YOU PUT THE FUN IN FUNERAL, YOU'RE THE ONE IN ONE-DIMENSIONAL

Read one of the blogs that I read every day but I hate it hate it hate it which is why I read that blog every day. Capisce? Anyway, today she had posted pictures of some boy taking pictures of himself in various "O-M-G! Look at me! I'm such a poet/inspiration/model and I'm so whimsical/quirky/thoughful" poses and she wrote about his "amazing cheekbones" and skinny arms etc. Like, vomit! So tired of all these boys and girls taking pictures of themselves dressed in skinny jeans with nothing on top (boys) or long t-shirts with nothing underneath except knickers (girls), smoking a cigarette and looking oh, so thoughtfully out of a window, which (obviously) should lead us to assume that they are having a deep, profound thought about the mysteries of life. Discovering some eternal truth that sadly would have gone unnoticed had they not taken that picture, posted it on their blog/flickr/facebook and added a quote from Camus' The outsider (which they've never read) (another popular choice is something from Peter Doherty's repertoire because (gasps) "he is a propa poet, that boy is, a propa hero"). What baffles me is how people still seem to find these people interesting. I'm yawning just thinking about them.

(Note: I figured I could put this rant on my book blog because, even though blogs are not books, it still involves reading, right? Oh, like anyone cares except for me, I can just post this wherever the fuck I want, it's just that I'd like for this blog to be strictly about books but since I'm not strictly about anything specific, my blog probably won't be either. I'm constantly side-tracking. Now that I'm on things that I've read but not in books, according to Cosmopolitan I'm supposed to get involved in a relationship next year that will be "unlike the stressful situations you've faced over the last couple of years." I will, apparently, not get scared away either when this prospective love of mine talks about commitment, flats and (the dreaded words in my book) moving in. Well, dear Cosmopolitan, as lovely as this horoscope sounds, I have to say it's unlikely. First of all: me making sensible choices? Unlikely. Second: Me not freaking out over commitment things? Nah, unlikely. And three: me in a relationship? A proper relationship? Living together, sleeping together, waking up together? Hell to the no. I also think you wrote something about it being romantic. I don't do romance. I'm the least romantic girl in the world. I just cringe, avoid, look away, get bored, feel embarrassed. I know, Cosmo. This means that I'm not a Cosmogirl because every Cosmogirl likes a bit of romance, Twilight and Colin Firth. Yet again something I'm missing out on. Not a proper woman, really. Bitterness is not becoming).

To get out of this long pharenthesis, I have no idea what I'm bitter about but it could be:
a) that I'm not in London
b) my generation
c) girl magazines.

Summed it up quite nicely. However, could also be that I'm tired. Seems likely.