Musings on being a growed-up

So this whole being independent thing is a little weird.

Yes, before you ask, it has indeed taken me a little over a year to come to this conclusion. Shut up. It would take its time to hit you too.

And I am talking about real independence here, real living-on-your-own and occasionally ending up a little bit homeless and having to earn your own money and being well and truly screwed if you can't, kind of independence. Not going away to do a nice uni course and having people give you the requisite money for free, kind of independence. I am sure that can be pretty tough too. But I haven't done it so there is little point in me going on about what it is like. Because I simply don't know.

In any case. Basically what brought this on is this sudden sense of amazement I got today that I have managed, on a basic day-to-day level, to keep myself actually alive for the last fourteen or so months. You know? I've had to buy my own food, cook my own meals, put Mickey Mouse plasters on my own boo-boos... ok, no, but you know what I mean. For the last year, I have got up, almost every day, and dragged my ass to work, through wind, or rain, or scorching heat, or the occasional light and rather wussy Southern attempt at a flurry of snow. I have sat there and done my goddamn job, boring and horrible as some of them (although happily not the current one) have been, and I have come home afterwards, and done my own washing, and cooked my own food, and somehow managed to conduct a flourishing social life (and also watch a lot of Most Haunted, Walker; Texas Ranger, and, more recently, House).

Please don't get me wrong, by the way! Independence is a seriously brilliant thing. I live in a house with some pretty awesome people. And many other awesome people knock on the door and come in quite a lot. We quite often convene in the kitchen and have funny conversations which ALWAYS end up with one of us saying something about a giant willy. Also we leave messages for each other in alphabet magnets on the fridge ('benny smells a lot like a monkey from darren') and in the steam on the bathroom mirror ('flaps'). We have barbeques and sing loud songs. Occasionally songs called "Fuck her gently." In the direction of the neighbours' window. At stupid 'o' clock at night. We drink quite a bit sometimes, and do silly things. Dancing around the living room to the music channels, whilst wearing a tambourine around our necks. Dancing on a genuine, professional pole dancing pole which Darren bought for his girlfriend and erected in the living room.
I can cook whatever I feel like. I can go out whenever I want with no warning and don't have a curfew. I can stay out at the Dungeon until 3am on a Wednesday and nobody cares (except me the next morning when I have to haul myself out of bed to go to work). I can stay up typing useless crap on the internet until 5am if I wish (yes, I have done this, yes, realising it was light outside and having to go to sleep was a horrible experience).

Also there are a whole lot of brilliant people around to keep me happy. Including a particularly brilliant person with spiky hair and a sexy black car. And more of a tan than I will ever have. So, please do not misunderstand me when I say 'independence is scary' because I am not really scared, and I am really very happy, and I like people, and I like things, and stuff. I am ok. I am good, in fact, despite admittedly some shitty things happening recently. I like to think I have dealt with and recovered from them admirably.

It is just a little scary that I've been doing the whole grown-up thing for two years now. Two years, people! That's a very long time. I kind of miss doing the whole not-grown-up thing.

It is with this in mind that I gleefully announce that I am applying to do a degree in Writing Popular Fiction at Southampton Solent University next year. So I can actually be a normal 19 year old, at last.
Actually, I will be 20 by that time.
Fuck.
But anyway. Student discounts, here I come!

Also education and blah.

In other news... Catherine is making me lasagne tonight. And then there will be a party.
I heart my life.

Capture the Flag.

So. Hands up who here has heard of flash mobbing?

Really? That many?

Ok, well congratulations all of you for being so up with things (just in case you didn't know what flashmobbing was, you'll notice I've given you the opportunity, by blogging this instead of asking you to your face, to find out about it on Wikipedia and act like you knew all about it anyway).

Well. In any case, flashmobbing is dead. Get over it.

But! I have an idea. And by 'I have an idea' I mean 'Somebody else had an idea and I'm going to use it (with permission, insofar as it is not copyrighted anyway, of course) because I am just that awesome'.

I fully intend to set up a new tradition in Southampton: Capture the Flag.

And no, I'm not talking about video games. I'm talking about Capture the Flag, played by real actual people, in the real actual city of Southampton. With real flags. Or something that looks like a flag. Possibly one of those little sandcastle flags, to add to the difficulty factor.

I'm quite early in the planning stages (i.e. I got the idea about an hour ago), but so far, this is how I see it going down.

• We publicise the event underground, through the usual surreptitious channels (by which I mean, err... MySpace, mainly), collecting email addresses, but not giving out locations or a date.
• When we have enough people, we send out an email to all those concerned, giving the date - with a reasonable amount of notice, of course - and the gathering place. Which will be near, but not in, the playing area.
• We have a theme. Each team will be either a colour, or a separate theme. You will already have guessed, if you know me at all, that I am thinking Pirates vs. Ninjas.
• There will be referees. They will be dressed as whatever the hell they like. Giant teddy bears. The CN Tower. A bottle of ketchup. Whatever.
• Communication will be by mobile phone. Referees will have the numbers for the two team captains. The captains will phone two other people, they will phone two other people, etc etc, you see how this works. This is to notify of scores, of time left at regular intervals, of prisoners taken, and anything else of importance, including the end of the game.
  
• We will take a whole lot of really, really stupid photos. If anything goes wrong: we plead the fifth! Or not. I don't really know what that means. We just cite our right to assemble, our right to dress like idiots, and our right to get the hell out of there and regroup, I suppose.

So. Who's with me?