I am a student of journalism.This is an important fact you need to know in order for the following post to make sense. Without this fact, the post is just a whole pile of crazy... Mmmm, crazy....
Anyway, about a week ago, I saw someone in my region post on Facebook complaining about finding a maggot in their pizza (which was from a major pizza outlet).
"Ew," I thought, and kept scrolling. BIG MISTAKE!
Why? Well, a few days later, what should appear in the paper but a story about that person finding a maggot in their pizza.
My tutor made the mistake of wondering aloud where the reporter had found the story, at which point I made the bigger mistake of casually informing him that it had been "up on Facebook for several days."
If looks could kill, I tell you, I would be dead and buried right now.
Disclaimer: My tutor is actually super super nice, like seriously one of the nicest people you will ever meet. It's just that I tend to do that to people. In fact, I was once told not to be chirpy in the morning because it was bad for my health. Apparently it made people want to kill me. I used to be one of those people that would never get out of bed, but once I did, whatever the hour, I was AWAKE! Used to drive the girls in the hostel insane at breakfast, on the few occasions when I made it to breakfast. But I digress, as usual.
Anyway, he was FAR from impressed.
Side note: I'm sitting here with music playing through headphones, just kind of "grooving" and "bopping" away. Or so I thought. My desk buddy just informed me that I look "like you're being electrocuted". So much for my dignity. But then again, I do on occasion wear crazy slippers that make my feet look like a monster's to class. And then there's my Doctor Who-esque trench coat. And the crap that comes out of my mouth, "So, does Freeview come under free or paid TV?" So maybe dignity doesn't really count for me anyway.
I wish I could say that's it folks, but I have plenty more fails to write about yet. And that's just from the past week.
A small success: I am now a kickass cake baker. After two successful cakes. Don't even think about telling me it's a bit soon to judge. Cakes are in my blood. Or at least my stomach.
See you later,
Juno
xoxoxox
Sunday 26 May 2013
Saturday 18 May 2013
At teh Dawn of teh Eighteenth Year...
Hey guys.
I'm super tired right now, but I can't sleep so I'm writing. So I'll probably sound even more like a three year old on crack now than I did last time.
I think now is probably a good time to note that I have no idea what a three year old on crack does or writes like. In fact, I don't even know how an adult on crack behaves.
What is above was written almost a whole day ago. I am no longer hyper, but I'm slightly overemotional right now. I guess that's what I get for watching Doctor/Riversong montages. I watched the Silence in the Library scene again, and OH THE FEELS. Yes, I like Riversong. And Clara. DEAL WITH IT.
But I digress. This is the story of why my eighteenth birthday sucked. It's pretty short actually. I was thinking lately that I could just do one story per post, which means some will be short. But you guys (all three of you) can cope, right?
Fun side story: We went to this spa/pool place a two days before my eighteenth. It was here that I decided to rebel against society and its rules and restrictions. That's right. I went in the "18 years and over only" sauna. I'm such a rebellious child.
Anyway, let's cut to the chase. Like most of my friends (or so they claim), I spent the night of my eighteenth birthday throwing up. Unlike most of my friends, this was due to a tummy bug.
I swear the universe hates me.
That was actually probably a terrible story, but it was funny...not at the time, but a few weeks later. And on the plus side, I got to watch Doctor Who. Yes, I'm a massive fangirl. I also love Harry Potter...but I swear to Rowling if you talk to me about the movies I will turn all hulk. I disagreed very strongly with the second Dumbledore. Basically due to this:
Link to the creator (as far as I can tell) if you click on the picture... Because who needs magic when you have the internet?
I'm also disappointed with the end of the book series, but let's not get into that. I'm still a massive fan. And I'm a Hufflepuff on Pottermore, if you were interested. Why yes, I am good at hide and seek! (Bonus points to you if you get the reference)
I also fangirl about lots of other things but this post has gotten far enough off topic. I'm not even sure it should be posted because I highly doubt it's actually that funny, but nobody really reads this so oh well, what the hell, right? PLEASE NOTE: This is not a YOLO moment. No moment is a YOLO moment.
That's all.
Love, Juno
xoxox
What is above was written almost a whole day ago. I am no longer hyper, but I'm slightly overemotional right now. I guess that's what I get for watching Doctor/Riversong montages. I watched the Silence in the Library scene again, and OH THE FEELS. Yes, I like Riversong. And Clara. DEAL WITH IT.
But I digress. This is the story of why my eighteenth birthday sucked. It's pretty short actually. I was thinking lately that I could just do one story per post, which means some will be short. But you guys (all three of you) can cope, right?
Fun side story: We went to this spa/pool place a two days before my eighteenth. It was here that I decided to rebel against society and its rules and restrictions. That's right. I went in the "18 years and over only" sauna. I'm such a rebellious child.
Anyway, let's cut to the chase. Like most of my friends (or so they claim), I spent the night of my eighteenth birthday throwing up. Unlike most of my friends, this was due to a tummy bug.
I swear the universe hates me.
That was actually probably a terrible story, but it was funny...not at the time, but a few weeks later. And on the plus side, I got to watch Doctor Who. Yes, I'm a massive fangirl. I also love Harry Potter...but I swear to Rowling if you talk to me about the movies I will turn all hulk. I disagreed very strongly with the second Dumbledore. Basically due to this:
I'm also disappointed with the end of the book series, but let's not get into that. I'm still a massive fan. And I'm a Hufflepuff on Pottermore, if you were interested. Why yes, I am good at hide and seek! (Bonus points to you if you get the reference)
I also fangirl about lots of other things but this post has gotten far enough off topic. I'm not even sure it should be posted because I highly doubt it's actually that funny, but nobody really reads this so oh well, what the hell, right? PLEASE NOTE: This is not a YOLO moment. No moment is a YOLO moment.
That's all.
Love, Juno
xoxox
Thursday 16 May 2013
Teh First Boy....
I have a grown-up friend who refers to any boyfriend as "The Boy". Possibly because most of them don't stick around long enough to deserve names. Anyway, here is the tale of how I met The First Boy...
There have been three Boys, in case you were wondering; The First Boy, The Second Boy, The Third Boy. There is also a Current Boy, who shall be referred to as "The Boy". But not in this story because this story is about The First Boy. Are you sufficiently confused yet? Yes? Good, then we shall continue.
I will now, at the risk of exposing this should any of my friends ever stumble across this blog, tell you how I met The First Boy. This may be one of those stories that's only really funny when it happens, but my friends sure found it hilarious.
This was in September 2010, so I was only like 15. I don't know if that makes it better or worse.
Anyway, there was this book festival event being held in my hometown, and, somehow or another, my English teacher had convinced me to volunteer to dress up as a book character. Alright, so I didn't take THAT much convincing, but still.
My costume ended up being The Cat in the Hat, which I was thrilled about. A loose-fitting black and white jumpsuit, a tail, and a hat. I wore it around the school hostel for a couple of hours when I first got it, that was a laugh. "Juno, why are you wearing a cat costume?" "Why not?". Did I mention that I'm not normal and have little to no sense of shame when it comes to wearing whatever the hell I want?
Sorry if my writing sounds like a three year old on crack, it's just that I'm really tired so I had an energy drink and I'm not sure if it's working or not because I'm still tired but my hand are typing faster than I can think and my thoughts are all like "hey, do this, no this, DON'T DO THAT, DO THIS!" Although it's not like that's uncommon for me. But I digress. I do that a lot. You'll get used to it, I swear.
But the point is that I went to this event dressed as The Cat in the Hat. Now, I should mention here that I love small children. They're awesome and entertaining and just fantastic fun. I naturally gravitate towards the nearest child. And, contrary to what a lot of my friends seem to think, I'm actually really good with kids. This is important to the story. And possibly several other stories.
I was quite a big fan of one of the children's authors there, and had met her before, so I went to say a quick hello. In the process I discovered that she had two of her sons, one of whom was about my age, and her young daughter with her. As she was stuck doing autographs and other such author-y things, I offered to take her daughter to all the cool activities. Having just met me, she sent her eldest son, the one who was my age, to supervise his sister. And possibly me.
I REALLY SHOULD NOT BE ALLOWED ENERGY DRINKS. I just spun around on my chair giggling at the ceiling for five minutes. And then I got told off by my desk buddy at class for playing with the hole punch. And I'm text bombing The Current Boy. Remember when I said he wouldn't be mentioned? Turns out I lied. Sorry about that. It was entirely unintentional.
What basically happened (I have to keep thinking of new ways to start my sentences, because I write how I talk and I usually start with "so" or "anyway") is that hilarity ensued. I drew a lot of pawprints on things, and climbed to the top of the playground like the terrible influence that I am because I WAS THE CAT IN THE MOTHERFLIPPING HAT. I've definitely had too much caffeine/sugar/crap.
Somewhere along the way, we exchanged names and vowed to look each other up on Facebook. There may have been some not-so-subtle flirting involved. I may have rested my head on his shoulder. I have a feeling I also may have said "So, I really like you," because that was what flirting really told someone and I didn't see why nobody would just come out and say it.
I guess this is actually a win, because we dated for like nine months and are still good friends. I even have his permission to write this. But I got teased mercilessly about it. Also, apparently, before we met normally (as in, with me dressed like a semi-functional member of society), his mother asked him if he even knew what I looked like (I had my face painted on the day), to which he admitted that he didn't. Which actually makes him pretty WINNING too.
Mini win: Afterwards, I went to visit a friend at the hospital (in costume. On a bike.), and saw a small child who was upset. Small child was sufficiently cheered up by a hug from The Cat in the Hat.
Before we finish, I would like to apologise for this post. I'm wondering if I should possibly be banned from the internet. Thoughts?
Love,
Juno.
xoxox cookies. Did I mention I have Oreos. Like in Wreck it Ralph. O-re-o, o-reee-o.
There have been three Boys, in case you were wondering; The First Boy, The Second Boy, The Third Boy. There is also a Current Boy, who shall be referred to as "The Boy". But not in this story because this story is about The First Boy. Are you sufficiently confused yet? Yes? Good, then we shall continue.
I will now, at the risk of exposing this should any of my friends ever stumble across this blog, tell you how I met The First Boy. This may be one of those stories that's only really funny when it happens, but my friends sure found it hilarious.
This was in September 2010, so I was only like 15. I don't know if that makes it better or worse.
Anyway, there was this book festival event being held in my hometown, and, somehow or another, my English teacher had convinced me to volunteer to dress up as a book character. Alright, so I didn't take THAT much convincing, but still.
My costume ended up being The Cat in the Hat, which I was thrilled about. A loose-fitting black and white jumpsuit, a tail, and a hat. I wore it around the school hostel for a couple of hours when I first got it, that was a laugh. "Juno, why are you wearing a cat costume?" "Why not?". Did I mention that I'm not normal and have little to no sense of shame when it comes to wearing whatever the hell I want?
Sorry if my writing sounds like a three year old on crack, it's just that I'm really tired so I had an energy drink and I'm not sure if it's working or not because I'm still tired but my hand are typing faster than I can think and my thoughts are all like "hey, do this, no this, DON'T DO THAT, DO THIS!" Although it's not like that's uncommon for me. But I digress. I do that a lot. You'll get used to it, I swear.
But the point is that I went to this event dressed as The Cat in the Hat. Now, I should mention here that I love small children. They're awesome and entertaining and just fantastic fun. I naturally gravitate towards the nearest child. And, contrary to what a lot of my friends seem to think, I'm actually really good with kids. This is important to the story. And possibly several other stories.
I was quite a big fan of one of the children's authors there, and had met her before, so I went to say a quick hello. In the process I discovered that she had two of her sons, one of whom was about my age, and her young daughter with her. As she was stuck doing autographs and other such author-y things, I offered to take her daughter to all the cool activities. Having just met me, she sent her eldest son, the one who was my age, to supervise his sister. And possibly me.
I REALLY SHOULD NOT BE ALLOWED ENERGY DRINKS. I just spun around on my chair giggling at the ceiling for five minutes. And then I got told off by my desk buddy at class for playing with the hole punch. And I'm text bombing The Current Boy. Remember when I said he wouldn't be mentioned? Turns out I lied. Sorry about that. It was entirely unintentional.
What basically happened (I have to keep thinking of new ways to start my sentences, because I write how I talk and I usually start with "so" or "anyway") is that hilarity ensued. I drew a lot of pawprints on things, and climbed to the top of the playground like the terrible influence that I am because I WAS THE CAT IN THE MOTHERFLIPPING HAT. I've definitely had too much caffeine/sugar/crap.
Somewhere along the way, we exchanged names and vowed to look each other up on Facebook. There may have been some not-so-subtle flirting involved. I may have rested my head on his shoulder. I have a feeling I also may have said "So, I really like you," because that was what flirting really told someone and I didn't see why nobody would just come out and say it.
I guess this is actually a win, because we dated for like nine months and are still good friends. I even have his permission to write this. But I got teased mercilessly about it. Also, apparently, before we met normally (as in, with me dressed like a semi-functional member of society), his mother asked him if he even knew what I looked like (I had my face painted on the day), to which he admitted that he didn't. Which actually makes him pretty WINNING too.
Mini win: Afterwards, I went to visit a friend at the hospital (in costume. On a bike.), and saw a small child who was upset. Small child was sufficiently cheered up by a hug from The Cat in the Hat.
Before we finish, I would like to apologise for this post. I'm wondering if I should possibly be banned from the internet. Thoughts?
Love,
Juno.
xoxox cookies. Did I mention I have Oreos. Like in Wreck it Ralph. O-re-o, o-reee-o.
Sunday 12 May 2013
Some of teh more minor fails in my life...
Fails are funny. I am not. EXCEPT when I fail.
So here are some of my minor fails. Highly exaggerated to maintain your interest, of course, but nonetheless still slightly funny...I hope.
So I went skating a few months ago. On these massive beasts called Skorpion Skates, which, I have to say, are fantastic skates which can be bought if you click on the picture. Because I used my awesome HTML skills to make it a link. I would like to stop and mention that I also
I remember when I first associated the spoken word "eh-pit-oh-me" with the written word "epitome".
A week or two prior to my sudden leap of understanding, I started wondering how one was meant to spell "eh-pit-oh-me". I was in my early teens, and concluded that I must have read the word SOMETIME.
So I kept an eye out for it whilst reading. I eventually came across the written word "epitome", and, after a few minutes wondering (not for the first time, I'm sure) what an "epi-tome" was, I finally clicked.
My revelation induced flailing whilst spouting incoherent babble (more on that later) continued for several minutes before I finally got a hold of myself. Unfortunately, because I was saying "epitome...is epitome", but pronouncing the word the same both times, nobody had the slightest clue what I was on about. They all just nodded politely whilst slowly backing away.
Side note: my tutor thinks nobody uses the word "whilst" anymore. Well, I do. Frequently. Including when texting. So there.
Second side note: I love the word "flail". It is possibly my favourite word in the whole world. It's like failing, but with arm movements.
My discovery of the word "segue" happened the other way around. As often happens with me, I use words in writing which I don't actually know how to pronounce. So, a word like "segue", which I know the meaning and correct usage of, but not the pronunciation, presents a problem for me when I want to use it in conversation. Which happened recently.
My pronunciation, I believe, was something along the lines of "seg-you". Luckily, only minimal laughter was involved and a quick search confirmed that the correct pronunciation was, in fact, "seg-way". But what's a mispronounced word when you're among friends.
It was among the same friends that my other recent bout of revelation-induced flailing whilst spouting incoherent babble, this time related to a poem I'm rather fond of, called "The Uncertainty of the Poet", which is about being a poet and features bananas (this is a key point relating to the flailing). It's a fantastic poem and I highly recommend looking it up. But anyway, I discovered in my friends' art book a picture titled "The Uncertainty of the Poet" and it featured...wait for it... bananas (among other things)! I was so excited. It took me about five minutes just to become coherent enough to explain why I was flailing. Before that all they could get out of me was "poet...bananas...oh my gosh oh my gosh...". It was much more exciting at the time than it seems to you guys now.
So, now that I've failed at being coherent, I should probably finish the story about the humiliation of skating. So, I had my Skorpion skates on, and I was going pretty well. Skorpion skates are amazing to skate with, and (almost) impossible to fall off with. They're stable enough that you can't fall sideways, but you can, if you don't lean forwards, or if you lean backwards just the slightest bit, fall down on your bum. Which is exactly what I did. Hard. In someone's driveway.
Concluding I had probably broken my tailbone, I proceeded to gingerly crawl over to the grass beside the footpath, out of the way of any cars attempting to enter their respective houses. Fighting back tears, I ripped the skates off and gently got to my feet. Skates slung over my shoulder, I walked home, regretting more with every step my fateful decision that mere feet were not good enough and I had to have wheels.
For the rest of the week, I could not sit or lie down without considerable pain. And, most disappointingly, I didn't even get a decent bruise to show for it.
I DID go back out on my skates. Once. With a pillow pet (I have a pillow pet. Yes, I'm 18. I have no shame.) strapped to my tailbone area.
I did not fall again.
I also have not skated again since then.
There, I managed to finish at least one story. This started out with the intention of being about fails due to clumsiness, but mostly ended up being about linguistic fails instead. So I failed at writing a fail post. That takes talent.
Anyway, until next time,
Juno,
xoxox
P.S. Remind me to tell you about my "pet" ducks sometimes. And my fascination with sloths. And my other pets. I've had a lot of pets.
So here are some of my minor fails. Highly exaggerated to maintain your interest, of course, but nonetheless still slightly funny...I hope.
So I went skating a few months ago. On these massive beasts called Skorpion Skates, which, I have to say, are fantastic skates which can be bought if you click on the picture. Because I used my awesome HTML skills to make it a link. I would like to stop and mention that I also
 |
used my awesome HTML skills to make this text appear beside the picture instead of beneath it. Yay for tables. And learning to code. Anyway,enough of the bragging, because success is not nearly as funny as failure. Actually, let's pause and talk about words for a minute. Particularly words like epitome and segue. Because illustrated above is an excellent segue from success back to failure, if I do say so myself. |
A week or two prior to my sudden leap of understanding, I started wondering how one was meant to spell "eh-pit-oh-me". I was in my early teens, and concluded that I must have read the word SOMETIME.
So I kept an eye out for it whilst reading. I eventually came across the written word "epitome", and, after a few minutes wondering (not for the first time, I'm sure) what an "epi-tome" was, I finally clicked.
My revelation induced flailing whilst spouting incoherent babble (more on that later) continued for several minutes before I finally got a hold of myself. Unfortunately, because I was saying "epitome...is epitome", but pronouncing the word the same both times, nobody had the slightest clue what I was on about. They all just nodded politely whilst slowly backing away.
Side note: my tutor thinks nobody uses the word "whilst" anymore. Well, I do. Frequently. Including when texting. So there.
Second side note: I love the word "flail". It is possibly my favourite word in the whole world. It's like failing, but with arm movements.
My discovery of the word "segue" happened the other way around. As often happens with me, I use words in writing which I don't actually know how to pronounce. So, a word like "segue", which I know the meaning and correct usage of, but not the pronunciation, presents a problem for me when I want to use it in conversation. Which happened recently.
My pronunciation, I believe, was something along the lines of "seg-you". Luckily, only minimal laughter was involved and a quick search confirmed that the correct pronunciation was, in fact, "seg-way". But what's a mispronounced word when you're among friends.
It was among the same friends that my other recent bout of revelation-induced flailing whilst spouting incoherent babble, this time related to a poem I'm rather fond of, called "The Uncertainty of the Poet", which is about being a poet and features bananas (this is a key point relating to the flailing). It's a fantastic poem and I highly recommend looking it up. But anyway, I discovered in my friends' art book a picture titled "The Uncertainty of the Poet" and it featured...wait for it... bananas (among other things)! I was so excited. It took me about five minutes just to become coherent enough to explain why I was flailing. Before that all they could get out of me was "poet...bananas...oh my gosh oh my gosh...". It was much more exciting at the time than it seems to you guys now.
So, now that I've failed at being coherent, I should probably finish the story about the humiliation of skating. So, I had my Skorpion skates on, and I was going pretty well. Skorpion skates are amazing to skate with, and (almost) impossible to fall off with. They're stable enough that you can't fall sideways, but you can, if you don't lean forwards, or if you lean backwards just the slightest bit, fall down on your bum. Which is exactly what I did. Hard. In someone's driveway.
Concluding I had probably broken my tailbone, I proceeded to gingerly crawl over to the grass beside the footpath, out of the way of any cars attempting to enter their respective houses. Fighting back tears, I ripped the skates off and gently got to my feet. Skates slung over my shoulder, I walked home, regretting more with every step my fateful decision that mere feet were not good enough and I had to have wheels.
For the rest of the week, I could not sit or lie down without considerable pain. And, most disappointingly, I didn't even get a decent bruise to show for it.
I DID go back out on my skates. Once. With a pillow pet (I have a pillow pet. Yes, I'm 18. I have no shame.) strapped to my tailbone area.
I did not fall again.
I also have not skated again since then.
There, I managed to finish at least one story. This started out with the intention of being about fails due to clumsiness, but mostly ended up being about linguistic fails instead. So I failed at writing a fail post. That takes talent.
Anyway, until next time,
Juno,
xoxox
P.S. Remind me to tell you about my "pet" ducks sometimes. And my fascination with sloths. And my other pets. I've had a lot of pets.
Failing at using teh telephone...
Making a telephone call. Simple, right? Not if you're as talented at failing as I am.
I was trying to contact and old friend who, despite being an amazingly kind and caring person, is terrifying and can (entirely unintentionally) make you feel about two feet tall if you interrupt her when she's busy and/or on a mission. Maybe I'm just a wuss.
Anyway, I was trying to call and wish her a belated happy birthday. I was rather apprehensive as I don't really like phone calls, and didn't really want to catch her at a bad time, so I had planned when to call quite carefully.
Not that it helped.
To start with, someone else answered the phone. They said she was busy and asked if I wanted her to call me back, which I didn't, basically because it would be inconvenient. So I asked if they knew when a good time to ring back would be.
They asked me to wait, which I did. Everything was going well until suddenly...
"Hello?"
Shit. She did NOT sound happy.
"Hello?"
"um...hi..."
Well, this conversation is going swimmingly, isn't it? I knew this would all end in tears.
"Yes, what was it that you wanted?"
Alright, so she's definitely busy.
"Nothing important, sorry."
And, there goes my resolve. And all my plans of a glorious catch-ups after not talking to her for several months. Gone. Did I mention this was the first time I had tried to contact her by phone?
"Oh, ok then, bye."
She sounds confused. This is good. If I'm lucky, she won't know it was me.
"Bye."
It's over. Please don't let her have recognised my voice. Please don't let her have recognised my voice.
I did not get to wish her a happy birthday. Oh well, that's just too bad, because I am NEVER GOING TO CALL ANYONE AGAIN. Particularly not her. Because if I do, she might recognise my voice. Which would be disastrous.
I shall now proceed to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment as I mull over my failure at performing a simple task that most people succeed at on a daily basis.
I shall never touch a telephone again.
This was a week ago, and I still have no plans to call back. EVER.
Yours in failure,
Juno xoxox
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