The one where it all begins

Greetings nudes and nudettes,

I am starting this blog to follow my life as I spiral from merely suicidal to Michael Jackson-esque. That is, my version of suicidal, which is rocking in the corner, crying while listening to Miley Cyrus.

So, about me:

I am 22 next week and a student. I live with my boyfriend who I moved in with after 2 days....that is after I split up with my boyfriend of 2 years 2 days before....it's all very Jane Austen. I have the worst health of a vaguely healthy person in the world. This week alone, thanks to NHS.UK, I have diagnosed myself with diabetes, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, Swine Flu and cancer. Basically, I'm going to die. To top it all off, I am starting this blog on the advice of my singing teacher, who I shall name MileyHater (she evidently has no taste in music) despite the fact she is a terrible influence and to top it all off, I am becoming more aware of the fact that she realises any dare or challenge she poses, I will attempt in some manner to achieve. This is never good. It is more than slightly disturbing that she told me to leave my boyfriend and run off with my new boyfriend. We all know how that panned out.

I have a new lifetime goal every week-this week it is to get through my 22nd birthday without stripping or flashing my boobs, shrieking 'ooa ooa', which invariably happens every year, apart from the year I felt it more appropriate to steal a toilet seat from my local and pose with it around my neck. That may have been the low point of my life. I'd also like to grow my fingerprint back after an unfortunate hair straightener accident several days ago.

The most positive part of my life is my new love and he makes it all worthwhile. After 3 days together, I cemented our love by getting mortal and vomiting all over him before promptly concussing myself. He decided to pay me back by informing me last week he had warts on his penis and I would have to go to the GUM clinic. Upon my fury, he said "It's ok for you, I have to have a swab shoved down my jap's eye, women love having stuff up there, it's like a tickle stick for you!" I tried to explain that being swabbed or having a smear is not like an audience with Ken Dodd but I could tell he didn't believe me.

It's also scary how we are rapidly turning into Katie and Peter. We originally started off like Ali G and Me Julie, i.e. rampant, moved into a Richard and Judy phase (some slight arguing) before ending up where we are now. Our conversation last week went something like this:

Me: Why do you never listen to me?
Him: What?
Me: You're f****** cheating on me, aren't you? Don't even deny it!
Him: Whatever I said in response, you're going to freak aren't you?
Me: I'm f***ing leaving (storms off and packs a bag).
Him: Where are you going?
Me: To my mum's, I think we should see other people.
Him: OK. What do you want for tea?
Me: (putting bag down) What have we got?
Him: Pizza?
Me: yay! I love you.

You see my point.

So, if the story you were looking for was following a tragic heroine on the road to ruin, this blog is the one for you!

Love Love-Hoe x