I wooooon't give up the fight for yoooou.

I'm not sure where this strange love of Jason Donovan came from but I'm not complaining. I have an essay which I haven't started in on the 28th and an exam I haven't finished revising for on the 29th, so life is going greaaaaaat. It's kinda hard to motivate myself into writing an essay when I know I only need a 55 to come out with a 2:1 in that module, and my other assignments in that class have been 63 and 68. Bleeeeeh, the Restoration is super interesting and everything but I don't really like writing about it all that much. Also, I'm ill, as usual. But this is the first time in a while actually. I don't know what I expected, as soon as it looks like summer my body breaks down and runs away and, as my Facebook feed has informed me, it definitely feels like summer right now. But nope, when I want to be revising in a park with an icepop I'm stuck shivering in bed with copious amounts of nose gunk, ringing ears and a bipolar temperature. Oh, and season two of Gossip Girl which I'm still rewatching. Jenny was badass.

My boyfriend is playing some zombie game on Skype right now so I'm using that as an excuse not to study whilst I write this blog. My original intentions for which were not to complain about my university life but to write about a list of things I'm looking forward to when I finally finish next week. I move back home sometime in July, so I'm planning on making the most of living in a place 'bursting with character and individuality' (but then again, this is Hull so that probably means people with mental health issues and screaming Polish people). Last summer I saw an ice cream cart with the Grim Reaper painted on the front, so I really want to get something from there. I also want to buy a fishing net and go the park and show the little children how it's done. There's also my plan of getting a Cosmopolitan from every cocktail bar I see and scoring them all because, well, I like them. So really I don't have that much planned to last me a month and a half, but whatever, I need something to hold on to before I implode.

Now, in the immortal words of my queen:

You know you love me
xoxo
Gossip Girl

(which reminds me, I'm running away to York to have a day with the gay best friend, the one that's not a lesbian, at some point-- he is the real Gossip Girl)

Topshop Wishlist

Since I started my second year of uni, I've gone a bit over the top when it comes to shopping. I don't know if it's something to do with me having my own house (or more importantly, a whole new wardrobe to fill) but something in me just snapped this year and I want to cry a little bit when I think about how much I've spent. Nonetheless, I've been resisting these horrible urges recently and saving my money to do something more worthwhile this summer than dressing nicely. But just because I'm not buying clothes, doesn't mean I can't still indulge myself in the Topshop website, and seen as I won't be wearing these clothes (who am I kidding? I'll probably buy at least three of them) I want to showcase them somewhere in my life. Forgive my horrible attempt at making one of these, it's my first time.

(L-R: Slit Back Chiffon Shirt £36, Blue Acid Wash Backpack £34, VECTRA4 Canvas Studded Slippers £28, Peace Buckle Skinny Belt £12, Petite Lurex Skater Dress £38, Petite Curve Hem Tank £10)

Also these babies which I forgot to put in even though they were what inspired me to make the list in the first place. I told you I'm bad at this.

AMELIE Studded Zip Side Boots £80

Who needs food, right?

My one true love, television.

As a university student, I am fond of television for two reasons. The first reason is because I'm a film student and I've tricked myself into thinking it classes as studying, but the main reason is because I have absolutely no self discipline and think that revising for ten minutes equals forty minutes of TV. And as much as I love this glorious medium, every year at this time the gods of television laugh at me from above whilst they choose to have the season finales of everything I love within one week of each other. It's as if they are conspiring against me, actually wanting me to revise for my exams or something. Pffft. So, in bitter retaliation and an attempt to procrastinate even further, I give you an account of my week dealing with tearing apart of my heart away after every episode I watch.

Desperate Housewives: I'll begin with this not only because it was the first show I watched this week, but because it wasn't just a season finale but a series finale. These never treat me well and I still don't think I'll ever get over what Lost did to me. But nonetheless, I persevered for two hours knowing that I'd either be very happy or very angry (either way, I knew I'd be a blubbering mess). As this is a spoiler free zone, I won't say why or when I cried, but I did. A lot. I will say though, that in usual series finale fashion, the ending was the tackiest thing I have possibly ever witnessed on television. Good lord.

Tear-o-meter: 7/10

Once Upon A Time: Because this was the first season and I only really got into watching it at all a couple of weeks ago, I wasn't expecting to be very emotionally affected by this one, and I wasn't. It was painstakingly cliché and so, so rushed. They either needed it to be longer than forty minutes or shouldn't have resolved as much. Seriously, with a series long build up I expected to actually witness the solution the first time around without having to rewind it thinking "... wait, did I just miss what I thought I did?" They made it perfectly obvious there will be a second season though, although the cliffhanger wasn't particularly good enough to make me scream at the screen that it couldn't do that to me, which happens more often than not. Still, I got involved with a lot of the characters in this and was really happy how things turned out for them.

What-did-I-just-watch-o-meter: 5/10

Gossip Girl: Now that is what I call a season finale. Don't judge me on watching this okay, I'm obsessed. As much as I hate the word 'ship', my love of Chuck and Blair is the closest thing that could ever be classified as such a thing. It's only been three days and I miss it so much that I've started watching the first season again when I was only planning to watch the pilot. I'm very interested to see how the next season plays out, since I've heard it's only going to be a small one and they left so many loose ends. Well, to my taste, anyway. My only problem is that they are insistent with this Ivy/Lola storyline, so I hope the last season doesn't focus on them too much, I only really care about how things turn out for the original few and I'd love for them to bring Jenny back.

Holy-fuck-yes-yes-this-is-so-good-o-meter: 8/10

How I Met Your Mother: My love for this show came out of nowhere, especially when I usually hate the sitcom format. My beliefs of the sitcom have been kinda reconfirmed with this past season though and I think I've only enjoyed like two episodes. Even with the last episode being longer than usual, I still don't think they did the earlier seasons any justice. I JUST WANT TO KNOW WHO THE MOTHER IS OKAY? That bit with Ted was just horrible, because we know she's not the mother. Also, I'm all for a bit of foreshadowing but that revealing the bride bit was ridiculous, the conversation with Barney not even two minutes before made it obvious who the bride was going to be even before the camera pan. Pretty much a waste of a season, if you ask me.

I-could-write-better-shit-than-this-o-meter: 7/10

Welp, I guess I have a couple more weeks of excruciating emptiness until True Blood and Pretty Little Liars return to me. Unless I oblige by the annual tradition of re-watching Digimon. No television, no Netflix and no social life... it's hard to be me.

Subcultures that captured my heart ~*~AND MY SOUUUUL~*~

Inspired by a blogpost on Sibby's blog, I travelled to the depths of my old Photobucket account to see what subcultures I'd been apart of throughout my teenage years. Incase you can't tell, I am not looking forward to turning twenty in July. But then again, when I see these pictures, sometimes I think it might be a good thing.

Shortly after my thirteenth birthday I was overcome with the desire to dye my hair red. My mother was happy to oblige because it wasn't that girl from Paramore or some other teenage idol that inspired me... it was Bree from Desperate Housewives. Whilst I am sure there are probably some pictures of me with this hair colour in the depths of the Internet somewhere, I can not find any. Anyway, the only reason I mention this is because my head of year in year nine hated me more than was probably legal, like she made it perfectly obvious she detested me. And this was all because she was a PE teacher and I struggled to run for thirty seconds before claiming a heart attack. Long story short, after countless weeks of arguing ("I did dye it, it just didn't work") I was forced into dying my hair black to save myself from expulsion. There was a girl in my school who did liquid gold and 'ruined' a chair in the maths department, so my school attacking me over a hair colour clearly shows where its priorities where. Nonetheless, my reaction to this forced hair colour was to give myself over to the dark side, literally, and trade my previous ~*~super kawaii~*~ style (think granny cardigans, lensless glasses and neon hair bows) for the attire of a funeral attendee. Thus, thirteen year old emo Rosy (and her unruly block fringe) was born. Note: click the picture, I seem to have been cropped out of my own blog, thanks Blogger.

What I like about this picture is the two other girls in it identified as goths, but we still looked exactly the same. Teenage originality at its finest.

When I was about fourteen the black dye had finally started to fade and at the same time, thanks to the wonders of Myspace, I had the discovered the art of the scene kid. Now I never actually managed to perfect this and to this day I blame my mother. Peroxide hair was a must for this subculture uniform ("if you wanna rebel, look like me"), but my mother was very much against letting me ruin my hair at such a young age, so the compromise was that I was allowed to bleach chunks of my hair blonde as long as I stayed away from having to dye my roots every month. I thought I would be sneaky and dye more and more of it until I was fully blonde, which kinda worked, but it took a year.

I was quite content with hair bows, skinny jeans (I was the first of my friends to get skinny jeans at age thirteen, still proud of that) and Nike Dunks for about two years. Being a wannabe scene kid was probably the subculture that held my attention for the longest, even though I seem to have reverted into my twelve/thirteen year old self recently with my love of black and studding everything I own. I attempted to have a brief experience with indie culture, but that literally lasted about two months before I got really bored of cardigans and the colour teal. Before I became a total slave to Topshop at sixteen (still ongoing by the way, I need help), I finally achieved the peroxide bleach hair I'd craved for so long. I don't know what made my mother finally give in, I just asked when I was fifteen and she agreed. I mean, I had to be ginger for a couple of weeks and when I finally got my white hair I knew I looked like Patrick Starr (I was pink), but I refused to get rid of it. I had worked hard for that hair. I don't remember when it stopped being ice blonde, it seems to have happened gradually until I realised my hair was the horrible ash colour I seem permanently stuck with now. But this was when my four year obsession with Myspace seemed to die and before I decided to grow my hair out for the first time since I was twelve.

It seemed like my teenage fashion sense was more fickle than this when I planned to write this post. I also couldn't find a picture from when I had a pink and blue fringe at age, what I think was, fifteen. All I've come to realise from this post is that 1) I'll do anything instead of revision and 2) I like to think I'm super fashionable and above all of this now but the Star Wars shirt I'm wearing would have been ripped off me by fourteen year old Rosy if she was given the chance (mmmm, time travel incest, niiiice).

Well... that went well.

So that last post was a lie... ooops. Nonetheless, it's exam/essay season and I will do anything to procrastinate so here I am, crawling back. I figured that this is the place I used to come to be whiney so I might as well do that again for a little bit because right now I feel like I'm wasting my life, y'know, the usual stuff. I really regret not doing a more vocational degree, one where you actually learn skills rather than just learning for the sake of learning. I'm not sure how much of this literary and cinema criticism will help me later in life, it just seems like learning for the sake of learning. This time next year, I'll be just about finishing off my final essays and wanting to cry and deteriorating into nothingness and I get scared just thinking about it. Princeton from Avenue Q said it best: 'what do you do with a BA in English? Also film... I guess even the puppet had better life prospects than me. I've always said I wanted to write (although I hate actually declaring that on the Internet because I don't want to be included in that group of fourteen year olds who use the xD emoticon and talk using .gifs) and even though the medium of what I want to write has changed over the years, I still really like the idea of doing that. Although I can't tell if that's just because it's the only thing I'm actually good at or if I genuinely enjoy it enough to devote my entire life to it. Part of me wants to run away and work in a Coyote Ugly-esque bar, part of me wants to work my way up a magazine starting from intern to fashion editor and part of me just wants to marry rich and surround myself with an army of pugs and cats. Whichever of those I decide to do, I should probably start this essay on South Park first.