Monday, 29 August 2011

Brace Yourselves; This One's About Puberty...

So I haven't updated my blog for awhile. This is because I spend so much time on YouTube, Facebook, Facepunch or watching porn (what? I'm sixteen), and so little time anywhere else that I keep forgetting I have a blog. When I started the blog in July of this year I told myself I was going to update every Friday, and I stayed true to this until I went on holiday for the last week of July; so I missed a Friday, updated the next Friday, only to go to Somerset to see my mother the following week, thus missing another Friday. So I updated on the following Sunday. Because fuck it, I'm the boss of me, not Blogger. I'm writing this on a Monday afternoon for that very same reason.

Now then, puberty. As I'm sure the two or three of you actually reading this are aware, puberty is a bitch. A temperamental bitch, at that. By which I mean puberty can hit people at varying intensities. It hit me like a runaway freight train. The instant I hit the age of thirteen, I became so fucking angsty I basically went about my life as if it were a soap opera.

2008 was the year I hit thirteen; curiously, it was also the best year of my secondary school career. In year eight, you do fuck all. No vital homework, no important exams, no real classwork, nothing. I hadn't hit puberty when I entered high school (let's face it, how many eleven-year-olds have?) so it should have been childish shinanigans with former Primary school mates. Thing is: nobody from my bloody primary school came with me to secondary save for my brothers, one came one year before me, one three years after. So for that reason I was new to everyone there, and because I had shoulder-length hair and an absence of a Brummie accent I was an outcast. Remember Hugh Laurie in the fourth series of Blackadder? Right, everyone in my year at that point saw me as someone like his character. And because I went to a primary school that actually allowed me to develop some kind of a personality, I was more intelligent at that point than most of the kids in my classes (that all changed by year nine) so they all thought I was some posh, rich, emo wizard who wore a suit and ate what they perceived to be posh food every night (anything from Sainsbury's).

Anyway, puberty changed everything. Suddenly I thought I was a fully matured adult, I was drinking, fucking (in the loosest possible sense) and going out every week to meet up with most of the older friends I'd made in year eight. I thought life was about toilet humour, botched sexual experiences, cheap lager (which I still consider to be fuel for life right now) and rebelling against any form of authority, whether it be the Police, my long-suffering parents or school teachers. Although I wasn't in any way a wannabe criminal, I could easily have got myself a criminal record had I been caught drinking that much, at that age, at that time in the afternoon. I was lucky I looked a few years older than thirteen. I got my first girlfriend that year aswell, which lasted a good eight months on-and-off but eventually ended in spring 2009 and as you can imagine made me as dramatically depressed as I've ever been. And then I turned fourteen...

I'm not going to go into too much detail in regards to the year 2009. In short: holy dicks with wheels it was terrible. I never really came to terms with how young I actually am until I was well into the age of fifteen. I realised this because I was still strutting around in a school uniform, having shop owners eye me with more suspicion than a registered sex offender walking by a playground full of worried parents. My bus tickets still said 'child' on them. I thought £30 was a lot of money. I still get £10 pocket money every week from my father. My point is, although I have a bank card which has more money on it than I've ever had access to, although I'm now paying almost a full quid more for a bus ticket that says 'adult' on it, although I'm old enough to be legally sexually active in the UK and although I've left school to study A-levels. I'm still just a child on the tail end of puberty, who can't drive a car, can't go down to the pub for a few pints of warm ale and a fistfight, can't even purchase GTA without the presence of one of my parents. Really, the only thing I've achieved at the age of sixteen, is some GCSEs and the ability to almost grow a visible mustache. So if you're fifteen and you think you're invincible and can do anything and think that you turn into a proper adult when you turn sixteen. No. I hope you enjoy endlessly and fruitlessly looking for a shit job next year when you don't think you need to go to college. Good day.

Oh and another thing, just because you went to a resturaunt and the waitor called you 'sir' does not mean you're an adult because one person thinks you look like one.

Sunday, 14 August 2011

Gotta Get Down on Sunday

It's Sunday, Sunday got to get down on Sunday. You get the idea; you may or may not have noticed or cared that I normally post my blog on a Friday and today's Sunday. There are two reasons I'm posting on a Sunday instead of a Friday: Number one, I was in Somerset last Friday and number two, I can't be arsed to wait until next Friday to post a blog entry that nobody's going to read anyway. So yeah, if you read my last entry (probably not) I mentioned that I was going on holiday to Northumberland for the week. I've since been on that holiday. It wasn't too bad, we went on a few walks, visited some ruins and a castle and I drank mead for the first time, specifically Lindisfarne's own. It tasted dank as fuck (in other, more civilised words, really rather good) and, considering it's made from honey, it's quite dry but also quite sweet. In that week we went to visit my aunt and uncle and two cousins up in Edinburgh. If you've never been to Edinburgh just imagine any other city in the UK (e.g. York) and make it about 5x better (or in my hometown Birmingham's case 4000x better).

I've had alot on my mind, recently. Probably the most trivial of which is a comprehensive list of my all time favourite visited cities, which is as follows: (least to most favoured) London, York, Cardiff, Bristol, Cambridge, Edinburgh and then Paris. Birmingham doesn't even come close. Norwich, Coventry and Dundee are equally as average but still not as shit as Birmingham. Or Wolverhampton. Or West Bromwich. In fact, you should probably stay away from the West Midlands. It is not a nice place. The least trivial and most important of which is that I've been single now for almost six months. Which, I'm not going to lie, is really fucking shit.

I've heard several people say after ending a long relationship that they want to stay single because they've given up on relationships. Now, I can kind of see where they're coming from and being single is kind of cool for a month or two but after that long the novelty wears off and you just start feeling lonely. My point is that completely giving up on long-term relationships is going to get you fucking nowhere in the long run; you either turn bitter and depressed and your self esteem fucks off completely or you start sleeping round and using the patented 'Hump and Dump' technique and destroy your reputation as a respectable human being. Now, although I haven't been in many relationships (three since I was thirteen) none of which have lasted less than three months, so take my advice as you will, if you want a long-term good relationship with someone, don't go for the best looking person you can find because it probably won't end well for either of you. Do the clich├ęd thing and go for the person who you really get along with, who makes you laugh, who you've got alot in common with, whose never pissed you off. Oh, and you have to be mildly attracted to them at the very least or else that won't end well either. Or begin well. Or even last.

Anyway, that's enough of me pouring my heart out. You'll hear less soppy bollocks next time, promise. But then, nobody's actually reading this. Hm.

To Infinity and beyo- oh, fuck it...