Dawn of the Furious and Dangerous

I've turned the healthy number of 23 years old today.
And I've faced a multitude of grim decisions made on my behalf with no control over say or action.

I've been manipulated, scrapped, turned over and betrayed by a number of people, and I vow to give them a piece of my mind when I get the chance.

I've never been so vengeful on a birthday before.

Miserable and lonely because my birthday always fall on a weekday and I'm always doing the most unflattering things ever, yes - wanting to gouge a person's eye out and wanting to strangle slow pigeons that are taking too long moving out the way of my car, no.

Here's the jip that's got me all bunged up with toxic matter and murderous rage:

I've been moved from my team and re-arranged onto a department pod with people I do not function well with. I am furious as this is my day off from work, and I have no say over what happens other than offering a little obscenity-safe rant down the phone to the department.

Secondly, my mum made me get up and buy a hoover. A hoover?! Why today of all days, when I could have slept in til the morning afternoon, internet shopped (by placing things in my basket but leaving the page and never getting them at all),  and just in general, being lazy and watch a few movies.

Since yesterday, I have felt nothing but vast emptiness. It's the hollowed feeling that you're not actually being considered a being, you're the pest amongst the group. Knowing that people are wishing you happy birthday, but really what they're actually saying is 'yeah, so, a little birthday party invite won't hurt' or 'let's just get to know each other again, like old times' or more commonly 'who cares if you're old, I only know your birthday because Facebook told me so. We're not exactly friends let alone acquaintances anymore. I'll remove you from my friends list without you knowing.'

I hate feeling like I'm alone when I'm not. I have no idea how to communicate, yet I've done a degree in communicating. Does that make me an idiot or a highly expressive artiste?

But then come night, my night got lighter and considerably better.

My good friends came around and swept me out of the house for an old fashioned girly chat and we just talked about everything meaningless there is to mention in this morbid town and then I felt a whole lot better.

I guess all you need is a good listening ear and you're set for a birthday really.
It's all I could have asked for.

A year and some has passed since graduating from university.  It seems like eons ago. I never formed my whirlwind career in journalism as I had dreamed of. I have forever since been working as a consultant for a medical agency and grind out 60 hours a week to the system. I hardly see my friends,  I don't see much of my family, and I've not had any chances to branch out and reboot my love for writing since what seems like forever, and I want to blame everyone for my failure but will never point that same accusing finger at myself.

I've matured in ways that startled even me, and furthermore, I've become far more shrewd and perplexed at even the slightest comment that snags a nerve at any time I don't want to make social contact.

This life, this time continuum consisting of birthdays reminding me of how much older I'm getting, how many of my colleagues and school classmates are marrying and birthing children, how many people are leaving me to darken in my own misery and to never speak to me again, its all beginning to get incredibly boring and rigid.

I'm a woman of routine,  and I'm bored of being a slave to this system.

I'm too full of worries and analyse risk factors and fret too much about what others will think of me.  I am a self loathing pitiful senseless creatures when it comes to obiding to anyone's rules but my own.  The shameless urge and delirious desperate need to please and obtain praise from those who hardly look twice your way makes my brain turn inside out.

I'm dwindling out of control and to the point where I feel I need to make drastic change.  I need positivity,  a good healthy spirit,  a morsel of faith and hope, and most of all, a smile on my face.

I want to pursue my career in film journalism, and I will start my new plan as kf tomorrow.

This means a new blog and an unfortunate goodbye from me on this account,  as I feel this is too amateur and a childish attempt to what I propose to achieve. I may bite my words and return to post a little on here but primarily,  I'll be focusing on a new refreshing blog so I can finally kick start the career I had once dreamed of and hopefully you'll all see me in a new renewed respectful and humble perspective.

I appreciate all of you who have read the jaw jarring sodding awful articles I've written on here and I'd love it if you could support my new blog which I hope to start tomorrow night

I love you trolls but mama evil has to do her thing.

Peace out
 Much love x

Post Uni, Present Pro

Hey Bloggers, it's been a very long while since I wrote anything up here, it's been a strange year as I've had to become a fully subsidised adult. That means paying actual bills, keeping an eye on bank ISA accounts, looking at properties and getting totally laddered on mocktails in the bar next to my workplace pretending to be sad and depressed but really, I'm sugared up on fruit juice.

I got a job in the MK City - Milton Keynes - as a recruitment consultant to nurses. Its a prominent business that offers me lots of money, so I'm not complaining. Soon as the clock turns and I'm out that door, I'm walking into a department store within minutes and swiping my plastic Visa so much I'm sure it's melted a little bit.

I got lucky. Within 4 months of leaving university, I got through that retail life and jumped onto the professional career wagon in the recruitment field. I've always wanted to try it, but I believe I will revert back to journalism within good time.

But what happens is that with time you spread yourself a little thin cause you start to look back and think, as the life forms around you become numbers and letters coded into a system, all ordered to an instruction just as I am - you see the time and energy you used to have but remembered you had no money to spend, but now you have money and energy but you have no time to enjoy it. Soon we'll all be old and we'll retire and have money and time, but we'd have no palpable energy to participate in what we wanted to do. I'm afraid I will lose the time and the energy. So I want to jumpstart my journalism career as soon as before time turns me saggy and even more grumpier. I want to live by the passport, the prayer and by my imagination's prime.

So this entry is about wanting more and wishing to do more with my time - fuck having a husband and two kids in the space of 6 months in a council house, that's a hanker-me-down lifestyle. I'll write a bucket list and do all sorts of stuff with just a ticket a book and a backpack. You cannot allow your mind to accept that things are what they are sometimes. Life is about living. To breathe is to experience.
Career progression is a daunting experience, its fun and exciting but then responsibility then hits its hammer on your head and your forever nursing a headache over things you don't want to deal with because you're young and you don't know what else is out there unless you're given the chance to try.

Fake a midlife crisis at 24 and buy a motorbike. Go live in China and tell people your ancestors are from there. Instragram your poo and tell people its a brick, I don't know. Just utilise time: pray, love, laugh, smile. Be mature and respectful and enjoy the companionship of humans who love you.

Every weekend I get off I'm renovating my house with my parents. Its a gratifying and wholesome experience, because I can see where I live is transforming around me. A little piece in me lights up because I've achieved something that illuminates an aspect of that room. Its fulfilling for now but soon I'll want a bigger project to fill my appetite. I've decided I want to try my hand at property and see if I can handle the swig of that kinda juice.

This post was totally random but I just wanted to write. Its the need of wanting to break out from work, from the consistent 10 hour shift a day and realising you've left so much behind or you've neglected it all because of a job. Its a sad and worrying feat of a career, especially when you hear about individuals who leave everything behind just for a couple of fat wads of cash to plop and go 'ker-ching!' in their bank accounts.

What's even more depressing is that we're probably the only species in God's wonderful universe who pay to live on a planet. Makes you wonder what kind of beings we've become, doesn't it?

Anyways, fuck the system and let's live on, I'm gonna shut up mainly cause I'm hungry and because I'm going to let my brain cells die after watching a couple of episodes of Family Guy so I'm leaving you with a song that's so uber bonkers and branded in Versace and Illuminati, that it suddenly seems alright to be weird.

Love you trolls. Adios til probably next year when I'm a baby mama.

Stuck in a Rut with You

I am in debt by a minus gazillion pounds, I'm wasting away worse than a scurvy riddled pirate but I feel ridiculously optimistic. Although I'm in a dodgy place - unemployed, not clothed to the uppity fashion of today - I like when I get a surprised reaction from graduating and I graciously bask in the congratulations. I'm now having to endure the constant fiddlish poke of my nephew's finger in my eye every 8am (because I've offered to babysit him when his parents go to work) and my mother's harsh but patronising song-like screams of my name when I'm not where I'm meant to be; the kitchen.

But yet, I am optimistic and smiling like a goofy touched-in-the-head bastard.

I'll tell you why.

I am a fan of writing. I haven't written a blog in a while but for me, writing is like halal wine it has to be special and not just placidly written; you take it in, you swill the taste of words in your mouth as you embrace them in a lofty sophisticated manner, jiggle around some sparkly vocab, and then suddenly you're so intrigued by how good it sounds, you find yourself scrabbling to type it somewhere and gush over it as it ages and matures in your word processor. It's a personal satisfaction to conjure up a beautiful collaboration of words that could be pursued further to become a rather dazzling novel, freeze your genius creation on a parchment for everyone to see. I personally marvel at my own ingenious literary work, and my talent has paid off.

Well anyways, I'm chatting so much shit. I do have a point to all of this.

Things are looking up; I'm getting callbacks for interviews, I'm being told I'm an amazing excelled writer (again, regarding to just my CV) and I'm coming up with trumps. But yet, I'm waiting on results - I'm waiting for that call saying that 'Hey congratulations! You've got your £25k basic pay and a car to boot, when can you start?' I set myself a goal that I will be earning at least 30k by 30. There's no more negative pessimistic Rosie no more, not when it comes to trundling the hard rocked shit and shovelling it out the way. I'm onto something and until I get it, I'll be ruthless, thick-skinned, motivated and determined to hit the number one spot.

I'M GONNA BE A BALLER, BITCHES. JUST YOU WATCH. PEACE OUT, I'M DONE.

But if for any graceful reason you'd like to stay and read my other posts, feel free to listen to this also - a current favourite of mine and most definitely a luxuriously baritone soundtrack that explains how hoes and bitches and possible lung cancer is the good life (theoretically, its a no but we're all allowed to fantasise)

Uni's Over, Back in The Vale

So uni's been over for like a month and four days and it seems that I've attempted to make the most of something from nothing. By this, I mean mostly nothing.

I'm overly tired from being constantly woken up at 8am but I enjoy sitting with the family at the breakfast table. The garden apparently needs a lot of attention in the mornings, and my baby nephew demands it in the afternoon through the evening. I have to get used to the supposed noisy normality of family dinners and to become familiar to the rules again, such as not going out when I choose to. I have to be careful with my spending as so my mum doesn't spot I've brought new shoes to add to my 100+ personal collection and I have to learn to hide my parking fines from prying eyes.

There's a lot of 'have to's' but there doesn't seem to be much else that isn't a daily routine of chores or activities. I should be shot for calling chores 'activities' - they're nothing but busy labouring little obstacles that keep me bound to the house until I find a paying job.

The Vale's society is another thing I've still need to get my head around. When you see Luton, you find its  inhabitants are really backwards and religiously dorky, but then you head further south into London, everyone else thinks you live in a backward cousin-marrying farm. That's the story all around for a particular ethnic minority, but you realise how much of it is true when someone different from you points it out. Backwardness: the ultimate definition of some wayward Pakis.

I look at Aylesbury as I'm driving around and think to myself that this town can't be that at all. Then I start  looking at some of the residents as they're coming out of their homes to mow their lawns and tend to their flower pots and waving hello to one another and ask how one's health is, I find its a comfort, an idyllic place of living. Then the Pakis come trawling out and exploding their children across the park and then it's like oh my gosh where did these overgrown rats come from :(

I usually like interacting with people, so as long as they don't ask me whose daughter I am. I find that they are looking for a pre-set judgement and to see if my parent's reputation is highly praised enough in order for them to continue conversing with me. In some ways, it is an amazing favour in terms of when I need to disconnect from the social stereotypes already placed upon me and to allow myself to recreate a profile to another audience; i.e. Telling them I'm the sweetest little Asian girl around, winkity wink.

So this summer, I've got a to-do list: get in touch with the Council, sell to them my pitch about making a  film about Aylesbury and getting people involved in it and then getting the community involved with the Vale big time so that life seems like one big party.

.....Except...

Although I dunno how good I am at that, especially if there's no money talking to me :(

Not Exactly Post Grad Yet

So God knows when was the last time I updated this Blogger but its obvious it is no longer a frustrated passion of mine to slam my fingers onto my keyboard to let out a few voracious rants. Twitter is equally neglected and Facebook seems like something I used eons ago.

I am a woman now. I have responsibilities, roles, expectations, excetera, excetera. I no longer swing my arms around with innocent hopefulness that someone will give me things just because I look small and younger than my age. I don't get certain exemptions neither - before all I did was use my wit and charm and say that I was a talented and ambitious writer and usually people brought that. I got what I wanted, and I was usually content.

Third year of university had sucked out the charm and wit and replaced it with something that made me ghoulish and surly. I began to lose focus and I was spinning out control even when both my feet where firmly on the ground. I wasn't sure what I was doing and I don't remember doing much. Its as if the year didn't exist and I was like a computer that had crashed and lost all its unsaved documents.

I didn't have a meltdown, but my family were. You see, there's a wedding currently happening in our house, my elder brother is due to get married next week. I have heard about this upcoming event for the past year as each day had past and when the parents try to get you involved whilst you're studying, you often feel like you can't make a commitment to both things that need your help, needless of what they say.

I was stuck between studying and sorting out evening dresses, venues, dances, themes and such. Now the time has come; I'm almost due to graduate, but I get my results during the first few days of the wedding. Depending on what I get will probably effect my mood throughout the bloody celebrations.

I find it funny how things like this happen. When there's opportunity knocking at the door and you're not sure whether to open it up and embrace it because you're tied down by other commitments. Then you realise life is too short to regret it later. You only live once and you should live it well. Not to say that you'll abuse the trust you've gained from parents but to allow them to believe that yes, you are responsible and that you need to do things for yourself in order to be happy. Happiness is a factor that should be in our hearts and minds at all times, and when you don't feel it, find something that makes you happy. Eat well, pray well, live well.

So let's recap: in a weeks time, I get my results. In a weeks time also is a wedding which will see my brother establish a new stage in his life. In a weeks time, I should be the happiest person in the world. How will I make sure this happens?

By booking a fucking holiday.

OMG DELAYED BY YEARS OR MONTHS OR WHATEVER - I stopped caring, boo hoo

Fuck remembering stuff that happened time ago, I know I'm behind on this blog but really - REALLY - who reads it; I probably only write for my own entertaining purposes and then think later 'Oh, Rosie that was genius, you're a riot, ah hahahahah hahahaha - why don't you publish this shizzle, you'll be a millionaire' - NO, I WILL NOT CONFINE MYSELF TO THE JEW SYSTEM.

*RANT OVER*

So yeah, it's been a while since I dabbled in this blog but remember I'm a uni student; it means I'm busy picking dirt out of my nails and flossing out my bellybutton and pursuing clothes online like a hungry pervert but AHH those clothes may enter a virtual shopping basket but will never make it to my front door cause I always act like I'm some skint-to-the-teeth Paki (I am but I gotta flash some cash to get some ass, you get me?)

But the reality, and this is something you know deep down - buying some shoes that show even a bit of toe in a peep toe is kinda like feets porn cause you're trying to pretty them up in some foot cleavage shoe - you get me? Shopping to pretty your feets up is NAUGHTY AND TOTES HARAAM and attracts the perverts (me). I don't even like feet so I don't even know why I bother looking at sandals let alone anyone else's - I suffer from podophobia; the phobia of feet. So this paragraph that I've stupidly taken time to write is irrelevant. I'M WELL CLEVER - INNIT?

But anyways back to the point - I'm a uni student; it is my right to procrastinate and moan over how a dissertation is so hard to write and that I've got a 'writer's block' and oh 'why did I choose such a discerning subject about the dissent aggravation of Muslim women in the Western media' oh BOO HOO, HAW HAW. In reality, I should've just shut up and got on with it in January when I had the chance, but why be clever when you can be annoying, eh?

There's only 10 days left til the deadline - AH FUCK IT I don't wanna talk about it, typing of its existence is already sending off panic alarms in my head.

You must be thinking this is erratic writing behaviour, so that this is expected of me in my wank blogs. NO. There is no coffee involved or tea, or weed or madman music, it is just a whirlwind of events that have given me ups and downs and round and rounds and I hate the fact that I didn't enjoy taking them in my stride but instead halting and trying to clear things up. After 25th April, I become a child pushed into the professional adult working world and it will take time for me to find my feet and settle into a job with a high salary and whatnot. Then there's the chitter chatter about my brother's wedding and it's like OMG FFS STFU I don't like my outfits, oh this doesn't look nice it doesn't go with the wedding theme - I don't need this, I am too busy faking to do my studies on my computer whilst perving on some dank looking girls that went to my old school that are now pregnant or with some doofus working in MacDonalds and shit and thinking wow their lives are so interesting, let me go onto another Facebook page and find out more about them and their blossoming relationship - oo girl that's him? He gonna leave your ass for a black girl I am telling youuuu, lalalalalalalalaaaaa - - -

NOTE: Paragraph heavily laced with rampant sarcasm and with little or no sense of direction in terms of information. Could be classified as another rant.

OI listen to this song yeah, its like my fucking favourite. Yes I said fucking, what does fucking mean? To me it just sounds like duck, like ducking and you can easily get away with saying ducking - UGHH ALLOW IT, just listen to April March, it's a classic. Keep posted, I'll probably put up another post in a years time and tell you I'm pregnant with an immigrants child or something.