I’m so nervous. GCSE results day is just over 24 hours away. It’s Thursday. And I’m so nervous. I have never been as nervous in my life. I was less nervous starting at my high school not knowing anyone. Lol. Which is apparently ironic. IDK. I feel like I don’t know anything any more. Of course, I’m only seriously nervous about one result. My Science. Because I’m on an A, but that last Chemistry test was a bitch. And of course, Science matters most. Because it bloody would. Murphy’s fricking law.

I’m confident about Maths though. And after missing nearly two whole years of it in the middle of HS, that truly is to my teachers glory. She is AWESOME. I cannot praise her highly enough. She rules.

But, I’m so nervous about Science! I can’t even post properly I’m THAT bad. Anyway, I’ll see you, my readers, by which time, my fate will be clear.

Well, what more is a girl supposed to show on her blog? (No rude answers please)

Ooh” And, I have a new pet hate.

Plan arranging. I give you a case thingy… Everyone is going to the park on a said day. Nobody thinks to ask me, “Are you free on said day?” Oh no, the first thing I know about it is when I get a text, normally on the morning of said day, “Do you want to meet in town before we go to the park?” I mean, wow, thanks for telling me! I mean, it’s not as if I have a life, and could be doing something else that day now is it? And it’s kinda really annoying, because sometimes? I have prior plans. And that’s not even going into the, “I live at the opposite end of the city. Do you know how long it can take me to get to these places?”

So please for the love of God, try telling me about places I’m supposed to be at. I’m not opposed to random lets get together and meet in an hour type things, but when everybody else knew a week before? Not on.

Seriously not on.

24.0

Originally uploaded by Kathofthedeep

My first ever… and yeah, here are my feet. I have cool neon pink socks on? And that’s my kitchen floor! See, not many people get to see my feet, so you, my readers, are all special

Spread the pink neon sock like joy!

And my flickr is http://flickr.com/photos/kathofthedeep

Most of my photos are private, but if you read my blog and have an account just drop me a flickr mail and I’ll add you Hehe, and there are a few public ones too!

Because I have a load of hits on my blog from a post on him, but my comp won’t let me go to the blog that’s got the post on him? I presume it is because I’m on the “Related posts” bit, but I was just wondering. I’m guessing it’s something to do with teaching as the link is to my “Ten reasons I love my teachers” post. Harry Wong? Wong, Harry?

Who is he? Can anybody, anywhere out there put me out of my misery? Please?

The original post is here… http://singlemom1.wordpress.com/2008/08/06/harry-wong/ but it just throws up a plain white page for me, maybe others will have more luck? I offer a who the heck is Harry Wong prize to the first person who can confirm his identity, in the form of a badge to put on your blog. (I thought this may be more fun than googling :P)

So, Who on Earth is Harry Wong??

Anyway, this is a article? Story? Non-ryhming poem that Amelie sent me. I’m sure it is copywrited to someone, but I don’t know who, so I can’t credit them. Just know, I didn’t write this, and if I find out who did, I will credit!

Si les enfants veulent tous devenir astronautes, c’est pour se barrer de cette terre où ils devront vivre toute leur vie.
Ensuite ils grandissent, oublient la NASA à cause d’un 5 et demie en math.
Ils écoutent du black-métal et vomissent la bière vendue par packs de trente.
Ils se haïssent eux-mêmes sans trop savoir pourquoi.
Le Lycée leur apprend les modalités de l’échec, de l’humiliation, de la clope, et du suicide.
Ceux qui auront leur BAC se ruineront en malibu-coca.
Puis, le soleil éclaire un peu plus leur chemin.
Ils voient un peu mieux l’avenir parce qu’il n’y en a pas.
Ils se psychanalysent eux-mêmes en découvrant que tout ça, ce n’est peut-être pas seulement de leur faute.
Alors on se met à faire de la politique. Un autre monde est possible.
Le changer serait tellement cool.
Ils achètent des T-shirts avec des étoiles rouges, et trouvent le mot “révolution” très beau, ça ressemble à revolver, mais surtout à évolution.
Ils arrêtent de manger du MacDo, refusent d’être français, ne regardent plus la météo; de toute façon demain…
Il pleuvra…

Le doute se mèle à leur tentatives, vaines, forcément;
Pourquoi refaire le monde, puisqu’il va péter.
Et puis ils se rendent compte que boire une bière fraîche avec une belle brune, c’est pas si mal.
Le regard d’une fille vaut mieux qu’un combat perdu d’avance.
L’amour pas la guerre, ce genre de conneries.
On emmerde une denière fois la société, puis on revend son poster du Che.
Cette fille devient notre femme, la bière fraîche devient notre bide.
On s’entasse dans un meublé qu’il faudra payer. Un boulot et puis une bagnolle, avec l’ouverture centralisée et la clim en option.
On économise pour Noël, il y a un peu de soleil à la plage…
On devient gros, moche, aigri;
les p’tis cons arrêtent des jouer dans notre pelouse, et on se souvient qu’avant on avait des projets.
On se souvient…
On était jeune, plein d’idées, tout ça pour rien…
Parce que maintenant, on attend comme tout le monde son abonnement au programme télé;
alors, avant de mourir, on va voir son petit fils. Il veut devenir astronaute…

Deviens-le, c’est ta seule chance.

(Google translate does a pretty accurate translation for wondering non-french speakers.)

So far, this is amazing, the atheletes are coming out, to the tune of BAGPIPES! Which is quite weird when you think that it’s all the way in China. Currently as I type, we are on Mali, and they are in beautiful white and gold costumes, and now it’s Malawi, in green, black and red. I have no idea when the UK are going to come out, because it’s in Chinese alphabetical order, and I don’t speak Chinese.

There have been some fabulous fireworks already, and some amazingly syncronised performances, with thousands of people exactly in time. I cannot imagine how on Earth we are going to even come close to this in 2012. And now the Hong Kong team are coming out, and Gambia, whose flag I must admit to really liking. So far I have heard of all the countries coming out, so I’m quite pleased by that. Mauritania now, apparently there is a political coup there at the moment, which make you wonder if they will be able to re-enter their own country at the end of this games.

Anyway, I leave you after Denmark, and now Uganda, and enjoy the Olympics. By the first hour and a half the opening ceremony seems to be one of the best ever!

(Ukraine now!)

This one; http://www.thetripwire.com/news/2008/7/24/video-gorillaz-bbc-olympic-trailer (I cba finding the youtube. My wireless hates the actual youtube site)

It’s cool. It makes my neice and nephew laugh their heads off. They adore the little monkeys and pigs, and they love the cartoonness of it. (The monkeys are incredibly cute. Seriously.) It’s apparently based on traditional chinese folklaw, and it is just so good.

Watch it. Trust me. This is what the BBC can do when they try

Elena goes to me, “You didn’t eat any breakfast today did you? So i thought you were anoxeric, like they tell us loads of teens are. But then it got to lunchtime and you ate like pig, so no?”

So, Elena, that would definitely be a no. Though I know exactly what my Dr would say, if you told her. “Well… I think that it is a sign of pregnancy.” Because my Dr? COVINCED I am pregnant. I swear, for the last two years, I can go to her for anything, and she goes, “Well, are you sure you are not pregnant because this is a well-known sign of pregnancy?” And if I take my mum in she goes, “Miss Kath’s mum, will you please step outside for a minute while I discuss facts with your daughter?” (Mum exits) “Now, you know what you say now is in confidence, so tell me, are you pregnant?” I may have to get a sandwich board that says “NO! I AM NOT PREGNANT.” I swear, I could go with a massive sharp pointy thing impaled in my arm, tell her “Dr, my arm hurts.” And she’d say, “Well, I think it is a sign of pregnancy.” I’m tempted to next time say to her, “Well actually, I think I might be.” Bet she’d shit her pants though if I said that.

The other Dr I have, Dr J is much nicer. I’ve had her since I was a baby. And of course, I am rather famous to her as the girl who didn’t throw up after taking ipecac. That was a fun day. I’d swallowed a Polly Pocket, (remember the old ones, that were tiny? Not the new modern big ones. Like these ones. So my mum rang the Dr J all “Wtf do I do?” And she recommended ipecac first, and then letting nature take it’s course. And so I had a spoonful of ipecac, and then shitloads of juice. Half-hour later, nothing. Dr J says, “repeat.” Hour later. Nothing. Nature did take its course the other way obviously (TMI, I know) but Dr J was impressed I stomached ipecac.

Ahh, the joys of TMI. Lol.

Here’s an episode of Dear Moog, in response to my burning question!

http://midgetmanofsteel.blogspot.com/2008/07/arses-other-white-meat.html

Enjoy! And thank you Midgetmanofsteel/Dear Moog for clearing up a situation that has baffled me for years.

Also, if you have time, I strongly suggest a read through his archives. Just… make sure you aren’t eating/drinking first, K?

Two more emails for your viewing “pleasure” from my aunt. Yes, the one responsible for last posts email.

First one. This is in response to an asshat man she knows. (IE, an ex-boyfriend.)

“Well… I could have responded in a mature and adult way, but it’s me. So I mooned him, and sent him an email of big penis. To his work address.I said ” Explain that one to your boss FAT ARSE.” LOLZ. Anyway, I’ll see you on Sat, and I will teach you the art of the penis email. Toodles.”

She did teach me the art of the penis email. But that is for another post.

And a second one, I don’t actually know who she said this to, but the email tickled me anyway! For the number guide, click here.

It came from her work address, so she had to censor it in a way that nobody who didn’t really know could guess, but would be clear enough for those who do to understand, and this is the result. (The way she had to write it for me, is a whole lot funnier than what she said.)

“I told him he was a 1′ing, 3′ing 6, who could go do the action suggested by 5, because he is never again seeing, or touching my 7 or my 4!”

Clear enough I think.

Happy Monday!