I Blame My Lack of Y Chromosome.

Many of you will know about my love for music. I’ve posted about it before, and I think I mention it quite a bit, too! The reasons why are pretty simple: I love the way certain music makes me feel; I love dancing; I love singing; I like air-guitaring; I love gigs; I love how when I listen to certain songs, I feel like they were written just for me; and most importantly, I’m on that lifelong journey to compile the world’s most perfect playlist (which, by the way, I have almost completed! There’ll be a blog post to follow…)

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How About No.

Last night, I read something ridiculously honest and inspirational. It was one of those Buzzfeed articles, explaining how everyone should lead their lives. Basically.  It’s a list of 30 Things To Stop Doing To Yourself, and it was one of those articles that I had to just sit there and stare into space for about 5 minutes after, because it made me want to re-evaluate my life. I needed to seriously think about some stuff…

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Battle of the Wingman

The best friends will wingman for their best friends. That’s a fact that one of my friends Tas knows all too well, only because I’m currently competing to be his “official wingman” against our other friend David.

The competition itself is pretty simple: whoever gets Tas a date first, wins! The only rules are she must be between the ages of 18 and 22, must “be considered above a 6”, and can’t be found on a dating site.

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Most girls get freebies, I get CBF.

It’s pretty much a universal truth that girls get freebies on a daily basis. Or, at least, get away with more on a daily basis…

Being a girl (in case that wasn’t WILDLY obvious…) this is something that I have definitely noticed a lot, but that’s mainly because I never get free stuff, whereas all my friends do. It’s okay, though, I mean you just kind of get used to it once it’s happened a few times… Or, in my case, your entire teenage and (kind-of) adult life.

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“For Halloween this year, I am going to be drunk!”

That was the initial plan, anyway… I wanted to go out, get truly drunk and just forget about everything for my favourite holiday of the year. It worked pretty well last year.

Halloween is honestly my favourite holiday. Just the fact that you’re obligated to dress up (which is fabulous; fancy dress is great!) makes the whole thing the funnest holiday. I think I look forward to Halloween more than I do my birthday. This year, however, Halloween fell on a Thursday, which kind of threw a spanner in the works. I’m no longer at uni, so it’s not like I could’ve just gone out and missed a morning lecture (like I did last year), I had to be up and ready, and at work for 9am today! Instead, I did what anyone in my position would do: got a couple of my cousins together and made them take me out for drinks after we all finished work. FABULOUS PLAN, SEETAL!

And it was a fabulous plan! Through no fault of my own, I didn’t eat all day. This wasn’t a plan that I’d concocted to make myself get drunker, faster, I just genuinely forgot to eat! I woke up too late to have breakfast, and then met up with a friend for coffee at lunch, and then went to meet my cousins straight after work! I completely forgot about food for the whole day! In a way, it did make my plan work, I guess? I was drunk for Halloween. So, in a way, it was a complete success! I don’t condone it, however, kids. If you’re gonna go out drinking (and your lovely older cousins are paying and using the excuse “I’m your big brother, I’m not gonna let you pay!”) then make sure you actually eat something. Otherwise you’ll end up feeling like a complete mess when you wake up the next morning, with your breath smelling of tequila and blackcurrant jam…

(It could have been worse… I could’ve woken up like my friend Dan, feeling like a “derailed train wreck”, with a long and drunken whatsapp conversation complete with voice notes to greet him in the morning, almost as if to say “LOOK AT HOW WASTED YOU WERE LAST NIGHT, YOU WERE SPEAKING ALL THIS RANDOM SHIT ABOUT BOOBS!” True story! I was the poor recipient of that whatsapp conversation. And I will never, ever let him forget it…)

With friends like these…

The Promised Post

It’s quite easy to make friends. Apparently. Of course, this pretty much applies to you when you’re in school/university/work, and that’s only because you’re forced to be around those people for prolonged periods of time. Generally, you don’t go walking up to strangers in the street, people sitting next to you on the train, or the group of friends sitting at the table next to you in a restaurant and suddenly become best friends. Generally.

I met my best friend, a year ago, in a very unlikely place – sitting on a street in Brixton.

Okay it sounds way weirder like that. Let me rephrase: I met my best friend Rebekah while we were both sitting on a shitty little street, in Brixton, in the cold, and shared wine and Jack Daniels. We were queuing outside O2 Academy because Slash was playing there that night (all hail Slash, for being bad ass, and for bringing the two of us together) and just suddenly decided to strike up conversation. Normally, that’s what I do at gigs anyway, just become 5-minute best friends with whoever I’m queuing around, and then go our separate ways once we’re inside the venue (& I won’t lie, that was what I thought was going to happen) but this time was totally different. We ended up telling each other about our whole lives, she expressed her shock at finding out the boy I was sitting with was actually my younger brother, and I even shared my alcohol. That hardly ever happens. Seriously.

The gig itself was fucking brilliant! Slash, in all his glory, proved to me again how he is one of the best performers around. He doesn’t even need to say a thing, his presence alone is enough to make the entire crowd his. He knows people go there for classic rock n’ roll, so he delivers it. The guitar solo’s are different, and longer than studio versions (in some cases way waaaaaaay longer…) and that’s incredibly refreshing! It’s nice to know he can just go on stage and bash out something different each time, and it’s good to know he cares about the show enough to change songs around for the fans. Myles Kennedy is beastly on vocals, as ever. Some fans won’t agree with him being a vocalist, and I’ve read numerous times how he should “not be allowed to sing Guns N’ Roses songs because he’s not Axl” which is total bullshit. I know it’s not the same, but that doesn’t mean it’s not good! The Conspirator’s were amazing, as ever, with Todd Kerns running around the stage, flicking his long, luscious locks… I even managed to get a pick from him!! Which, by pure Fangirl logic, means I got a pick from Slash (Todd tours with Slash, Slash needs picks, they may occasionally borrow/share picks, therefore, I have a pick Slash probably played with… It’s not the most perfect of theories but screw you, it’s Fangirl logic OKAY!?)

After the gig, the three of us (I was with my brother, remember?) crawled out of the venue in one sobbing, sweaty heap, and went looking for food. Naturally. I was slightly surprised Rebekah agreed to find food with us, I assumed she’d run screaming after seeing me at a gig. Anyway, we bonded further over KFC, and continued messaging each other over the next week, before deciding to meet up again. It’s never been awkward talking to her, and she genuinely knows more about me then people I’ve known for most of my life.

It just goes to show friends can come to you in the most unlikely situations. This whole post is for her, because she wanted some acknowledgments as being a fabulous friend (and for agreeing to proof read my future posts) to an aspiring journalist, just because – in her own words – “I’m gonna need credit in your life when you get all famous!”

Ha. Haha. You’ll be there all famous with me, babes!!

A couple hours after we met… n’AW AIN’T WE CUTIES!?

“Face it, you’re never gonna make it!”

I am so bad at this regular blogging malarky, it’s almost painful. Seriously, everyone else manages to put their thoughts down in a coherent manner, and still somehow remain witty and aloof.
I, on the other hand, somehow end up as an anxious, nervous wreck, trembling behind my laptop wondering how the hell to put my many thoughts into words. The most ironic thing about this is – I want to be a journalist.

What kind of aspiring journalist doesn’t even know how to type their thoughts out?!

I’m fine when I’m talking. Actually, that’s a giant lie. I’m not fine. I’m only ever fine when I’m comfortable with you. If you’ve seen me eat food, then I’m fine with talking to you about stuff. If you’ve seen me drink, then I’m fine with talking to you about stuff stuff. If you’ve attended a gig with me, then we’re basically married, and I will consider you a close friend and text you stupid, quirky things that make me giggle.

But typing stuff out? It’s too… professional. It’s like I need to remain this very calm, composed, confident, bad ass woman. And I am just not that person! Blogging should be great for me! I should be down with this! I should be bursting with ideas about what to write about, but no. I draw a blank every time I remember about this. It’s not that I don’t have things to write about, because I do! I just have no way to express myself over the internet, without using my hands and sighing in the right places as a reaction to something I read/heard/saw/encountered/thought/did.
-sigh. (see, it doesn’t translate well online!)

I’m currently talking to my friend about metal music. Metal singers, specifically. We concluded that men that can sing, and growl/scream like a beast, are incredibly attractive. We’re still unsure why we think this, we just do. We actually both have thought this for a while, we’ve only just actually realised that we both agreed with each other. We owe this realisation of how similar we are to Danny Worsnop from Asking Alexandria (the song in particular is A Single Moment, and the specific part of the song that makes so wildly attracted to the growls is the whole “GETONYERKNEES.. OHHHHH” 

That’s my genuine contribution to my own blog post.

I’m gonna get better at this. Or, atleast, I’m gonna post more. I will. I promise. I will try. An attempt shall be made. An extremely fierce attempt shall be made. I will blog aggressively. I will, dammit!

Who am I kidding, I’ll just end up posting about music, before being silent for a week, then coming back with a pointless rant/post about my life. This probably will never work out successfully… ~sigh. (maybe changing the – to a ~ helps?)

Until next time…