How I learnt not to set my dick on fire. An essay by Miss Kitty.

I do love Autumn. As I trudged home, sick as a very sick dog having managed to locate the book I needed from the library (who puts a history book in the theology section just cause it's about nuns? HISTORIC NUNS!) and not slept through classics (no sign of hotman, good thing too considering the icky cold), my heart lifted a little as I crunched through the leaves. And maybe kicked them up a little just for fun. And maybe by little I mean quite a lot.

A squirrel decided to try to paw its way into our sitting room not once but twice and just casually walked off when I approached the window all 'what the hell ya doing? crazy rodent thing' waving my hands about. It was mad. He's not been back but I suspect he's off to find a rock or something to steal my TV when I'm not looking.

I'm pretty much over the cold now *touch wood* I defeated it with positive thinking and drugs! Just dying of exhaustion now, so many things I had to clean today, some of them more than once thank you very much faulty bin bag. So now I anticipate good things. Like essay writing and a 9am start on Friday...it's a big week for me this one. A big, sucky one full of Things To Do.

On the good side I'm writing again. I spent the last three hours or so writing a short story. It had swords and hints of Greek mythology. Very happy I did something with ease. I've been in a funk for too long. Might post it if anyone's interested/I can be bothered.

On the Greek mythology thing for Classics I had to read Hesiod's Works and Days or as Julie decided to rename it "How I learned not to set my dick on fire". No joke. Halfway through this short poem thing about when to do your harvest and what way to drink your wine Hesiod starts giving instructions on how to pee. Guys just to inform you, you can't pee standing towards the sun, and at night don't pee on the road or uncovered. The best advice ever comes swiftly after with the classic (and I stress I have not changed a single thing here) "And when your private parts are stained with semen indoors, do not let them be seen as you go near the hearth-fire, but avoid it." Don't let your lady-friend see you set your spunk on fire? Don't go near fire in case you burn your penis cause that would be sore? Semen is highly flammable? I'm not sure quite what he is telling us here. But whatever it is, take heed men.

I have discovered the secret to Final Fantasy hair.

Dream about having to research ridiculous things for History.

I woke up this morning angry. Angry at having to look at a book for ages and wondering why I couldn't find out whether Bismarck liked pancakes despite the title being "German rulers and their pastry preferences' and then having an argument about what a proper pancake was with some girl who appeared in a caravan and was somehow my girlfriend only I wanted to leave her because she kept asking me stupid questions about Bismarck which I then had to go look up and couldn't find.

When I walked past the mirror I checked to see nothing was wrong. Face seemed fine, nothing new. Tshirt on the right way, good, good. Pause for yawn. Then a cough. Still got the cold I see. Darn. Eyes slowly roll their way upwards and...wow.

I had Cloud hair.

Actual proper, big spike sticking straight up and defying reason, Cloud hair.

I wish I could have taken a picture but then everyone would have to see my morning face.

I'm debating whether I have the energy for lectures. I wouldn't mind if the lecture theatres were at least a little comfy but I can barely keep myself upright, let alone balance myself on a pew and write on a teeny piece of table. Worst part of it is I have to go to the library at least sometime before Monday at 11am. Man can I not be bothered with that.

Whoever gave me this cold, I dun like you.

Fevrale dostat chernil i plakat

I got a cold. I'm usually not one to moan about colds considering the time when I first became a veggie and sniffled just about every day. (protip do not think you can live off quiche for several months just because neither you nor your mum can think of anything else to eat) But this one is making my head all guddled. Like everything is really far away from me or something. Dunno, am ill.

I've missed History again cos I just could not move this morning. I'm gonna miss Classics too much since I think I might curl up and die if I have to sit on another bus so soon. I will spend today instead thinking healing thoughts. Really I should have done that last night but Emma dragged me out instead to el cinema to see Day Watch (not to be confused with Bay Watch unfortunately since we'd all love to see vampy Hasseloff I'm sure) with her hottie of a pirate man. Although truthfully I didn't mind at all, there are few people I'd drop everything and go see and she is one of them. Plus the film was fantastically mad. But then I've always thought the Russians were a bit crazy in a good way. So wish I could back there and not be bothered by the fact that I was in a shitty relationship and my sister almost died. Especially when I return and I'm all 'oh god my sis almost died and she's the freakin best' and he's all 'haha you almost killed your sis' and his mum's all 'haha I hear you poisoned your sis'. Murders nearly happened that day. Murders with big knives.

Oh man, some sort of groovy song just came on my itunes. Did not know I even had this or why I do.

Oh yeah, it was on Buffy this one time.

Tis jazzy.

So yeah, film was good. Subtitles were amazing, all animated and relevant. The translation was pretty good from what I could work out (using my 'how to determine if subtitles are good' skills from French there)

Man the song got a bit annoying now with too much ahhing and stuff. Hurrah April March is next. For those of you who didn't see Death Proof, first off what's wrong with you? It's a ridiculously pointless laugh of a film and I stick by that no matter how floplike it goes; secondly there's the best song at the credits by the girl who sang the theme song for I M Weasel. So good. Bad thing is though I was humming it to myself as I walked home last night and this car was facing the wrong way across the road. As soon as I was opposite it, the car leaps into life, swerves into the right lane and drives off. I thought it was coming to get me and may have eeped a little.

Lets see now, film=good. Subtitles=great. Emma's cute babbling excitement over Pirate Guy? Utterly adorable.

What else is new. Oh yeah, new hair. Not mannish anymore, no sirree bob it ain't! The girl straightened it all to hell and then said she'd mess it up but instead made my head look like an egg. I attacked it more with goo though and it went all flicky and purty. Liking it lots.

Oh! And I got The Fountain in graphic novel form. It's as gorgeously heart-breaking as the film. Love, love, love it.

Bleargh cold. Hurry up with that cold cure scientist guys. Come on now, leave the crazy 'lets make a sheep from nothing won't that be a larf' and do something useful for once.

Oh, one last thing. My guy in classics has sideburns! And doesn't look like a twat with them!

We all go down together

I do love that I spent last night thinking about Uni and the goodness of it all and of course I wake up this morning too late to go to History.

I've got another couple of hours to kill before I head in for Classics and my first ever Archaeology tutorial. I can't stand tutorials truth be told. I'd much rather just have more lectures. I don't like talking in small groups. My spoken communication skills aren't exactly what you'd call good. It's not that I don't have anything to say, but I tend to say it too quietly or I just can't be bothered trying to find a time to say it and I never can be bothered to contradict people. Unless they piss me off like that Londoner in my English class who said Roald Dahl hated children and Grimm's fairy tales were all princesses getting married. What about the one with mouse, the sausage and the crow hmm? Where's the sexist happy ending there, you ass?

But yeah, tutorials, hate em. Today will probably be the pointless introductory one where we go round the group and say our names and where we live before going home wondering what the point of turning up was. Oh right, so we don't fail. Gotcha.

If it wasn't for that I wouldn't bother with today at all. Some days just aren't days to bother with. Plus I had the craziest dream. Second time I've had it now. After my usual ridicously over-the-top romance dream that whirls by all normal like and happy the weirdness always interferes. Wouldn't be much of a dream if there wasn't some crazy. The crazy of last night (and sometime last week) involved me being in a bar with some guy who decides the drink is rubbish and over-priced. So we set off to buy and make our own. Thus follows the longest time of me staring at various items in a supermarket which if I could remember them probably holds some sort of significance. Thing is he won't shut up about the vinegar which is apparently the key ingredient when you're trying to make vodka and cranberry. When I questioned this he got really violent and I woke up soon after I finally got the drink and some girl from nowhere complained about the lack of ice.

I'm getting kind of bored of dreams where I'm looking for something pointless in a shop. It's like all I do in real life when I'm bored and now I get to do it asleep too. Woo and hoo come to mind.

Lets see now what have I got this week? Hair cut tomorrow: goodbye man hair, hello one week of it looking pretty hot then foof! Oooo next issue of Runaways comes out on Thursday. Gotta have a bit of Whedon to get me through the week now I've got another month to wait for buffy. Seriously comic reading is killing me financially but I can't not buy them. Buffy! Plus Molly Hayes is just the cutest thing. She beat up Wolverine!

Oh, but on the free side of things Sugar Shock is Joss Whedon's webcomic. Only three issues long but it's pretty wacky fun.

Anyway I better go get dressed and stuff although gods know how I'll find the inclination to do so.

We'll all float on anyway

I'm feeling cautiously optimistic about Uni this year. There's the fear that slips in every so often when I think about deadlines and early starts and dealing with administration. I hate dealing with secretaries and librarians. They all made with power I tells ya. But I focus on the main thing. I got a goal this time. Something resembling a plan.

And in the end I just remind myself that it's the means to an end. All these essays and exams are just stepping stones to a life. And a life is what I long for.

There's a lot of moments where I just think why bother. I've got another 4 years, 5 if I choose to go abroad (which I just might, Galway is just so prettily Irish after all!) of learning. Sometimes it just seems too much of a drag. But then the alternatives are much worse. I can't get a job and boy have I been trying and I think I would die before I became some sort of stay-at-home mum. But anyway all of those things go away when I look at where I get to study. God, the people there may be mostly a tad stuck-up and I've met so few people that I could actually stand but when I walk down the streets and have to stop to let some squirrels pass or when I'm sitting in (the most uncomfortable) the only preserved Victorian lecture hall it doesn't matter. I sit in the little courtyard reading my Homer, listening to the church organ play behind me and helping out the gorgeous Chinese girl in finding her class and I don't mind the cold Autumn wind or the fact that I haven't spoken to a single person all day since I got out of bed.

On a side note my Classics lecturer keeps mentioning the Iliad, saying that "of course nobody will have read it" or that nobody reads classic literature unless they're studying it. It's like lets make Catherine feel like a bigger geek than she already is. I've had to explain to people why Dawn is capitalised and acts like a person when that doesn't make sense, or who the hell Persephone is and why does she keep popping up in the underworld for no reason. I kinda thought I'd turn up for Classics and meet similiarly minded ancient Greek geeks like myself. Seems I was mistaken.

My hopelessly romantic mind was checked all summer and for a good while before as well. Unfortunately, it's returned and I look for love around every corner. I'm not quite sure what I'm looking for but then I never am and usually it ends in me finding someone and settling for them. Is it so wrong to want someone to fall hopelessly in love with you and not be a total weirdo who just uses you?

To cheer myself up and because they were cheaper than usual, I bought Angel. I've never really watched them aside from the few episodes in which Buffy crossed over or a couple I watched over the summer but I'm loving the series so far. Only I wish somebody could have warned me that the attractive Irish man died so freakin' early on. I knew he was gonna die but not that soon! Thanks tons Mr Whedon/life for making everything a little bit more gloomy. I had to watch Black Books just to get my fix of Irishness.

Which reminds me The Shins are coming to Glasgow in November on the same day that I'm seeing Bill Bailey. I missed them earlier this year and now once again. So if any of The Shins are there or have some sort of psychic ability when you come back (and please do come back) please make it a day I'm available. I will totally dance my ass off and woo and yay better than anyone else.

In conclusion, I am very tired and I wish I was in love.

Nothing good ever happens after 2am

Especially when you have drunk 3 shots of nail polish.

The shots were free and nobody else was drinking them. I hate to see wastage.

I'm just home from a night out with my Tipsy Pixie, loveliest girl alive and lollypop. I always enjoy the fuzzy-headedness you get after drinking too much, but not enough to be plastered. It's comforting and cosy. I just wish I didn't get awful hangovers. My inclination for depression never helps. Plus theres the waking up to Julie in my face saying "are you drunk? huh? hangover? make out with any BOYS?!?!?!?' Man does that get old fast.

I'm kinda bored, kinda tired and feel like talking to someone but I doubt anyone would appreciate a wake up at this time.

So yeah. No real point to this other than to prove I am coherent after drinking. Yay and such.

Plus I figured it wasn't wise to leave the football rant up too long in case people began to doubt my hardcore geekitude.

Hail, hail and all that.

There are reasons why they call it the beautiful game. Running on to a pitch to playfully slap the opposition and potentially ruining everything is not one of them.

Dickass.

I've been going to Celtic games for 8 years now. Conveniently I started going just as we got good again. I really went because it was time spent with my dad and I never do see him enough despite the fact he was working at home at the time. I also went to make a statement. I was gonna pay attention, learn the rules (including the elusive offside rule which traditionally my sex fail to comprehend) and understand the history. I sat there in my green and white hooped shirt which was a little too big for me since back then girls strips didn't exist (neither did xxl strips, fat people just has to tuck it in) next to my dad, pie in hand and appropriate football saying ready to shout at intervals (I stopped at 'go on my son' though). Boys at school were surprised when I could hold my own in petty football fights. I knew my rival teams almost as well as my own and I had the advantage of being a girl so none of my arguments could end in getting beat up (mostly). This empowered me.

A couple of years ago I lost interest. Things between my dad and I were going rather craply thanks to my no-good-dirty-rotten-cheating-son-of-a-whore boyfriend. I missed an old firm game for him and took crap from his sister's boyfriend (who was a drunken Aberdeen fan). I had to deal with angry texts from him during games he thought I was gonna miss to see him and lastly I was accused of caring more about football than him and that I was a terrible girlfriend. I admit fully I was pathetic at the time I dated him and my biggest ever regret was not leaving him when I should have. The point is I barely knew who was in my team and going to games became a nuisance rather than entertainment.

Once he was out of my life I was still in two minds about football. Did I really care that much about a bunch of over-paid, stupid boys kicking a ball?

The answer is Fuck Yes I did. I have sat through games in the freezing rain, full of the flu, unable to even stand as we took hopeless penalties against Valencia. I've sang til my throat cracked to cheer my boys on and swore more than usual in front of my father. Strange men have hugged, punched and groped me all at football matches and I once yelled at an old man. The best experiences I have ever had at games have been the European games.

It's the crowd mentality. The referee gives AC Milan a penalty for no good reason just after you did the unthinkable and put a goal past Brazil's goalkeeper and the sheer rage flows through you. You want him to suffer. The string of expletives is only topped by the booing everytime he interrupts the game afterwards. There the panic that grips you everytime Kaka goes near the ball. The memory of the last time you saw him and he ran from nowhere, faster than you've ever seen a player run at Parkhead. He terrifies you and he humbles you and you hate him a little for scoring the penalty so well.


And then there's the joy when that ball finally hits the back of the net at the end of the game. The guy next to me is a lot more shy than the usual drunken lot I end up sitting beside. He moves to embrace me in the 'feckin hells yeah we are good lets all hug and love each other' way that men do and then casually changes his mind half-way through. I get dragged by the neck by my dad instead.

But don't despair, readers. I spend the more boring games coming up with amusing stories for the players and crazier fans. For instance, I believe Gary Caldwell, Celtic defender and class A pointer, is simply in the wrong profession. He probably became a football player because that's what all the boys were doing. And he got put in defense since someone bigger and more arrogant wanted to be the striker. He got where he is today through his outstanding ability to point out just who is going to take the ball away from him and score. If there had been a market for it he could have lived up a mountain, with a crazy beard. People would come from all over the world to ask him to fortell their futures and he would point at potential people would crap up their lives. Sadly he was born in the wrong age and can but point at the opposition instead.

And that is why my dad curses his name every weekend.