy here and I'm likely to be on my computer until I get so hungry that I will brave both the chilly walk out of my room, and my brothers' antics. Something interesting, something interesting.....oh! She looks around her room, looking for something to light her eyes upon that will spark a thought or topic or anything really...she types, she types...shite. nothing. I'm not even sure what's going through my brain, only that I wanted to write about something cool, except every time I google "interesting blog post ideas" all this business synergy client shit comes up, which is confusing, because I didn't think people blogged in a business type-way, except I suppose they must, if the majority of results aren't what I was looking for. Some people think blogs are a bit narcissistic, but I say fuck 'em. If you're interested, read it, and if you're not, you're probably not even reading this now, so I ain't even bothered. Tybalt looks so cozy, sometimes I just wish I was a cat and could lounge about and be silly and chase things and still be loved even though surely he knows that the laser isn't a real animal and that the ladies who jointly own him and I sometimes call him "Fuckhead" and laugh at him, albeit lovingly. But then again, after just a week of freedom from school, and the time to do whatever I want, really, I'm almost (quite very close to) bored of it, and then I start thinking that that sort of life, as a cat, would be boring as anything. Now i feel like going and doing something productive, but I (and probably you) know that it won't happen...the most productivity that today will bring will likely reach no further than picking up the clothes from my floor, and feeding said pastry. And my self too, come to think of it...I had hoped to cook like a chef on acid this holiday (er no. not like that at all, that seems like it would turn out quite horribly) but what I mean, is that I wanted to cook something new every day, every day cook something new, and delicious, and free of charge, coincidentally (for some reason just thought of Gilderoy Lockhart here) as it would be funded by my family, who, would likely either like it and appreciate the fact that they need only pay for the meal, and not make it, while my brothers would quite possibly tell me, at least in the case of my youngest little brother, that it was gross and can he just have pasta without sauce. Right! Well I've got a week left to do such things, should i choose to. I always get so excited for holidays, or for the end of such mountainous passages of time like exams, or certain weeks with loads of school things due...although I think, that ultimately, the brief respite is the one best enjoyed, most appreciated, and well remembered, whereas the days are already bluuring for me here, and I'm already dreading the fucking summer because I really want to get a good job where I'll be required to think, and not staple or photocopy or stamp (although the stamp machine was, admittedly, cool.) so Mindlessly with a capital bloody M, because I do quite honestly think I lost brain cells that summer. So as long as I'll still be required to think while I get paid, and maybe do some classes or something, the summer will be altogether brilliant, just I'm that much closer to them that I was in semester 1, and I know that the second one will pass with probably even more speed than the first and excellently brilliant (which it was for so many reasons) one did. shite shite shite shite "Sarah out!" she says, copying one of her internet idols (ooh and I actually got like 5 mini bottles of booze in my stocking this year...did a Mamrie impression but no-one got it, although I'm not surprised really, me brothas are too young to even have heard of milady's crass brilliance, and my parents wouldn't find her funny, i don't think.) Ok this has gone on long enough. A wee bottle to anyone who read to the end, and that's a promise.

If my textbook was a person, I would call them racist, pedantic and obvious.

The textbook got it right by showing no-one in the class. 

"Perhaps you want only one sample because you do not have the time or energy to draw many different samples. You are not alone." Thank god. I thought I was the only one who wanted only one sample on account of lacking the time and energy to draw many. This passage has eased my mind.

"Those without phones (e.g. the poor, the uneducated, and transients)" ...er perhaps a little harsh, Basics of Social Research?

"Researchers try to reduce sampling errors". Well Jesus, hopefully.

Also, I would not have guessed that "Periodic probes" are follow-up questions by interviewers. A neutral request to clarify an ambiguous answer? Sounds more like a forceful interview method.

A poor student's lament

clicking artsy shoes
fail to dissuade the cold slush
pneumonia ensues

Anarchy in the library!

I'm in a carrel the size of a honeycomb cell studying from a highly regimented syllabus...which by definition denies my graffiti any real relevance. If I was studying everything BUT what I was meant to be, then perhaps. But I'd like to pass, so instead of a statement rife with badassery and a fuck-you to the system, I drew this in between essay summaries all the while looking over my shoulder nervously.

I feel like it enhanced my study space though...so at least there's that.

Why going home is sometimes shite

No room to sleep. 

Why going home is sometimes lovely

1. My brothers think I'm cool.
Proof: Peter said "you'd be a cool mom". *yeeaaaaahhhhhhhhh*
Note: The "So excited to see Sarah" value increases with the "Time between last visits" factor. Imagine a chart if you will, or don't if you are annoyed by math. I'm not imagining one, fuck math.

2. I can take eternity showers! (Although turning into an overly consumptive black hole is probably a con, actually.)

3. Endless cups of tea and cookies  - the kettle, pantry and moste splendid couch are equidistant from each other in a perfect triumvirate of easy accessibility and reading/computering valhalla. So is the fireplace actually...hmm this may actually be one of my favourite places on earth, and I'm not even trying to be funny here.

'Ardly acrimonious acrylic

Sunlight makes the eaves electric

L'art qui vient du journal gratuit

Ladies and Gentlemen: Tybalt, Prince of Cats!

Tybalt likes to drag things under the couch into his dark lair...what happens after is a mystery. This is him trying to pull his (probably unwilling) Royal Union Flag under there. 

Bitches on da bus.

Disclaimer: This is a rant, not a clever post!

My roommate and I have discovered a new bus stop that's actually closer to our house than the other two we've been switching between, which is very groovy. It comes after the other two though, so we don't always get seats together or at all sometimes. Tuesday was one of those days: we were sitting sort-of diagonally from each-other, and I couldn't see Bex cos I had some fool's bloody great backpack right in my face.

So instead of talking through people in the aisle and their bags (quite difficult to do) we just sat in a tired fashion, neither of us having iPods either to escape to. But, never fear, idiot bus girl was there to prevent our ride being one of horrendous silence! One of those people who just talks about herself constantly, she never even acknowledged what her other two "friends" were saying, unless it provided a good segue to something she wanted to tell about herself. Which was always. We now know quite a lot about her though...

She doesn't feel well, and if she gets a fever tomorrow then she's not going out tomorrow night. Well she's not actually sure, she might. She's gonna wait and see how she feels.

She had a bubble bath this weekend, and it was fabulous! She loves freaking bubble baths! (Neither of the people she was with really responded, this of course being a slightly odd thing to talk about.)

She doesn't go to class when she's tired. She gets mad at herself when she does, because then she's not concentrating and is angry with herself at going when she could be sleeping instead or something. So when she doesn't want to go to class she won't, because apparently there is absolutely no point in going if she doesn't want to. (Hell, if i never went to class when I didn't feel like it I wouldn't be able to get a degree and would ultimately have to sell myself or something.)

She went out one night and lost all her friends, but the lucky lady had loads of people pulling at her and wanting her to stay at their house. Some of the said random dudes that she met didn't want her to walk home alone, so they made her stay at their house. She called them her "knights in shining armour" 49287598 times, and didn't see the general dodginess of the situation. She also said that if they ever got girlfriends she would have to meet them, as they evidently became best of friends.

Someone carried her off of the bus once because she was so drunk and had lost her shoes.

This was a bus ride of approximately 20 minutes, and now my roommate and I both know enough about this girl to steal her identity.

9 things to do to a book you hate (while missing the class about it)

So I'm an English major, and so far I've quite liked most of the things I've read. There is, however, a glaring exception. A terrible terrible exception. The dreaded book to which I refer is called Madness and Civilization. It's a classic, you may have heard of it. But instead of reading it, I decided to use it for other, more useful things. 

Like ammunition! (This is my most excellent boyfriend who joins me in profaning notable published works.) 

Why read it, when you can contribute to landfills, instead? 

Or use it to keep doors open...

Or as a pillow...

Or as a quick fix for shoddy masonry...

Protect the grass from dripping paint! 

You can even cut down trees with it, if you feel like being ironic. 

Prevent the wasting of good mead! 

Or, use it as a speed bump to protect those children at play. 

Fuck, I still have 123 pages left. 

Today's Word of the Day:

IRASCIBLE! Adjective - describing (as an adjective does...) someone who is easily made angry. For full effect, pair it with a nice ignoramus! Or perhaps an aromatic buffoon!

"Irascible Blackguard" is something I've always wanted to say to someone, but I've never really had the opportunity. I realize this is an odd post, the phrase just came to mind because I was thinking of The Decemberists "The Hazards of Love", who I'm borrowing it from. I just love the sound of that word. Irascible.

One day I'll say it to someone without having to orchestrate an entire conversation around its making sense. And it'll sting like a bitch, because that's one hell of a word. Well it's actually not that much of an insult unless you say it with something else, but that doesn't stop it from being cool.

Well hello there.

Hello internet! I'm not going to really tell you about me because I am a) a bit lazy and not up to summarizing myself and my life at the mo, and b) because you'll probably get a good idea of who I am anyways through the posts, pictures and videos that I'll hopefully be posting if I keep up with this thing. It's not going to be any specific type of blog...I'll try to keep it classy, as I strive to do in everyday life, although in reality I am much more common and prone to swearing than is ladylike. Ah well. This is my bloody blog, and I'll do what I damn well like!