I do believe we should all get rather drunk on Friday.

I've barely done any revision, I haven't had a response about my coursework plan (and nobody seems to have picked up the post for well over a week, so I don't even know whether she's received it), and my roots are driving me crazy.

HOWEVER.

I have found my cocktail mixer, and I have recipes for a daiquiri, a white russian, a screwdriver, an espresso martini, a shark bite and a painkiller.
Hence, Friday seems the perfect night to forget about exams and coursework. Yes?

I honestly have so little to blog about at the moment -_-.

-a.

By jove! It's a kangaroo!

Yes. You read correctly. A kangaroo.

I fell asleep on the sofa today. Big mistake. Never EVER fall asleep in a house with a three year old on the prowl.
So I wake up and scream. I actually scream out loud for the entire street to hear. There is a giant kangaroo in my face. A TOY KANGAROO. IN MY FACE.

It took me about twenty minutes to recover.

The price is - what?: Photography, and why it isn't photography.

Echoes by The Rapture is a truly brilliant song.

So, I've given up on If It Matters At All indefinitely because we need to get some posts on here. I mean, we also need to grab ourselves some more followers, but to be honest if you've got to spout that much crap to get any - well it just isn't worth it.

I've spent the day shouting "you're not a bloody photographer!" at my screen today, and I thought our blog was about due for a lengthy rant. Hence "Photography, and why it isn't photography".

Take a look through Facebook, or scroll through your Dailybooth or Tumblr dashboard. How many people on there have an album labeled "photography" or claim to be an actual photographer? Now, answer this - how many of them are photographers? The word means nothing anymore - it's almost like my "love" argument. A photographer is someone who takes photographs professionally, yes? Not someone who takes photographs of themselves on their webcam, via a mirror, or with a bloody outstretched arm.

Another thing that honestly drives me up the wall is when people take slightly off-centre photos of bins, and call it art. It's a bin. I'm sure it meant a lot at the time and everything, but seriously?

A photographer is a professional - someone who is ideally paid for what they do. Not someone who thinks of themselves as both the model and the photographer, and then takes photographs of themselves in the bathroom.
You're not a photographer, you just have an overpriced camera.

Woah there, Rigrog! We all know who that was aimed at!
Yes, most of my rants are.

- a.

The Post with No Name

I know I should really be using this, (my little corner of the internet)to broadcast my many important opinions and for intellectual debate. I know that I should be doing that, but I'd much rather have a bit of a squee.

I swear to God he's taller,(if at all possible.) His hair is all floppy and soft and I want to touch it. His voice is even nicer than I remember it and he's...he's...he's just BOOTIFUL! It's not fair! Why must he grow ever more devilishly attractive as I become less so?

WAIT! WAIT!

HE SAPS MY ATTRACTIVNESS!

THAT'S IT!

I can even feel it happening while I'm around him! When I talk to him, he becomes even more perfect and I grow fatter, shorter and uglier by the second!

THAT BASTARD!

Taking all my beauty.

OHMYGOD I THINK I LOVE HIM! (Hyperventalates)

Ginger Kids and Bracelets.

Apparently, on the (many) occasions that I am drunk, I reveal all my woes to a small ginger kid I barely know.

I'm sorry? But why would I like one when I've seen what better there is to like? It'd be like being in a jewelry shop and going: "Hmm, that's an Ok bracelet...Ooh, but there's a nicer one which is a lot cheaper! Yeah, I'll get the first one." (I mean no offence to the first bracelet really; the other one is just a god.)

Yes, I'm perfectly aware that this post will only make sense to Riggers, but that's ok. To be honest, I'm not in enough of a self-indulgent/arrogant mood to post some preachy holier than thou rant today.

I suppose, in a way, I just have.

So YEAH.

But HAVE you?

Has anyone ever fancied someone in spite of themselves? Has anybody ever thought: 'Oh my God, what a dick.' but then proceeded to fancy them anyway? Has anyone been so continually annoyed by someone that they suddenly become rather dear to you? Has anyone ever seen an ambulance at the place where such a person happened to be and thought: "OH MY GOD THEY'RE DEAD!" and been on the brink of tears until you see them wandering about unharmed?

Yeah, me neither. That's lucky.

What's good about women?!

In the common room right now - and mr lewis has a cheeky beard.
It was pitch black when I was on the bus this morning. I think I may have made a pretty bad decision there.
Basket shoes!
Actually, speaking of women, one of them ruined monday night for me. You'd think that in an aim to save us all, women would keep their music inside their own homes. That is definitely not the case. This particular woman seemed convinced that she was Hayley Williams. You can see why she ruined my night now.
Bloody women.

- a.

Have I ever mentioned how much I love Slumdog Millionaire?

And the guy who plays Jamal...Grr! There's a dog I wouldn't mind slummin' it with! ;)

I can't even write a coherent post about Slumdog Millionaire because of how awesome it is. I feel devastated, elated, excited, uplifted and angry all at the same time. IT'S FIVE TO ELEVEN ON A SUNDAY EVENING!!! THIS IS NO TIME FOR COMPLICATED EMOTIONS!!

Seriously though...Dev Patel...*drool*

I think it's because he wears shirts during a fair bit of the film...I'm a bit weird about men in shirts...

Mmm...shirts.