August

August was a bit shit, although to be fair it did have a lot to live up to, seeing July was the feffin' definition of amazeballs.


The largest and most important reason that this month failed me, was that I only went to London once.


I know.


ONCE.


And even then it was at the start of August, when my auntie and cousin were over from Canada, so we took them on a sightseeing trip. So I have been Londonless for nearly a month, which quite frankly is not on, and has caused me much sadness, loneliness, and hoards of life frustration. And I'm not even exaggerating. 


A few days after they left we were on our way to Devon. For a week. Just us 4. No communication. Just old people. Lots of them. A full blog on the week would be totally pointless, so you can just use your imagination, so long as you involve the old people in every scenario.


Now the 15th August I was already half way through the month and hadn't really done anything. Skip to the 24th and results day had arrived. 2 A*s, 9 As and 1 B. To say I was ecstatic with that would be an understatement. No Cs! As in all the Sciences and Business! Clearly a genius*.


A few arguments, running away happenings, moody Louise, and a bit of journo-work-which-I-might-get-paid-for days later, we are here on 31st August, the eve of what I'm calling 'Davina Part II'. I've managed to get myself on the guest list for Chattyman tomorrow, for myself plus one, and that one being Nadia. I mean, it's no biggie obv, the guests are only Davina McCall, Katy Perry, Paul O'Grady and Brandon Flowers.








.............................................








SCCREEEEEEEEEEEEAAAMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


So yeah. It'll fill a day, I guess.


Hell starts on Friday. Sixth Form. A Levels. Ready? No. X


(* a good guesser)


PHOTO OF THE MONTH:

Ronan with his 'what the effity eff is she yabbering on about' face, and me clearly ranting on whilst making huge gestures and flashing my tan line.

So

I applied for a job yesterday. A real job. Well, I say real job, I mean a weekend job in a library. 

I had to fill it loads of forms online. Most of which I answered as 'None' or 'n/a' or just left it blank, cos I haven't bloody done anything.  If they're looking for someone with experience then I have no hope. They also wanted to know my sexuality and religion. I ticked 'Heterosexual' and 'Lesbian' then added as a note (well I THINK I'm heterosexual but I'm not totally sure. I may swing the opposite way. I'll keep you posted.)* Points to Louise for creativity. Then I ticked all six religion options and added (I like to practise all, to cover every eventuality that may occur during my life.)* 10 points. I was also tempted to put my age as 205, but I thought that might be pushing the mark and be really childish.

The box where you sell yourself was cool though. Naturally I shouted for "MUUUUMMMMM..." cos I "NEEDed HELP WITH THE HARD BIIIIIIIIIIT". But she just stared at the screen and after a while said "Well I don't know. Say you're amazing and they'd die without you." before walking away to carry on doing the washing...or other mumsy things...*shrugs* So I filled it with "Why hello. To be honest, I have a shitload of stuff I could tell you about me, so I'm going to make this short and sweet. I'm amazeballs and am gonna be, like, well famous one day. So you should hire me so in 10 years time you can say 'Ooooooooh guurrrrllll I SO knew Louise Jones before she got proper rich and famooooo.' Love to the family. Caio."* 100 points. I am pretty much guaranteed the place.

IN OTHER NEWS:

I get my GCSE results next Tuesday. That's LESS THAN A WEEK my friends. Let us pray. And book a one way ticket to Japan. They have everything in Japan. Everyone (adulty people) keep asking "How do you think you did?" and I have no fucking idea. Which makes the whole situation a whole lot worse cos I have a load of As on my left shoulder going "Oh babe you aced them all. You wrote like a bleedin' genius and didn't even get hand aching syndrome at the end. You ticked those boxes like a PRO. Chillax. Have a kitkat." and then I have a load of Cs on my right shoulder going "Girl you better be shitting your pants cos you FUCKED EVERYTHING UP FOOOOOL. You misinterpreted every question and your quality of language and structure was utter shite. Start taking drugs and getting early maternity wear NOW. Underage & Preggo have allocated you a slot." so I'm like SAY WHAAAAT?! I can picture myself in that hall, shaking and dripping. The dripping can be from sweat, tears or wee. Make your choice and delete where applicable. The big brown envelope will be put in my clammy hands but will be immediately too sopping soggy for me to read what grades I got. The ink will spread down the sheet, onto my hands, arms, and slide onto the floor, spelling out the words "SCREW UP" Oh Jesus.

My birthday is in 22 days. I shall be 17. RTKFGXBWKMTRGKRRTIELKT\MELRMURB NITMKHVRTNIGUMNHYKHNYH. I want a Big Brother party. As in, I want to live in the house with a load of friends (plus some Twitter people, Sam Pepper and Josie) and have tasks and have it filmed and have Marcus Bentley narrating and EVERYTHING. It would totes make sense that this should happen, cos my birthday is a day before the Ultimate BB final (maybe) and it's not like they need the house anymore. So yes, do note down September 9th. Oh, you want to get me a card and a present? You don't have to! No seriously don't. You'll jump off a building if I refuse to accept it? Oh well if you insist. Bless you.

I wish I could make this blog longer. But I have no more news. At all. Boring sod. However, I have set myself a mission to make my whole blog more popular. I am being serious now. Seriously. *serious face* I want it spread round Twitter (RTs and mentions), Facebook, and on your toast. I want a ton of followers and have 50 comments on every blog post, like other blogs do *glares at them*. I want to win a Blog Award! "Louise, you WOULD LIKE, not you WANT." Sorry mum. X

*I didn't

*splutters* You what?

I went to Devon on holiday with my famalam this week. It was full of oldies and was a teen nightmare. I survived. But I think there's something in its water...


1) I can shuffle cards. I've never been able to shuffle cards. I can now shuffle cards. 
2) I am addicted to Come Dine With Me which I previously couldn't stand.
3) I like to shout at the little pricks on My Super Sweet 16.
4) My mum sleeptalks.
5) I am very good at Pool.
6) I really like 70s music.
7) I have a new love for peppers. Including the Sam kind.
8) I like Billy Joel.
9) I want Adam Garcia.
10) 'He' is not entering my mind anymore. 


If they don't shock you, wait until you hear the next two whoppers...


11) I've gone from not caring about fashion, to being in love with it. I want everything new. I'm staring at passers by to see what they're wearing and contemplating whether I want it or not. I have to go in every single shop we pass. I go to the fashion pages in magazines first. I want every bag in every colour. I want 100 pairs of shoes. I want skinny jeans, bootcut jeans, boyfriend jeans, straight leg jeans. I want hats. I want a lot.


12) I have a new favourite magazine. More. (I know right, WTF, who's taken Louise Emily Jones? Can her body have her back please?)


What on earth has Devon done to me? Am I growing up? X