Emma Says...
(Like Simon says, only much, much better.)
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How am I supposed to sort out my life when I can’t even get to grips with fake eyelashes?
Riddle me this.
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I will seriously not be impressed.
I don’t want to sprout a pig’s tail and ears either, or a snout. I don’t want to snort whenever I try and talk. I certainly don’t want to have to go into the woods and root around for ‘truffles’ (confusingly, not real chocolate truffles, some other kind of truffle that is actually a mushroom? i give up with cooking. it is unnecessarily confusing.) How embarrassing and awkward.
I’m pretty sure that’s what happens. I didn’t actually listen to the news when they were describing the symptoms, so I made up my own.Whatever.
This could well turn into ‘The blog of girl turned pig’
stay tuned.
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Oh I am so sleepy and tired.
And I am in bed.
So why am I not asleep?
there is one of life’s unanswered questions, like ‘do cats have knees?’ and ‘whatever actually happened after I drank all that absinthe on my 20th birthday?’
we will never know my friends. we will never know.
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Quite literally, what is the point of dieting if the drunk fat me inside is going to make a bacon sandwich at 3am and then my memory is going to make me forget it until now.
My body is conspiring against me in order to make me the ‘World’s Fattest Woman’, and sit in my pyjamas all day watching re-runs of American ‘Wife Swap’
unbelievable how much I would be fine with this.
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Oh Harry, I know how you feel.
I should know, I am the Regina George of many situations.
Ok, that’s a lie. I am probably the girl who wants to ‘bake a cake made out of rainbows and smiles and we can all eat it and be happy’
I would love to be Janice Ian.
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So here I am writing a blog. It is my first attempt at it so if i just ramble on for ages feel free to play a little song in your head and occassionally nod to show that you are listening. I will know you aren’t though.
Well, about me. I should probably tell you about myself. for all you know the name Emma could be a cover-up and I could actually be a fat eskimo called Barry.
1. My name actually is Emma. Not Barry. I wish my name was Esmerelda but hey, you can’t have everything.
2. I am 21. It’s pretty fantastic and I enjoy doing all the regular things that 21 year olds do, so if you are expecting me to be holier-than-thou and very goody two shoes then look away now.
3. I quite like writing (Mostly about myself) So i figured I’d give this a go, because quite frankly, who doesn’t want to hear about my take on things? No one? exactly.
