"Maybe your star signs are incompatible"

Well that's got to be up there with one of the most fudging ridiculous excuses someone's given for my state of single-doom (Like single-dom but with the likely event of a zombie apocalypse) . The fudging expletives that I started when given this excuse can only be outweighed by my lengthy damnation of the astrology practice.
I do love the way the human race has concluded that your birth date dictates your personality and general being.  The thing that really gets me is that it's not specific!? It's just 'if you were born in September you will be a money grabbing dick'. So everyone who was born in September can not be trusted. 
If we actually abided to these rules mass monthly culling would be put in place while our world became an ant society dictated by those born in January and decorated by those in May! However the bonus would be that there would never be any surprises as all life would be predicted. I could expect an unexpected visitor on the 17th.. if you tell me about it it's not unexpected! 
The amazing thing is that people actually believe in this; the worst of all predictive forms. They open their horoscopes to actually believe they are going to be squished by a piano, along with the other 3 billion people who were born in that month, all due to a ball of gas 6.2 billion light-years away that's probably already dead. 
Dead.. that's what my relationship status currently stands at- Dead. And it is NOT because my bull shoved his horns up Uranus to skewer his crab!

Today's (Not So) Daily message

Today was an eye opening day as to what the youth of today is reading.
One of my students expressed their love of Christian Grey (Yes I'm a lecturer but don't be too concerned I'm actually one of the normal ones..... now you have my permission to be concerned).
Now this student is 17 and being single I have obviously read the book and was immediately appalled by the fact that someone so young could have read a book that features what we can effectively call a sex dungeon.
Now I have nothing against Ms James she has obviously done very well although it seems quite amusing to me that a book where the main character is an editor Ms James' was definitely dropping the ball (I'm pretty sure there's a joke in there somewhere). The book panders to the idealism of every girls love of a bad boy gone good. The truth is that Christian Grey is seriously fucked up and the likelihood that he would make this miraculous turn around is about as likely as me being able to go through a whole day without accidentally insulting someone. Honest they are accidents.
The bigger concern with this book however is that men will start reading it. Have you seen how many times they have sex in that book. I'm not being funny but she must be itching like a obese woman's fat folds when the ants make it in. There's no way you can go through all that and not have your vagina screaming that the G-spot was tucked away for a reason. Don't get me wrong I love sex as much as the next girl but NOT as much as the next man. Men think about sex on average 62 times a day for a period of around 23 minutes which basically means they're always thinking about it. Although I figure it's not their fault, mainly because they are the side effect of sex. Now I don't mean that side effect of parental sex but sex in general; sperm. You see when men don't use sperm they reabsorb it back into their bodies where the cells are broken down to make new cells for the rest of the body, so by the time a man reaches his 30's he is in fact 90% his own sperm. He's your very own wank tank. Does this mean we should give men a break- No, just be cautious not to buy black bed sheets.
Breaking the news to my student that Christian Grey was not a real person and she would never meet any man that would perform in any of the ways this imaginary character does was heart breaking for her, but that's what teaching is; destroying dreams until they can start being realistic!
Now for gods sake pick up a Charles Dickens book and learn some real literature.

For my first thought...

I wish to take you back a couple of years and my reflection on birthdays. Note: I have now surpassed 25 and well.... I'm not an an adult I'm just a child that doesn't need supervision!

Birthdays

Only the human race could actually use the excuse of being one step closer to death as an opportunity to receive presents. ‘I am greedy therefore I am human’.

To steal a thought from Jane Austen: it is a truth universally acknowledged that any time of holiday celebration is a time of reflecting on your life and realising what a complete twating failure you are. The only thing is who chooses to express it. Let’s face it at one point we have all been the crying mess on the floor at the New Year’s party wondering where all the drink has gone then subsequently trying to suck the remains of sambuca out our clothes.

This year I chose quiet reflection; reaching the age of 24 passed me by in a state of tired grimness. In the run up to 24 I was bombarded with talk of how young I was and that 25 is the age of ‘adult’ making me a child. Then I was reminded of my age by a huge bill, a hyper-ventilation inducing interview and the question piped by the young face of staff that made me want to cry; ‘who is Fleetwood Mac?’ queue a state of confusion, DVDs, beer and ice cream and the birthday is over.

It appears that the age of the birthday dictates its fullness. Bring back the days of tea parties where self-loathing only ever reaches the dizzy heights of ‘I eat my bogies’.

The 18^th birthday passed with shouting at my brother and throwing up my 24 tequila slammers on my boyfriend’s jeans. It was his fault, he told me to look at him! If we all had babies on the same day then 18 years later vomit would fill Britain drowning the Isle of Wight and we wouldn't give a shit about climate change any more  Chunderdome!. That’s all there is to turning 18- chunder. And then 3 years later you can take it global.

I also came to the realisation this year that my parents have conned all my birthdays into a state of unimportance. ‘We don’t do birthdays but we do big Christmases’, a statement of truth, I am Christmas’ best friend. However as I compare to others and see the same state of Christmas with the added bonus of getting birthday presents, my parents laziness becomes apparent. I believe their conning comes from a caring of their bank accounts and I see here they are not to be mocked but praised. Why buy your children presents every year when eventually you can buy yourself a Ferrari and avoid the recession. It’s like smokers: if you put all the money you spend on cigarettes in a savings account then eventually you will have enough money to buy a new set of lungs on the black market. Then feel free to smoke until transplant is required.

Birthdays aren't just a state of mourning for those reaching their death but also those that have to pay for it. And I don’t know if you realise this but birthdays happen every year!! This means you have to something new and original for each person every year. Not all of us possess this talent which is why I am the proud owner of 3 sets of triominoes from my dear uncle. Faking the smile is the hardest part! 

There are times when the inner monologue just goes crazy and the process of writing ‘Fudge It- loser and failure’ across whatever piece of paper comes my way seems productive. I’m pretty sure the whole point of ‘one flew over the cuckoo’s nest’ was to show us that we’re all crazy and it’s only the expression of this craziness that gets us locked up. Will the expression of submitting my inner monologue to paper/computer cause the horrendous fashion crisis of a jumpsuit for me. We’ll see, at least it will be an experience.