I had a funny entry all planned, pre-written and everything. I even started typing it, but the ALT button on my keyboard is fritzing, and I couldn't do my necessary ALT command. Because I accidentally tipped Mum's hot tea all over it a few weeks ago. I thought it was an empty glass! She usually puts milk in it, so it was kinda clear-ish. Who drinks Green Tea nowadays? Garsh! That's the only button on the whole board that won't work. So I guess it'll wear off, right? I even disassembled it, key by key. I suppose tomorrow I'll type the funny entry.
Does anybody else here put milk in tea? My brother made fun of me. But it tastes better that way sometimes, right?
Which reminds me! I've assembled a list of funny European words that make no sense to Americans:
sticky plasters= the term for Band-Aids in the UK. If you ask someone in the US for a sticky plaster in a crisis, my friends, you'll be out of luck, because it took me ten minutes to figure that one out.
torch= the term for flashlight in the UK. I'm going to be honest, we don't live in the dark ages anymore. Can't ya just call it what it is? A torch is really a flame on a stick.
Gobsmacked= UK slang for "taken aback". In the US, the closest thing that registers is the band Godsmacked, a band no one particularly cares for. So if you say you're gobsmacked, people might just throw eggs at your face.
chuffer= UK term for many uses. Apparently, to be chuffered is a good thing (much like being gobsmacked), but to be asked to chuffer off is a bad thing. So, it's quite confusing here in the US. Also, "chuff" in Australia is to "fanny" in England. "Fanny" in America just means a behind, but apparently it has an even less distinguished meaning in England. To "chuff" in England could be to "fart" in America, or to pass gass, putting it politely. To be "chuffed to buggery" is to be highly pleased with something, much like "chuffed to nuts". Apparently, it has some phallic symbolisation in the backround of the meaning, but has grown quite euphemistic over the years, as they even say it on East Enders (what is the world coming to?).
cuppa= a cup of tea. Now, c'mon, don't be lazy, say the words!
bobbie= Police Officer. You'd be surprised at how many actually have that first name, too.
Cheerio!= goodbye. I used to think that people don't say that anymore, but apparently the term still lives on. It's highly stereotyped, innit? Plus, now it's a breakfast cereal.
bloomin'= Like "bloody", but less catastrophic. It has nothing to do with Orlando, nor flowers.
bloody= the equivalent to the "f" word in America in most parts of England. My neighbours from England have children that say it all the time, so it can't be too bad (though I hear from people who travel there that kids get smacked, not gobsmacked, upside the head for it at school).
And last, the ever popular shag: Yes people, it's as bad as it seems. Austin Powers had to be a lot more controversial there than it was here. To have a shaggy carpet is only a fashion faux-pas here, there it's gotta be a million times worse. And we all know what it means.
Tomorrow I actually get out of the house! YAY! Well, I get out of the house more often than the others in my house do, so I can't complain. But, still, it's not very often. I'm going to a Trekkie Con with Kelly. What!?! But, Amanda, I thought you hated sci-fi! Well, I do. I really hate Star Wars, Star Trek, Starsky and Hutch (I'm kidding about the last one). But it's technically a Sci-fi/Anime/Fantasy Con, and it's at the public library, so there are some big weirdos that show up, which makes life so much more interesting. Last year some guy showed up as Sailor Moon, short skirt and all. And really, I hate anime. And I usually hate fantasy, minus Harry Potter, LOTR, and Artemis Fowl. Those are the three series that I can stand, because they aren't formula. So many fantasy stories are formula. It just drives me insane. It's like a MadGab genre, you fill in the blanks, but end up with the same general idea. There's always a magical world, just beyond the reach of normal humans, and usually there's one human just special enough to make contact, and not be able to let go of the almost dreamlike world. Heaven help us all. It's great when you're little, because you're diluted, and kinda stupid.
I remember when I was little... I used to listen to my Gammie, my grandmother, a lot, because she was never too busy, and always willing to talk (and by talk, I mean complain). Don't get me wrong, I love her, but she's so bitter. She says things that can really hurt someone's feelings. She used to tell me that she didn't need human companionship, she'd rather be alone. I was going through rough times with the kids at school, they'd make fun of me a lot because I was so pale, and my only friend had moved away. It was so bad that the teacher called everyone's parents and requested that their children befriend me, which really didn't work, because that's when the "I Hate Amanda Club" formed. I used to think Gammie was right, that I would never belong and that I just shouldn't try. That's not what you tell a little kid. What she should have told me is what my mother told me, my mother whom I didn't listen to because she's my mother. She told me the truth, that I was being made fun of because I made the best grades in the class, and that distancing myself would make the humiliation worse, and that instead I should be myself and talk to them anyway, because backing out would be letting them win, and they would want to keep winning. Now I'm not made fun of as often, only by people that are jealous, and I've got more real friends than any of the people from that fifth grade class of mine. I'll graduate at the top of my senior class, and I'll go to the best college out of any of them, and begin a career that will shame them all. I guess what I was getting at was that everyone needs human companionship, to be lonely may be safe, but very, very boring. I'd rather risk it for a little happiness, you know? You've only got one life to live.
To be honest, I see that the kids that once made fun of me are trying to talk to me again in school, during class. They're nice to me now. But it doesn't matter, because I still don't like any of them. When I was in the fifth grade, my mum still picked my clothing for me, and it embarassed me, to be quite honest. Well, I'm seventeen, with what I'm told could be the body of a model (if I stopped eating altogether and lived on exercise equipment), and I pick my own clothes with my mum's help, and everyone is jealous. Well, not everyone. Some people. But now I'm proud because I don't dress like everyone (maybe not anyone) else, and it's why people try to befriend me. That and I still make the best grades.
Well, now I sound like the biggest loser you've ever heard of! At least I'm the biggest something.
Oh, and the story about Martha Stewart and the china from my last entry is actually very true. It goes like this: there was an old Russian couple that came to America with their huge amount of children, and the only thing they brought was an old, old set of Russian china. It turned out to be one of two sets of china from Russian Royalty, but the family had no idea of its incredible value. Christmas came, and the old couple had no money to buy their children gifts with, so they secretly sold the china to a pawn shop. The children found out that the china was sold, and went back that day to buy it. Martha Stewart recognised its worth, but still payed the tag price, and she kept it, even when the children sent her letters asking for it back, because it was the only thing their parents ever really owned. She even gloated about the good deal on a talk show thingee, with a taunt like "Too bad, so sad." So, I never made that part up, in case you wanted to know. That's the reason I hate Martha Stewart... well, the main reason anyway.
So. Yep. Tomorrow after the Con, Kelly and I are having movie mania night at her house, with midnight pool volleyball as well. Because midnight pool volleyball is great, no one can see you in your bathing suit. And then you don't feel slightly chubby. Which is how I suddenly feel after every meal. I promise, from this day forth, that there shall be a new me! Well, the day after tomorrow. I think I'll be overstuffed tomorrow night. Then there will be a new me! I'm really not fat, folks. Just paranoid.
I don't know exactly what the title means. But it came from a song on Trigger Happy TV. There may be some kind of symbolism behind it, or it could just be about fruit. I'm unsure either way. It just made me laugh.
Shagadellic, baby. Cheerio!