Because I’m Mr Brightside

“What’s going on? This bein a graduate business is borin doors” Luan Goldie

It is indeed. I need direction. Throw some my way please.

I love Mr Brightside by The Killers.

And what’s with the hate going on with hip hop. What you chatting about?! I have love for all music. I’m a music lover not a fighter. I just made that up, it’s really lame. My iPod has the weirdest collection of music from Faithless to the Plump DJ’s, to Fiddy himself and Jay-Z to Damien Rice and The Delays. I dont like music cliques. Not a fan of cliques anyway.

So I’m back at my sisters, said farewell to Rob who is now off on his European tour thing, and here I am with my precious chocolate fingers and this laptop. I’ve been flat hunting as usual. There are two properties that are too good to be true, so fingers crossed one of them will work out. Today I woke up early, went to Covent Garden to sort out some vouchers, discovered where the Maple Leaf is where I was supposed to send off Pat, dashed to the Sony Centre in Tottenham Court Road, checked out the bus times in Finchley Road and made it to Rob’s to pack up the rest of his stuff and move it all to mine. It was stinking hot today, and running around London made me feel dirtier than the time me and Jordana Holmes mud wrestled in the empty lot next to her house. My face felt grimy, my feet were caked in dirt, and my bogies were turning from their usual green to a nasty black. Its days like this that I really appreciate air conditioning and want to scream for the lack of it here. I just realised that like all British people, I moan alot about stupid things. It’s too cold, where’s my jacket, it’s too hot, where’s the cool air? Jeez, someone do the pointy finger thing on my head please.

This year’s Big Brother is great. They’re all so delightfully annoying that I’ve actually sat down and watched whole episodes of it. I just realised I didn’t pack anything to sleep in. I don’t think I’d want anyone to walk in to see me slack jawed and most likely drooling, snoring away in the buff. Especially if the window cleaners show up again. That wasn’t good.

I cant wait to move into my own flat. I want to decorate it so it looks faaaaaaaabulous, or at least like something like Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. I have standards now. Photos stuck on the wall with bluetack does not mean good taste. My flat is crawling with photos of various nights out and random people. And i mean crawling. They’re everywhere. On the cupboards, the walls, the hallway, our doors. I’m tired of living like a student. Even though i’m not tired of being a student. I’ve applied for jobs, been looking for nice places to live, typed up CV’s, done the laundry, did the dishes, tidied my room, moved Rob’s stuff in. When did I turn into my mother? When did I become an adult? Was it the moment I handed in my dissertation or has it been a slow process? I dont know. But i’m going to take my adult self to bed now, in case adult wrinkles start to appear on my sudden adult self.