Today I met my mum in town and she said "I read your blog. I really like it."
This is supposed to be anonymous! Next thing I know Family Thrift will be commenting:
'Nice work! You are so funny and you've really captured us, we are scruffy and tightfisted and we did treat you like shit lol, speak soon (via our lawyers) : p'
My mum found my blog because after much begging I accepted her friend request on Facebook. I changed my profile so that all she could see was my name and profile picture, but idiotically I posted a link to my blog on my cousin's wall... my cousin clearly doesn't have anything to hide as has given my mum Full Access to her cyber life and thus my mum was permitted to read my blog. So far she has only read one post about the family party, but it can only be a matter of time before she is googling 'Dubstep DJs'.
I'm hoping she doesn't have the computer-literacy skills to find my blog a second time.
It was terrible when she announced she had read my blog. She also says my aunty has read it. Why are aunties and mums on facebook?
My mum said "You made a mistake though."
I thought 'What? Going back to a stranger's hotel room?'
But she said "You spelt 'luck' as in 'good luck' with a double O."
I hope she doesn't read any more as I don't want to censor myself. I already have to censor my thoughts. I just want everything in my brain to be out of it, as it's too confusing having all these Mad Thoughts inside, All The Time.
Speaking of Mad Thoughts, for Christmas my dad gave me a tiny cardboard box and inside was a Daim Bar, a packet of Rolos, a packet of Polos, a Twix, a Timeout and twenty quid.
Nice one on the twenty though, dad! My nana also came through and gave me sixty quid (but then she is a secret lord of the criminal underworld) and a peaked cap she had knitted for me. I will have to take lots of pictures of me wearing it, because it's not even as if she just bought me a hat I don't like; she specifically picked out the wool and the pattern and the colour and she knitted it with her own hands and I think the 'peak' is probably made from cardboard that she cut from a cereal box herself.
In other news, I'm going to London tomorrow for New Years Eve. I shall be frequenting Brixton Academy with Kat and her good pal/lover (ha!) Ricky plus chums. To be honest I feel a bit of a fraud as everyone going is really knowledgable about DJs and clubs etc. When we went to see Deadmau5 and Soul Clap people kept mentioning DJs I had never heard of and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from blurting out 'I went to see Dolly Parton at the MEN.'
I don't even know what to wear tomorrow. I need something thats a bit ravey but also it is NYE so I want to look a bit nice.
And as for my hair and make-up- well I've had two rather tragic accidents in that department. I'd like to take a moment to say RIP fringe, and RIP eyebrows.
On Tuesday, just before the family party kicked off, I had a moment of madness and decided enough was enough with my overgrown fringe. I grabbed the kitchen scissors and decided to give myself a quick trim, only to end up with approximately one inch of fringe left, and that's on the longest side.
'No worry!' I thought, 'As long as they're in tip top condition, you can just pin back the fringe and let the eyebrows shine for once!'
So. I went to get them threaded, like I always do when I have money and time and unkept brows. After twenty minutes of eye-watering pain and lots of sneezing, I was left with the sort of eyebrows you only see on Disney villains, or Cher Lloyd.
The only thing I could think to do to salvage the situation was to buy lots of velcro hair rollers and a can of hairspray. I may have shit eyebrows and a shit fringe and shit clothes, but by God my hair will bounce!
Now I only have one dilemma. Exactly how weird is it for me to travel to London and have a look round the shops whilst wearing my hair rollers? I mean, if we were in Liverpool... but I know, I know, London isn't Liverpool and come to think of it you can't even get away with it in Manchester, but I have to do something.
Kat and Ricky have already made serious insinuations that I came across as 'quite Northern', what will they say when Hilda fucking Ogden rolls up tomorrow asking where the rave is? Maybe I will get some sort of flowery housecoat and keep the rollers in all night and pretend I am being Ironic.