of resolutions and old new years

Hi, gang. I’m working on a better salutation that doesn’t only have it’s desired effect when I say it out loud because this is a blog. And you’re reading, rather than hearing. Anyway, I’m working on that.

New year’s resolutions (see how I placed that apostrophe correctly? Huh? Huuuuh?) are weird for me. Not because I don’t make them, though, because I make the hell out of them. I usually do pretty well when it comes to accomplishing them too. For example, my 2016 resolutions – or, as I wrote down in my purple planner, “for 2016” – included the following:

  • more acceptance
  • big moves
  • dedication
  • take care
  • more water
  • save $$$
  • keep learning

…and more of the sort. While super vague, they all made sense to me because I wanted them to be a little cryptic so that I wouldn’t expose myself if someone found my planner and called me out on not being dedicated enough. The dedication could have been dedication to eating more pizza rolls…if I’d ever had a pizza roll. But you’re catching what I’m throwing, yes? My resolutions have been big on a small scale that only I understand. I usually make them on the first day of the year and have a page in my planner and it’s all really lovely. Can you sense what’s about to happen? How I’m about to tell you how that’s not happening right now? Good.

This year, for starters, I don’t have a planner yet. It’s almost the middle of January, and I am yet to create a January spread. The new year is old! It has lost the sparkle that makes people believe in hope and change and all the good January first things. I have three events in the next week and I’m freaking out about each of them on a really high level because I haven’t written them in the 2017 book because Shalom’s “get a planner before the year ends” ass was too busy getting and fighting off malaria in the Ivory Coast.

(It’s dawning on me presently that I would have much better made this a video. I feel like the way I’m hearing this in my head is a lot better than the way you’re hearing it in yours. Do you hear what you’re reading in your head? For real, that’s a question I’d like to know the answer to.)

I’ve decided to share my resolutions with you. I feel a little strange about typing them because they don’t yet exist in another format. So, here we go:

for 2017:

  • Acquire (because I didn’t feel like saying “get via self purchase or gift from parental party) a phone (an iPhone, maybe?) that will not be stolen four months after purchase (or at all). (2016 had a bad track record for phones and me.)
  • Stop (or do my very best) cancelling plans (or not following through with them) to sleep or eat or cry or *insert Shalom activity*. I am the worst. I will straight up ask you what time you’d like me to be there when I know I’ll be in bed. Anxiety and depression suck, but I’d like to stop saying  “yeah I’ll come” then not, in favour of saying that I’m having a hard day and I won’t be coming. Start doing that, future Shalom.
  • More girls loving girls! More seeing girls as people and not objects & influencing the worldview of girls! More girls that don’t interpret other girls as competition! Girl love! (!!)
  • Move back to the US. Is my timing off on this one? Yeah. Yeah, I know. I’m scared too. I am, however, moving continents, and that’s exciting all on it’s own.
  • Work a full-time job (it’s that simple. I need a job. I’ve gotta get one.) and save meaningful money from it (for next travel adventure or for life. We’ll see.).
  • Get into college. No, I’m not in high school. Yes, I have done a year of university already. Yes, I’m still playing the game of hanging in the great continental education system divide. (Note: Apply ED or EA if you can. It makes the waiting less painful.)
  • Take better care of my body and be healthier (without letting intrusive eating disorder thoughts back in)This is a hard one because the balance is so, so delicate and I really don’t know if I can handle it? We’ll find out though. I’m an oversharer.
  • Make some friends. That’s it. It’s that simple (it’s not simple). I’m just trying to make some friends outchea pls help
  • Get my driver’s license. I really didn’t want to do this until I drove a quad bike on the beach on Christmas and I think that maybe I can do this.
  • Tell more people that I love them (because I think just not being kind to everyone I can is having a backfiring effect on me? Like, I have too much feeling and I am suffering.) and practise intentional kindness more often.
  • Don’t break my glasses! 
  • Create more, unashamedly. For real. Being afraid is a thing, and anxiety and consequences and dealing with them are all things that I need to just handle. I need to say what I need to say. I need to make stuff.
  • Be more perspective of my mom and her feelings. I’m not explaining this. I love you, mom.
  • Become fluent in (at the very least) one of the languages I’m half fluent in! I feel like I’m more willing to take on Portuguese than French. But either way, I’m doing it!
  • Learn to cook a good pasta sauce. I’ve learned to cook a lot more than I thought I would have, but I’m lacking in the pasta sauce department. It needs to be stocked.
  • Perhaps, just…give less damns? (I was going to use a better choice word but I realised I haven’t sworn this whole post and it is EXCITING.) If you add the handy cocktail of neurotransmitters I get at the pharmacy because my brain doesn’t make them, the effort I put in on a daily basis to do the life thing, and the being a pretty okay person, I think I’m working really hard. I think I’m doing okay. I think people who want to jump on my back for existing can enjoy the ride (especially the part where I fall over. Several times.).  I’m gonna be a better human if I can, and I’ve written things down so now I’ve got a plan.

Thanks for being part of my old new year so far. I appreciate you. Years years bears.

love and light,
shalom xo

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MISTER RACIST JOKES BRITISH MAN.

Hello gang. I went on the completely rad ridiculously fun filled trip of a lifetime to Lisbon in the middle of November, and had the pleasure of meeting some amazing people. I feel so lucky to say that I have a friend from Maine who ate ice cream at sunset with me, that I have a friend from Calgary who is my favourite person to teach dance moves, and that I have a friend from Miami who may or may not be secretly (definitely not) engaged to another friend from Ireland. (We’ll see how that goes.)

I also, as such, have the joy to provide you with a story of one of the not-amazing people I met on this trip. I don’t know if you can tell by the title, but he’s Mr. Racist Jokes British Man (Who BROKE MY GLASSES)™. Buckle up, buttercup: we’re about to go on a ride down pink streets and several alcohols and toasted sandwiches and shitty people. It’s storytime.

My friends, cast your mind’s eye to the 21st of November: a regular day in a hostel in the Lisbon city centre. I eat breakfast, I walk around the city centre. I fall in love with Portugal some more, while listening to WALKTHEMOON’sPortugal‘ on repeat. I return to the hostel, sign up for communal dinner by Mamma, and meet two brilliant human girls from Massachusetts. They inform me of a party. Word about the party travels down the table, and after a quick session of getting dressed and drinking green wine in the street, at least a third of the hostel is headed to Brazil. It was a Brazilian themed party. We didn’t walk to Brazil.

Brazil is mad, and there is much drinking and dancing. After a while, we leave, and the group I am with separates from the group with the Massachusetts babes. We try to find another party, come across a dodgy girl who asks us to wait for her on a street corner while she fetches her friend (we don’t) and sing along with a group of people and a seemingly homeless man playing ukulele. I yell, “what is happening?” a lot. (That’s not new.)

We return back to the hostel for more dancing, drinking, and toasted cheese sandwiches with lifesaving capabilities. Mr. Racist Jokes British Man (Who BROKE MY GLASSES)™ has been with us the whole night. He’s fine. Cool enough guy. Talks a lot about very random things and becomes less likeable by the longer he keeps his mouth open, but he’s alright.

At this point, the way that the conversations (there are about 96 happening) got to where they are is beyond my comprehension. In the conversation I am currently in, we are talking about boobs and birth control. I don’t know how or why. I, being well-enough versed in both boobs and birth control, am contributing to the conversation. Mr. Racist Jokes British Man (Who BROKE MY GLASSES)™, who is not very well versed at all in either, chooses this time to enter the conversation. He turns from the bar and says to me, “You’re not on birth control, are you? No, you don’t take that, no”. He is laughing, and I laugh because I am confused. I say, “How would you know?” and he says, “Oh, that was a racist joke! Because you’re black!”

Y’all.

I can do a lot when I’m drunk. I can do the splits, I can do six shots (with deep regret in the future), I can demonstrate my life saving hair-holding skills – I can do lots. I can’t be calm. Nope. Calm? Far friend. Second cousin thrice removed. Calm?

giphy.gif

I sat down, alone, and for four minutes went OFF. In a very drunk fashion, I mumbled to my cheese sandwich about how I wanted to tear this human man’s limbs apart. I didn’t tear him apart. I got angry and then drank some wine. So. Here’s my anger.

WHAT THE FULL FRESH EVER LOVING FUCK. Mr. Racist Jokes British Man (Who BROKE MY GLASSES)™, what the hell are  you on? You understand that a racist joke is racist, right? That it’s not a joke and that you’re a racist asshole? Why did you open you mouth and have your entire adult brain create that sentence and then expel it like it was okay? Are you jas? Are we going to talk about how (a) you stink of pigheaded white colonialism mentality, and (b) you know fuckall about black women? I don’t know if you know, but you know nothing about black women. You’re also not a black woman. Actually, the fuck do you know about boobs or birth control? Ugh. Male birth control is necessary. Please. It makes sense to take the bullets out of the gun instead of putting on a bulletproof vest. You’re also the same human man who thought that saying, “Yeah in high school they painted my face black because I was playing the black guy from Fiji”. You???? You are the STRAIGHT UP WHITEST BRITISH PERSON ON THE FACE OF THE PLANET AND YOU SAW THE ONE BLACK GIRL IN YOUR COMPANY AND DECIDED THAT THAT’S THE WAY YOU SHOULD TAKE THE CONVERSATION? Wow. Wow. What a wow. You are a whole wow.

giphy (1).gif

This foolish ass man also broke my glasses. Grown human man breaks glasses of human woman, laughs and continues his attempt at macking on her. It reads like an Onion title. A lot of my life reads like an Onion title.

Anyway, I thought of all these things because I’m wearing the same dress I was wearing then tonight. And, because I miss Lisbon.

I’m doing Christmas baking with a pal in twelve hour. I hope I never see Mr. Racist Jokes British Man (Who BROKE MY GLASSES)™ again. I got v annoyed looking at him for the last couple of days he was at the hostel.. I’m also really tired, and really glad I got this off of my chest.

Happy time of day to everyone except Mr. Racist Jokes British Man (Who BROKE MY GLASSES)™. My petty ass is being petty. The end.

giphy (2).gif

love and light,
shalom x

(all gifs from giphy.com xo)

I’m angry and armed with a blog.

this post has too many memes

  • me @ myself:get it together…..

  • also me @ myself:ur literally going through a lot rn? cut yourself some slack?

  • also also me @ myself:…anyway….i hate my entire self


pepe

Greetings, loved ones.

That was terrible. I said that in a Snoop Dogg voice and I’m haunting myself and I NEED TO STOP.

Basically, this is a post about all the reasons I’m angry. You don’t know this, but for the last three weeks, I’ve been complaining and not making intelligible conversation because as of September 5th, I grunt and make guttural noises and hope to be understood. Yugh. Today is also my 2 year anniversary with scooton.wordpress.com! It’s weird that I’ve been writing incoherent ramblings on here for as long as some people have been alive, and probably stranger that you’ve been reading them. Anyway. Onto the post. Looking back on this post, this is a suitable time for a profanity warning. You’ve been warned.

  1. WHY AM I STILL AT SCHOOL?
  2. All the matrics (seniors, final year of high school, whatever it is for all you international followers) in my schooling district have FINISHED THEIR SYLLABUSES  and don’t have to come to school anymore but I WILL BE LEARNING UNTIL OCTOBER 16 WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY
  3. I swear IF I GET CATCALLED ONE MORE FUCKING TIME basbs
  4. Seriously. I got catcalled on the way to an extra lesson nine times today. NINE FUCKING TIMES and I hate it so much. Like????? Don’t whistle at me!!! Don’t call me “baby”!!! Don’t TOUCH me!!!
  5. Troye Sivan has not yet released the Blue Neighbourhood part 3 video and I don’t like it

  6. I fuckin’ hate electrostatics.
  7. EVERY GODDAMN PHYSICS EXAM I ALWAYS DO SO SHITTILY IN ELECTROSTATICS AND ELECTRIC CIRCUITS AND I HATE ITbad
  8. Things are so expensive omg
  9. Things that cost more than two dollars are not illegal EVEN THOUGH THEY SHOULD BE
  10. I have to do really well in my finals and I am high-key freaking out about them like ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
  11. COULD EVERYONE ASKING ME ABOUT MY FUTURE JUST CALM THE FUCK DOWN I PROMISE YOU WILL KNOW AS SOON AS I KNOW BUT FOR NOW GO THE HECK AWAY
  12. This also doesn’t make me mad but I’m gonna swear in ice-cream flavours from now on
  13. Who the rocky road decided that seven thirty was a good time for school to start?????
  14. I HATE BEING TOLD WHAT TO SO MUCH COOKIES AND CREAM I HATE IT SO MUCH
  15. I. Am still. ANGRY.

That’s all for today! Thanks for stopping by! Apologies for the assault on your eyes and potentially your soul that just occurred. I’m really tired. I’m going to study for chemistry. Or something.

love and light
shalom

Scoot On ~ why I probably SHOULD shut up

Oh hey! No,I’m kidding. But hi anyway!

So if you’ve been following this blog for a while, you’ll know that here in South Africa, it’s exam season. In three weeks or so, I’ll be writing on pieces of paper that determine how much I’m worth until I’m out of school. It sucks that the only way our intelligence at school is measured is based solely on how well we follow instructions from another person or do exactly as they say without questioning anything. School is actually really difficult, and you know, I think that the only thing I’m certain of is that

THE MITOCHONDRIA IS THE POWERHOUSE OF THE CELL

Thanks, Mrs Moloney (6th grade Natural Science teacher).

Today, while sitting with a group of girls and doing the chit-chat thing, I realised something several times : I’m in the business of saying things that shouldn’t be said. I don’t know how to phrase that any better, but I suck at timing and my facial expressions really are beyond my control.  Off the top of my head, here’s three:

  • ” I’m going to be a little late for the meeting at break…I’m doing the thing with that girl in the bathroom.”

WHAT? I just had to go to the bathroom,but that came out of my mouth instead. I wish it hadn’t because I’m almost 300% certain that my deputy headmistress was behind me.

  • History teacher:” Are you sleeping in my class? You’d better have a good reason for this.”

ME:*looks around nervously* “I’m so sorry, I just–I — THERE ARE BOYS IN MY HEAD AND I HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF THEM, YOU WOULDN’T UNDERSTAND”

I have no explanation for this. I can’t justify myself. I feared momentarily that I was going to re-enter the “I’m so random” phase, which was by far THE WORST to ever possess our generation. I don’t know, I’m still apologising to myself. And to everyone who had to witness it.

  • “I’ll chi chi your hua hua if you don’t stop”

Real talk,this human wouldn’t stop talking about their dog teddy bear thing from old/new/imaginary boyfriend. For real, it’s great to talk about things that make you happy like a teddy, but if that’s all you talk about, we’ll have a problem. I think I’ll stop here before I (a) fail physics, (b) make myself more potentially unhireable than I am, and (c) type more garbage.

embarrassment is said to build character. I sure damn hope so.

All my love,

-Scoot xx


YOUTUBE CHANNEL IN DECEMBER

OH MY GOSH IT’S WORKING

Okay, I’m typing this post as fast as I can because the internet at my house has been REALLY slow and I’ve tried to post something THREE TIMES THIS WEEK but alas, problems of us first worlders.

HEY! I guess this post seems a lot cheerier than my last few and I bet some of you who give a rats bum are thanking your lucky stars that you don’t have to read my awfully sad rambling, but let me clarify something:

SOMETIMES I GET SAD AND I LIKE TO WRITE ABOUT IT AND I’M GOING TO KEEP DOING THAT

Onwards then, chums!


 

ATTEMPT ONE – WEDNESDAY, MAY 14TH

There’s this little thing that I experience a lot. To call it jealousy would however be both extreme and an understatement. To put it simply, I have a crapload of emotions and I dont know what the hell to call them.

You know when you really love a band, or a new artist or author (ehm John Greeen ehm) and nobody else knows about them? Yeah, that’s often my position,and by often, I mean ALWAYS. The thing that I’m talking about though is when three months later, EVERYBODY knows who this person/group of people is/are (gosh this concord thing is frustrating)  and then individuality is lost and everything that once was your little secret gets sucked into the world of mainstream.

I just really like this picture of Ariel. She's great,

I just really like this picture of Ariel. She’s great,

 

Okay, so maybe I’m really terrified of a lack of individuality, but that’s not what I’m here to blabber about. HIPSTER KIDS.  The fake ones who only become hipster after you tell them of  something (JOHN FRICKING GREEN). I guess I suffer from I-knew-about-it-first-stop-mainstreaming-it syndrome, making me an indirect hipster, I guess?

That’s why I’m here. Now, the definition of  ‘hipster’ has changed many a time, starting for me when googled it and got an answer about jeans. According to Urban Dictionary though, a hipster is:

a) Someone who listens to bands you’ve never heard of, wears ironic tee-shirts, and believes they are better than you.

b) Definitions are too mainstream. Hipsters can’t be defined because then they’d fit in a category, and thus be too mainstream.

c) A hipster is someone who is smart enough to talk about philosophy, music, politics, art, etc. with you all day long, but not smart enough to see how big of a tool s/he is. The only sure fire way to tell if someone you’re talking to is, in fact, a hipster is to ask them “are you a hipster?”. If they respond no, and turn their cassette player back on, you can be sure you’re dealing with a hipster.

Look, I have nothing against hipsters. Some people may classify me as one. As I’m typing this, my friends 12-year-old sister just came into the room and said, “Hey Shalom, if you hate hipsters, do you hate me too? ‘Cause if you do, it’s deck. I just think that your philosophies are wrong.” Now, 2 things on that encounter:

1) I DON’T HATE HIPSTERS

2) I swear that girl just googled ‘hipster things to say’ and recited what she found to me.

On the topic of googling things:

 

The fourth to last one is my favourite.

The fourth to last one is my favourite.

 

So I’m going to leave the hipsters with their hipsterness, and go for a walk because all of this is really becoming too mainstream.Seriously.

 

I’m out.

-Scoot xx

 

 

YES I’M DOING THIS POST ANYWAY

I know you’ve already seen all the damn posts that you’re going to see, but you haven’t. I’m screaming at my computer as I type this because I have a whole lot of emotions right now and most of them will result in punching things and people, and I’d rather not.

So today is Friday, and many things happen on Fridays. On Fridays I go to school, usually super early to get to the dance practice at school for the Matric Dance Committee (people who org anise the prom) and then I go to class, and eat tonnes in class, and stay confused 998% of the time in math, and then I go to English Olympiad Tutorials and then walk to the taxi rank or bus stop and take public transport home.

And today DID NOT HAVE TO BE DIFFERENT.

But it was. And I’m sure that by now, wherever you are, you’ve already seen plenty of the beautifully written Valentines Day posts featured on Freshly Pressed or some or other spot for terrific writing. Let me assure you now that this is NOT one of those places, and also that I’m writing currently without thinking to all of the one person who viewed my ramblings over the past 72 hours. No matter, there are things that need to be said, or more accurately, typed, and if I do it any faster I’m probably going to have crippled fingers through tonight’s school dance, to which I’m going because I am a member of the organizing committee, *cringe* or have a few spelling errors *DOUBLEMEGATRIPLEFIVETIMES CRINGE*. On with the nonsense:

  1. I DON’T HATE ROMANCE. I think it’s important to get this out there, because today, anyone who doesn’t really appreciate the over-commercialization of a day created by the Italian Pope Gelasius the first. He proposed to make Saint Valentine the patron of the new celebration he created to replace the Festival of Lupercalia which was held annually, and if people out there still think I’m an “Arrogant love hating little b**ch who can’t find a boyfriend in time and just hates everyone who is happy”,  they could learn to research, and that’d be great.
  2. I’m actually quite a sucker for this love thing. I’m a softie, extremely warm-hearted, and I genuinely love people. It’s my nature, and it won’t change – it cannot. I handed out people anonymous/ secret admirer roses, and some of the messages were  ” I wish you knew how much I loved you” and it was lovely. It’s all fine and dandy to be in love, and to be happy, but to be dead honest, I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE HELL THIS ROMANCE THING IS ABOUT. And maybe I’ll find out one day, but it’s not today or tomorrow, so if people would get the hell off of my case about that, that’d be great.
  3. You know what else would be great? IF PEOPLE STOPPED TELLING ME THIS “you could have had a valentine…” STORY. I BLOODY HATE IT. I’m not defined by whoever gets me a rose on a Friday morning, okay? I used to have a boyfriend. Now I don’t. Problem? I THINK NOT.

So to everyone who’s calling me and everyone who feels like this “haters”, do me a solid and don’t be around me for the next couple of hours or I’ll probably bash your face in 🙂

Happy Friday, internet users. And may the odds of finding the ring be ever in the big bang of games that is your favour.

Scoot xx

Scoot on ~ the instagram of it all

Hi best friend! I hope you’re having a stellar stellar day-day! And for yesterday and the day before and for all the days that you’ve ever had!

So, I have an announcement to make. I joined Instagram! Yes, I’m probably going to have to shoot myself in the foot and then feed myself said foot because that is the extent to which I am pushed due to some things.

Things I’ve noticed on instagram

1) Hashtags are seriously an epidemic. I mean, hashtags are meant to group posts, so do tell me who’s going to be looking for “#burgertimebestburgerofmylife” ? Noooo!
2) The selfie problem. Now this is a new disease called selfiesitis where the affected patient has an urge to take pictures of their face, often in the case of teenage girls, with their lips sucked towards the camera. Unfortunately, there seems to be no cure, and it only seems to be further reaching those who were the strongest protected against such.

3) The “I’m a photographer/model/ajwevbauywheiu.” Firstly, if you can take a photograph on your cellphone camera and edit it with a silly filter and call yourself a photographer, YOU ARE DELUDED. You, dearest, are what we call technologically literate – congratulations! Secondly, Instagram is NOT an agent. Sorry. Hate to break it to you. Someone had to say it.  And finally, you can be/do/say whatever you want. But just know, that stupidity tends to cause annoyance, and that’s something we could all do without.

That being said, and making this officially one of my shortest posts EVER, I’m going to be putting up a widget that links to my instagram so you can see what I’m getting up to. In a total non weird way.

I have instagram. Follow if you want – www.instagram.com/ahascoot

Till then best friends! 😀

All my love,

-Scoot xx

Scoot on ~ why I should probably get more sleep

So before you read this, there are a few things you should know. (1) It’s almost 6am in Johannesburg, South Africa, and I am very awake having not slept yesterday, (2) I do believe I spend too much time on tumblr, (3) these are some things that happen to my facebook account when I’m like this and generally all the time. 

Please, don’t kill me, please ‘(-.-)’

1. I’m not sleepy enough to de-capitalise the ‘i’

2. tumblr can hurt people beware and stuffmlike seriously waow this grammar is so bad no, I have to stop now.

3. oh no
it’s 5.30
the functional humans shall soon wake

yeah better go hide or sleep or something

4.  me: *types in* miley cyrus
autocorrect: millet circus
me: miley cyrus
autocorrect: limey cyprus
me: *breathes sharply* m i l e y c y r u s
autocorrect: smiley virus

SMILEY VIRUS I CAN’T

5. person: hey, watcha doin’?
me: just casually fixing breakfast.
person: at 4.30 in the afternoon?
me: I SAID CASUALLY

6.going to sleep at 7:05 and waking up at 11.30 isn’t really advisable ever
#besafekids

7. Errmigaard hashtags work on WordPress

so hashtag

wow

8.people it’s bright outside
why the hell am i awake

guess who’s screwed  😀

9. I just painted all 10 of my fingernails (haven’t in ever) and it’s some shade of pink
but every time I look down at the keyboard while I’m typing, I see these strange pink headed digits moving about

and then, for a second, my brain goes:

WHAT IN THE ACTUAL HELL GET OFF WHAT THE HELL IS THAT WHAT THE FOX SOMEBODY HELP DO YOU WANT TO KILL ME PLEASE TAKE MY SHOES INSTEAD THEY SUCK

and then I calm down and continue my counterproductive internet life  🙂

10. the problem is staying up until *insert time that is never fixed* and blogging and tumblring and watching extreme displays of rachetery and reading harry potter and realising that the hunger is real and then you’re like

person: really, stomach?
stomach: LOUSY HUMAN GET ME FOOD
person:but it’s 2am
stomach: DID I STUTTER *proceeds to display anger through crazy hunger pangs*

Dearest readers, please sleep.

All my love,

-Scoot xxx

Scoot on ~ chronic douchebaggery

Yeah, so I’m still in Ethiopia and I have a pretty strong feuling for this post: beware – yet another rant (though calmer than most) awaits.

I’ve met my fair share of awful people. And I know more of them await (due to the fact that I’m 15 and basically know nothing in the grand scheme of things), and I plan to face them all with the same attitude…except if they happen to be a re-incarnarion of Mandela of some sort – may his soul forever be at never ending peace.

Anyway, on to today’s subject matter: the douchebag.

Who, and or what, is the douchebag, and where does it/ this person come from?

Prime example of the day: I have a friend. Her name is Jenna, and she’s in my ballet class. We don’t go to the same school, and only see each other about 3 times a week when I can make class.

Jenna went to a party. (Yay parties!) Jenna saw the DJ who just so happened to go to my school. (Yay DJ!) Jenna took a fondness towards said DJ. (Yay fondness?) DJ happened to go to my school. (Yay Northcliff!)

So me being the friend that I am, I tell Jenna I’d find out about this DJ guy. Armed with nothing but the name ‘Andrew’, I set out to find more about this kid.

And then I realised that I knew Andrew. (Yay Andrew?)

NO.
(insert rage here)

Andrew once teased one of the less popular girls in his grade, something about her hair being frizzy or something. If you know anything about me, you know that if there’s one thing I can stand in this world, it’s injustice. That includes all type of bullying or mistreating of anyone EVER.

So I, being me, proceeded to publicly push Andrew -note: he stumbled back and shall not quickly forget that he was assaulted in the name of justice and threatened with castration should he try to defeat the ends of justice again- and get this girl away from him.

Jenna’s smart. You can guess that her intrest levels in Mr. Andrew changed rather drastically.

(Negatively, that is.)

Andrew is a prime example of what I’d call a douchebag. Or a douchenozzle, or total idiot, or misguided fool, or…well you get the point.

The douchebag has a stange way of somehow attracting, in this case, many of the fine female species to his douchebaggery ways. This, however, is not adviseable.

DO NOT FALL FOR A DOUCHEBAG
DO NOT LET HIM IN
DO NOT DO NOT DO NOT

(crazy warning moment over)

Look, I don’t have a problem with many people, but if you’re really just an intolerant butt-face who thinks he’s God’s gift to humanity…there’s a problem. How to find out if you’re a douchebag 101, done.

So in conclusion, don’t be awful. I’ll will pull a complete Liam Neeson on you – okay, maybe a half Liam Neeson on you- because I will find you and injure you.

Badly.

Regardless, if you’re a douchebag, stop and be nice. Chronic Douchebagerry can be treated. If you’re not? Ah, just keep being you, you’re awesome. And I send you tonnes of positive energy because you deserve it. Bwam!

Stay you people, and keep your eyes peeled and brains attentive for the nearest d-bag. Objects in the rear view mirror are closer than they appear, look out.

Can’t wait to be back home in SA!

All my love, all the time,
-Scoot xx