My mum's on Facebook...

Have you ever noticed how products never turn out the way they’re supposed to?

Case and point: I bought a “grow your own crystal” set from the Science Museum, many, many years ago. I was so excited. Everyday I would check if the humble rock and blue liquid I’d been given had grown into a magnificent crystal, and every day it hadn’t. And it never did. Like I said, this was many years ago, and I should’ve forgotten it by now, but I haven’t. It’s irked me ever since. I felt so betrayed.

So thinking about my younger and more vulnerable years has made me think about how I haven’t changed at all when it comes to shopping for products. I still fall foul to gimmicks when I see a new gadget on TV. Though, for some reason, the products that the very nice ladies and gentlemen on the shopping channels demonstrate always seem amazing, but rarely are. I will admit, they’re very enticing. Why wouldn’t I need a yoghurt maker? Especially when it comes with enough yoghurt mix to make 16 litres of yoghurt in over two flavours that I haven’t tried, but that they assure me are delicious. And how I ever survived without an electric apple peeler is beyond me, but better late than never.

What I want to know, though, is who devises the imbecilic tests to prove these products’ effectiveness?

Who decides that the best way to test a good shampoo is to tie the hair in a knot and yank. “Yep, it stays on her head. B+”.

And anyone who gets blood, red wine, grass stains, gravy and jam on their t-shirt all at the same time must’ve been having one wild night, and they don’t need a good washing detergent (that works even at 30°!), they need an incinerator. And possibly some counselling.

But do you know what ads really disgust me? With false advertising galore, and semi-pornographic pictures to boot, the winner has to be Abercrombie and Fitch.

They advertise this semi-naked man (whose jeans only need to be a touch lower for this image to have to ask for photo ID as proof of age), as if to say:

“Wear our clothes and you’ll look like that! Except, you won’t, because he’s not wearing any clothes at all.”

And if you buy their clothes, you don’t look like that. Trust me. Worst £20 I’ve ever spent on a non-magic t-shirt. 

A not completely unrelated quote: This is the greatest case of false advertising I’ve seen since I sued the movie ‘The Never Ending Story’ - Lionel Hutz.

I’m one of those people who, when it comes to songs, remembers specific lines.

I learn single lines, at various points in the song, and then have to pad the rest out and wait tensely until I reach the next line I know. And there are only so many ways you can cover it up:

• The mumble - Start with the lyrics you know, and them hum and mumble your way through the tune until you reach another part. Especially useful in Bob Dylan songs.
• The nod - Start with the lyrics you know and then nod in time with the music until you reach the next part you know. This will make it look like you’re too cool to sing full sections of the song, so you just sing your favourite lines and purposely don’t sing the rest. You absolutely could if you wanted, you just choose not to.
• The mouthing of made up words - Sing the bit you know, and then make up words to the next part, mouthing them. As long as the person you’re with isn’t a master lip reader, it’s hard to know for certain that you didn’t mouth the right lyrics. As far as they know, you’re just too cool to move your mouth and make actual words come out.

It’s a genius plan, but terribly clumsy. Though, so long as you look like you know what you’re doing, you’re golden. The name of the game is, therefore, confidence.

Though, nothing quite stings like the pain of having just sung the wrong lyrics. Ouch.

Often, I look at my keyboard and think “Why are you there?”.

Let me give you a few examples of unnecessary keys:

• CAPS LOCK - HOW OFTEN DO YOU HAVE TO TYPE UPPER CASE LETTERS CONSECUTIVELY? PEOPLE ONLY REALLY USE IT DURING ARGUMENTS AND, NO, I AM NOT SHOUTING AT YOU.
• ~ - What is that? Does anybody actually know when it’s used? Apart from when MSN was big and everyone had it in their usernames, and when used offensively and superfluously in eBay feedback (~~excellent transaction A++++~~).
• Scroll lock - I don’t even…
• Insert - What is your purpose? Whenever I press you, stuff disappears. What the hell, man?

I’ve never used them, perhaps you have.

When I look at them, I think about how I could do without it. And it’s true, we could just remove them. But the reason I don’t remove them is the same reason I keep spare buttons that I find lying around the house - I know that they’ve got a purpose, and I should keep them, just in case.

I don’t know why I ponder these things. I just do.

(Inspiration for this from @natalietran, who is amazing.)

I think I’m being very courteous when I hold the door open for someone. Whether I know them or not - courteous nonetheless.

What I don’t like is when I hold the door open for someone I don’t know and they spit in my face.

Not literally, of course. They spit in my face, by which I mean, they don’t go through the awaiting door. No, instead they turn a corner, or they go up some stairs, or they turn around and run away. And I’m left standing there, holding a door open, grinning to myself because I think that I’m being altruistic. And on their merry way, in a direction that is not through your door, they normally put across one of two expressions:

• A look of pity - they look at you as if to say “I’m genuinely sorry that your act of kindness is unfound, maybe next time you’ll have better luck.” They pity you. They pity you, because you look like a fool.
• A smirk - a grin on their face that says “Look at that loser, standing there like a loser, holding a door open that nobody will walkthrough. What a loser.”

Of course, I can’t blame them - they need to go where they need to go, and they need to go in the direction that will take them there. But if I can’t blame them, who can I blame? 

My local Tube station is very near the end of a line. As the carriage emptied, and as we neared the end of the line, spaces began to open. By my penultimate stop, there was me and the lady next to me. And no one else.

We were sitting next to each other in an empty carriage.

Now, I’ve been studying the unwritten set of rules on picking your seat on the Tube for a while now, so for those of you who aren’t as so akin to the wonder that is the London Underground, here is a guide:

The aim of the game: avoid sitting near a life form at all costs.

So, naturally, there’s something very odd about two people sitting next to each other despite a carriage-ful of seats available. I felt like I should move, but I didn’t for one reason: I couldn’t care less. London’s set of unwritten rules about keeping yourself to yourself and keeping yourself as far away from anyone else as possible is ridiculous.

Instead, I saw us there in solidarity. Me and a slightly-older-than-middle-aged woman, simultaneously breaking “the rules” of London public transport. Boris Johnson would be disappointed. I was ecstatic.

And I felt horrible leaving her to get off at my station. Like I was leaving a comrade in battle. At the very least, I thought I should say bye or something, or acknowledge her existence as I left.

These are the things that go through my mind. Go figure.

Let me break it down for you:

You’re somewhere - a street, a park, a museum, your local branch of Sainsbury’s… - use your imagination. You’re walking along the street, grass, dinosaur exhibit, cereal aisle - again, use your imagination - and you someone is walking in your direction who looks somewhat familiar. “Hey, that looks kinda like [insert name here]” you think to yourself, chuckling at the absurdity of actually seeing someone you know outside of an organised meet-up. After you stop chuckling because most of the pedestrians/dogs/curators/shop assistants are thinking you’re insane, you realise that it is [insert above name]. And you are mortified. You see, that person is a colleague, maybe a school friend, friend of a friend etc. - you know them, but not well enough to class them as a friend.

If it was a good friend, you would say hello, maybe chat a bit, and get on with your business. But it’s not.

So now that it’s broken down (and trust me, you’ve broken down), I’m going to list the most common tactics to deal with this. And remember, this is a war. Battle stations, people.

• Avoid eye contact at all costs, that way, if they say hello, you can pretend that you didn’t see them, and thus you have an excuse for not being the one to spark interaction. If they also employ this tactic, you’ve both dodged one seriously awkward bullet.
• Preoccupy yourself by pretending to receive a text, or maybe suddenly strike up a conversation with whoever you’re with (if you’re lucky enough to have an ally to help you through this ordeal). You’re therefore far too busy to be disturbed.
• Change direction. Just go somewhere else. Down a side street, in a shop, under a table… It may take longer to get where you’re going, but you avoid the tension. Please note, this tactic should be used with discretion - if the person with whom you are about to collide is a talker, this is definitely worth it, if they’re not, try another tactic. 

Or my personal favourite:

• Stare at them strangely as you walk past, because you don’t know what else to do. After all, “There’s a fine line between good eye contact, and the piercing stare of a psychopath.” (Maureen Johnson) Hopefully, you’ll land yourself just on the wrong side of that line, and alienate them to the point where they don’t want to approach you.

It’s going to happen - one day.

As the ever widening world of the internet reaches an ever widening world of people, your mum will get one of those Facebooks. And it’s not like you can deny their friend request, I mean, it’s your mum. What sort of monster denies a friend request from their mum?

This monster.

I denied my mum’s persistent requests for a while, until she sent me a message asking if she could be my friend (despite being just downstairs at the time), and I finally gave in due to a fit of cringing.

So how do I resolve it?

• Remove them from your friends list - you evil, evil, person (I look down upon you, sir);
• Censor your posts - only post appropriate content;
• Keep your friends list in check - no unfavourable characters, please.

But here’s the way that I see as most effective:

• Hide your posts from her (using that little lock, then clicking customise).

It’ll make you feel like a secret agent, but at least you won’t have to delete her (unless you’re terrible and don’t mind severing your friend connection with the woman who gave life to you).

Alternatively: Use Google+

But that’s only if you’re feeling particularly desperate. I haven’t reached there yet.

This boy for president.

Please notice that this post will have no substance to it. It will be rubbish because I have nothing to say at the moment and no time in which to say it.

That is all.

Peace out.