Dessert first…

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Did anyone ever tell you “Life is short”? And because you were young, you weren’t an adult yet, you had so many plans ahead, you thought, “Hey, I still got time!”

Well, 40 years, even 20 years seems like a long time away from being right now. And yes, that is a long time away.

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But then again, it’s not. It stills feels like yesterday we were all counting down the New Year, waiting for the clocks to strike midnight, and drinking the first hours of 2018 away. Now, we’re already two weeks into January. Three hundred and fifty days to go until the next New Year countdown is sooner than you think.

Time flies by in today’s society. When I was a kid playing with my brother’s Lego (eventually I got my own), I had no concept of time, so it felt like centuries before my next birthday would come. Now, I’m 18, two hundred and six days away from being 19, five hundred and seventy-five days away from being 20. Now that I have a concept of time, that’s not long anymore.

I don’t remember where I first heard this statement, whether it was a movie or a friend, or somewhere else. All I remember is,

“Life is too short, eat dessert first.”

As a kid, that’s a dream come true, but I know now that it would ruin my meal if I did that. But, I don’t take it literally.

To me, what this statement says is,

“Life is too short to not live your dreams.”

So many people seem to be skipping dessert nowadays. Dessert doesn’t matter anymore. Well, it bloody well does!

Dreams do matter. Why are they there in the first place? It’s stupid to settle for second best when you only have one life to live and you’re living it now. You can’t rewind the clock, can’t go back in time (even though I wish the TARDIS were real). There’s no Redo button. You have one life to do what you want. To accomplish the dreams and desires for the future ahead of you.

I have to admit, I’m frightened for what lies ahead of me this year. I haven’t known for each New Year’s beginning what may be in store. But 2018 feels particularly more frightening than the others. I’m classified as an adult now. My responsibility ever lingering in my head. However, desserts are not off the table. My dreams are still in my head and on paper. I’m still going strong, fighting and pushing my way to where I want to be. I’m still going, I’m not there yet, but I’m still going. And that’s what matters. That I eat my dessert first because life is too short to let it pass by you. Life is too short to be banting your dreams.

Eat your dessert first, because 18 years fly by.

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The Block hits again…

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Funny enough, I’m writing to you now. But rewind the clock an hour from when this was published and I’d be seated at a desk growling over the computer, trying desperately to get over my writer’s block. Yes, I said it.

Writer’s Block!!!

It hits you like a brick thrown in your face when you least expect it. Aside from the inner-critic, writer’s block is probably a writer’s most dreaded enemy. I can sit on pieces of stories, blogs, journal entries, and reviews for weeks if it doesn’t go away. It’s earth-shattering. But, then again. Writers are still getting books out there. I still read a lot of blog posts. Words are everywhere. So, clearly, this block in my brain isn’t forever.

Side-tracked thought: What if we lived in a world where Writer’s Block was forever? Like a disease. Think on that one…

Okay, back on track. I’d say writer’s block is a close second after my inner-critic. It’s been a foe since the day I wrote about that “cat who sat on a mat”. I’ve dreaded having it every time and on occasion, I’m close to tears when my brain is so clouded.

But, I’ve realised today that this block is a good thing. Yeah, I know. You’re probably thinking I’m crazy. No, I’m serious. Writer’s block is a good thing.

Let me put it this way. Archimedes probably had a block of sorts, no ideas, no solution; he got into his bathtub to get his mind off of it and…

EUREKA!!!!!!

His solution was found.

I have blocks with everything from writing to drawing to how I’d like to arrange my paperwork. Blocks are a part of life. They let us take a step back from our work, take a bath, and shout Eureka when we’ve captured the solution. In some ways, this was my step back, to write about blocks. And these last few sentences are my Eureka. My solution was writer’s block itself. how ironic is that?

Share your experience with writer’s block and comment below.

 

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Geronimo!

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It has been done!

At long last and a little sooner than expected, my long locks have been cut. The dead weight is gone and I’m sitting writing to you now with a lighter head and a ponytail downstairs in my bedroom. I wrote to you recently in a post titled, “Here’s a Theory…“, and in it, I explained what Minimalism has come to mean to me and why I decided to cut five years worth of hair growth from my life. Yeah, I know, FIVE YEARS of hair growth gone in the snip of a pair of scissors.

I can say this:

It was a terrifying and exhilarating experience to be rid of so much hair that took so much time to get. But I would do it all over again. And again after that. Sure, it hasn’t really “changed” me. I haven’t become a “new person” or any bullcrap like that. I’m still me; still giggly, happy, weird, wonderful, binge-watcher Phoebe. Only with shorter hair now. But I do feel better. I feel good about myself. I feel a little punk rock too now that I can shake my hair around like some bass guitar player.

It was quite a shock, watching the hairdresser cut so much away in so little time. A quick flicker of “Yowza! what have I done to my beautiful hair?” flashed across my mind before I said what the 11th Doctor Who would (“Geronimo!“) and the end product was just what I needed and more. It definitely felt like diving into the unknown, because I had no idea what I would look like with short hair. And one only knows once they’ve tried. I felt badass. I still feel badass.

I am just happy to be me. Maybe a little happier…

 

 

 

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40 years of the Force…

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So, I haven’t posted anything in 13 days, which has largely to do with how insanely hectic Christmas was (or how lazy I am during December holidays), however, some interesting happenings have taken place.

I thought it only fair to dedicate my 40th blog post to something that has been a part of my childhood for the 18 years that I have lived and breathed. Never mind the uncanny coincidence of the first ever Star Wars to be released is 40 years old itself.

Yes, Star Wars…

From the originals to the prequels and finally sequels, the stories have never ceased to amaze me. Pretty much everyone knows Star Wars (or even Darth Vadar) whether the movies have been seen or not. If you haven’t, your life is incomplete. This series of movies have influenced everything from the sci-fi genre to the way toys are made. I could go on, but I want to hone in on the most recent additive to the Star Wars franchise.

Episode 8: The Last Jedi

On the 15th of December, I went to see Star Wars in the cinemas, popcorn in one hand and a soda in the other (oh, and a slab of chocolate in my handbag). The adverts played, all of which failed in comparison to even the opening scene of the movie. The introduction rolled across the screen as they do in every Star Wars film for the last forty years.

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The name flashed in the traditional font and the Star Wars opening crawl of words began.

After the movie ended, I was ecstatic. The colours and cinematography were breathtaking and so were the new characters added to the cast. It was hard watching Carrie Fisher in the movie knowing the actress died on 27th of December a year prior. She was a true gem in the industry, and her performance outshone everyone else.

A day or two passed and I saw the review for Star Wars on Rotten Tomatoes‘ Instagram page. Behold my horror: E5837703-4341-49D7-88BF-544D5B25096C

Don’t get me wrong. The critics got the score right. The fans, however, not so much. I don’t believe the film was that bad to have to start a petition to get the movie remade. Yeah, a Petition! That was too far. Die-hard fans, to my knowledge, hate the prequels and adore the original trilogy and also seem to take issue with this current film. The Last Jedi was, in fact, about moving forward into the next generation and not looking to or holding onto the past. Which is what die-hard fans love to do. The past is gone, the Jedi are gone, and so is the Sith. There is no more Jedi temple. No dark lord or rebellion. There is only the FORCE, people!

That is the message of this movie. The only thing that stands the test of time is the Force. It is the only constant.

Now, as you can probably tell from this post, I was super pissed by that petition. Though, after clearing my head a little, I do feel that characters like Kylo Ren and Rey fell short of what they were in the previous film: The Force Awakens

 

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Ballpoint pen sketch done by Me! Super proud of this one. Kylo Ren, played by the amazing Adam Driver (left), and Rey, played by Daisy Ridley (right)

 

Because the two were created by JJ Abrams (the director of The Force Awakens), he probably understood the characters a lot better than director, Rian Johnson who made The Last Jedi. Therefore, they weren’t as true to themselves as they had been in the previous film. Also, the previous film was taken to such high regard by a lot of people that it seemed near to impossible to create as impactful a sequel. With that said, I still love the film. Warts and all.

So, with that little rant spewed out, I bid you adieu and May the Force be with you

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Here’s a Theory…

 

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What if stuff is just stuff?

 

 

Consumerism is a huge part of our lives, right? Right. But it doesn’t have to be. I haven’t been able to get over the clutter in my room for a while. I use WAY too much paper and it just piles up until I decide to throw it away or keep it. But I didn’t fully realize that there was more I didn’t need in my life. More I could throw away. Or give away, at least.

I watched a documentary on Netflix a little while ago about multiple people (specifically two men in their 30s) who gave up a lot of stuff, and I mean A LOT, to become minimalists.

Now, Minimalism is best described by its creators, Joshua Fields Millburn & Ryan Nicodemus, both of whom started to live far simpler lives by giving up possessions that actually they felt didn’t need to be there in the first place.

“Minimalism is a tool that can assist you in finding freedom. Freedom from fear. Freedom from worry. Freedom from overwhelm. Freedom from guilt. Freedom from depression. Freedom from the trappings of the consumer culture we’ve built our lives around. Real freedom.”

(Excerpt from The Minimalists website.)

That appealed to me. My life was starting to feel cramped. Paperwork, clothes, books, makeup. Just everything was too much. So I started getting rid of shit that didn’t need to be there anymore. I can say one thing:

It wasn’t as easy as I thought.

I managed to get rid of two big black dustbin bags worth of possessions. It made me feel better about myself, made my room a little more spacious than before. It felt great. But it wasn’t enough.

I don’t like New Year’s Resolutions. They inevitably never work out and I hardly ever stick to them. But…I’m making one anyway and this one I can definitely stick to. I want a new beginning. Or as new as an adolescent can get. And one possession that is extremely dear to me that has begun to feel like deadweight is…my Hair.

You probably don’t know how long my hair is so here’s what it looks like now:

 

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Basically, A LOT of that hair is gonna go. This is my way of expressing a new beginning. A new start to 2018. It’s my way of being a minimalist. Everyone’s way is different. It’s completely up to you as to what you wish to keep or take out of your life. If you don’t feel ready, then don’t do it. But if you do, go for gold!

I wish you luck in any endeavour you undertake for the new year. And if you have a New Year’s resolution, be sure to stick to it. You never know what it might do for your life…

Also, be sure to look out for when I chop off my hair. It’s gonna be interesting…

 

via Daily Prompt: Theory

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Scream into the wind…

“AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!”

Do you ever get that sensation coursing through your body? You know you’re going to explode any minute and so you step into your room, flop onto your bed, whack your face into your pillow, and just scream. It’s a strong urge and I have it every so often. I don’t always act on it and scream, but I try to do something about it. Now, my ears don’t start burning, nor do they produce smoke that shoots out like a train’s smokestack. But the feeling’s (pretty much) the same.

I don’t remember exactly when I had this feeling last, I just remember jumping up and down in my room, screaming like a mime. I wasn’t jumping so much as hitting the floor with my feet. I don’t even remember what the reason was for my little fit, all I can tell you is that I felt a sense of relief after I had gotten the tantrum out. Yes, I am above toddler age. And no, I’m not a grown-up baby. Though I still like being a child at heart.

That’s not the point, though!

The point is. That sensation has to get out one way or another. Bottling it up is like popping mentos into coca-cola and screwing the cap back on. Next minute, everything comes pouring out at the exact wrong time. And all those “feels” are splayed across the floor for the world to judge. Nobody likes being judged, even the ones that say they couldn’t give a shit about what you thought of them. There’s still that slight tickle asking everyone what that one person thinks of you. I don’t like being judged, then again I really couldn’t give a shit. But, I don’t feel like being messed up mentos and frothy cola on the floor either. So, I’d advise a scream into a pillow. A good hardy tantrum in the bathroom (doors closed). Maybe a stream of tears in the shower. Or hit the floor with your feet like a gorilla. Even a good rant if you’re a writer. Rants are good. I read one today; partly what inspired me to write this.

I know we’re all grown-up, moving on to higher things, bigger dreams. But, come on. We never lose that tantrum-throwing child in us. Not really. So, if you’re feeling the pressure in your head like I tend to, send a scream into the wind. You might feel your head clear up a bit.

Happy screaming! And a premature Merry Christmas to you!

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A Stranger’s Game Prt 3

CHAPTER 2

(second segment)

More of a Benjamin

Gus rolled the car into a parking area for the handicapped, pulled the handbrake up and turned a bright smile to Noah.

“I’m going in. Stay here and act handicapped for me.” She said, unbuckling herself and letting the seat belt fly back into place. It was more of a command than a question. “Want anything?” She added. She hopped out of the car and shut the door, poking her head through the open window.

“I’ll pass,” Noah replied.

“You sure? This place has great hotdogs.”

“You know this place?”

Gus, looking startled at what Noah had just asked her, hurriedly changed her expression, giving him an awkward smile and rolling her eyes.

“No,” She guffawed. “I saw the sign on the way in. The word, great, was sarcastic.” She shrugged and started to back away from the car. “For all we know, the hotdogs are mashed up roadkill.” Gus then pulled a bunch of squirmy disgusted faces and laughed her way into the Convenience store.

Noah found her change of manner a little odd. She looked vividly shaken by his question like he had just asked her if she had forgotten to feed the dog and she didn’t want to admit to it. She lied. It was clear. Noah watched her carefully, the way she strolled around the shop, she knew those shelves, she knew where to go.  It could just be him. After all, he wasn’t a very trusting man, not for the past nine years. Probably the reason his girlfriend wanted to have the Talk. Sit him down and tell him as gently as possible, ‘I can’t do this anymore Noah. I’m sorry.’ They’re always “sorry”, so fucking sorry; he couldn’t blame Malory though, she had stayed with his stupid ass for three out of those nine years.

Noah turned his gaze away from the store and onto the road. What was he doing here anyway, driving around with some stranger he knew nothing about? His head kept telling him anywhere’s better than that mall, in a coffee shop, being let down “gently” by the one girl he thought he could trust.

Maybe he could trust this girl. Maybe not. Noah wouldn’t necessarily give her a chance, but he was going to go along for the ride, wherever they were off to. He turned his eyes back to the shop and Gus was making her way toward the Jeep, two plastic bags in either hand.

She looked concerned for a moment but smiled as soon as their eyes met.

“Here, take this will ye?” She said, tossing the bags into his lap as she climbed back into the vehicle. Noah manoeuvred the bags to the back of the Jeep as a pack of cigarettes slipped and fell on the floor of the car, the word Marlboro printed in black typography across the box.

“I didn’t picture you as a smoker,” Noah said, bending over his chair to pick up the cigarettes. His girlfriend had been a smoker but had taken to Virginia Slims, not Marlboro.

“I’m not,” Gus answered. She shuffled around in her seat, taking off her jacket and throwing it in the back over the plastic bags. “I assumed you were.” She added.

First, he looked like a Benjamin, now he looked like a smoker. He wondered how Gus came to these conclusions. “Nope, haven’t smoked in years. Never actually took to it.”

Gus smiled. “Funny,” she said. “Guys like you usually smoke. Sorry,” Gus shook her head, clearly embarrassed. She jammed the key into the ignition and started the Jeep. “I’m such an idiot. You look like a Benjamin who smokes, and I just assumed. Sorry, won’t happen again.”

Noah felt embarrassed for her. He twiddled the cigarette box in his fingers, trying to think of something to say. Lightening the mood with a joke was not his strong suit, but he went for it anyways.

“What Benjamins were you hanging out with?” He cringed. It was bad before it had even escaped his lips, still, Gus smiled back at him. “Let me buy you lunch and we can forget about it over food.” He added.

Gus’s smile brightened a little more as she rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

 

They got the supposedly great hot dogs at the convenience store and sat on the hood of Gus’s car, trying to get as much of the food in their mouths and not on their clothes without a lot of success. Noah felt the oils and fats dribbling down his hand, and had just managed to rip a piece of bacon from out of the hotdog, followed suit by a spatter of fatty oil in his face. Gus’s shirt was marked with mustard and tomato sauce and so was most of her chin. The roll itself required both of her hands and even then, the sauce just piled on her tissue covered lap.

“I came prepared.” She said, smiling mustard and bacon at him when she noticed him staring at the tissues. He hadn’t come prepared, yet it was mainly his shirt that had taken most of the blow from the condiments.

Noah had almost finished his by the time Gus gave up on having eaten half. “I’m a big eater, but I just… I can’t.” She said.

“I am eating a heart attack.” He said. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

Gus laughed, almost choking on a piece of bread. “Yes, and yes.” She said, gulping down one last bite. Noah laughed too but felt it die abruptly in his throat.

“What? You know I wasn’t serious, right?” Gus said, looking increasingly worried at his sudden change in mood. “Noah? What’s up?”

Noah took another bite and shook his head. He didn’t want to bring it up. Not after he had bought her lunch to ignore the whole fucked-up cigarette confusion Gus had made. He sighed and tried to leave it alone with a simple, “It’s nothing.” But Gus surprised him by putting her tiny hand on his shoulder.

“Your girlfriend?” She asked. Noah did a double-take of her face. There seemed to be a pause in the air, in time itself before Noah finally spoke and his voice cracked for a second.

“What…what are you running away from?” Dare he asked. Gus stared at him. She took her gaze off and started to study the wrapping that held the soggy hotdog together.

“Why did you come with me?” Gus interjected. Annoyed, Noah gave in, scooting off the Jeep to throw his wrapper in the trash, and said,

“You offered me an escape. An escape from the realities I know I still got to face sometime. We all got to face things, eventually. But I didn’t want to face mine now. So, for the time being, I’m running away from pure pressure.”

“What pressure?”

“Girlfriend, father issues, work, life. I dunno, basically anything and everything.” Noah answered her second question, deflected it as best he could.

Gus nodded a kind of intrigued nod and gave him an answer to his question.

“Memories.”

“What?”

Gus leaned over and passed her wrapper for Noah to throw away, hugging her knees.

“It’s not what I’m running from; it’s what I’m running to. I’m running away from memories, sure. Bad ones. Then, again. I’m running to them as well.” She smiled at this, but something had changed in her eyes, something else was there. Something deep, like scar-tissue, was glazed over them before fading into her brown pupils. It was subtle, but it was there.

Noah stared at her for a few minutes, narrowing his eyes onto her; she had been just as vague about her answer as he had. If not more. For two strangers running away together, they sure didn’t want either to know anything about each other.

He decided to let it be. For now. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and felt the box of cigarettes floating around. The thought crossed his mind, a simple “oh, why not?” and slid one out of the box.

He stuck the long white stick in his mouth, hugging it with his lips, and fished around his jacket pockets. Gus was looking at him funny. Slight shock and amusement. He found his lighter, something he had to have on him for his girlfriend 24/7. This really seemed to amuse Gus.

“I thought you never took to smoking.” She said, her lip already beginning to curl. The cigarette lit in a huff and he tucked the lighter back into his jacket, eyeing his girlfriend’s initials carved into the silver. M.H.

Noah smiled and blew a cloud of smoke from his lips. “You said it yourself, Gus; I look like a Benjamin who smokes.”

To be continued…

Hope you enjoyed the third entry of “A Stranger’s Game.” Until next time. I bid you adieu…

 

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Raggedy Man…Goodnight.

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“Spoilers.” _River Song.

It’s the end of the month and the end of the 11th Doctor. I know my last post on the Doctor was very recent and I debated writing this one to you now, mainly because it was heartsore. However, this is a must for me.

I didn’t realise how hard it would be to go from Doctor to newly-regenerated Doctor. Granted I only started at the 11th. Even so, it was pure agony to see The Raggedy Man leave, each episode was one step more to the closing of this Doctor, and it got harder and harder to watch. Now, I don’t know whether you’re the same as me, but sometimes…

Sometimes,

I get a little invested in fictional characters. Especially the Raggedy Man. I could barely see the screen through my tears when the final minutes arrived, which didn’t help my case because I was trying to capture the last few moments left. It was extremely sad, everything he said made my eye-ducts burst a little more; I think it was not only sad for the audience but the cast as well. Matt Smith, the actor of the 11th (and personally my favourite) Doctor Who, had spent four years playing this character and I’m sure he and his coworkers have missed the Raggedy Man more than a little and as much as I will.

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Literally the last frame of Matt Smith as the Doctor, before his regeneration.

What helped me get through it was not only my Binge-buddy brother, who kindly introduced me to the series in the first place but also the Fish Fingers And Custard we had for supper. Being the 11th Doctor’s favourite food, I couldn’t resist trying it.I know what you’re thinking. “Ugh.” “Yuck.” Yup, I thought so too when the Doctor first started eating it, but I can tell you from experience, it’s probably the best weirdest thing I’ve ever eaten. Thank you, Doctor!

All in all, it was a good night with the ending of the 11th Doctor’s reign. Even if I’ll never see him act as the beloved Doctor Who. But, everything has to end. I hate endings.

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Farewell, Raggedy Man. Eat the fish fingers and custard one last time, take off your bowtie, and say goodbye, now.

You will forever be the Doctor. Goodnight.

 

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Fickle.

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You know the saying,

“Bitten off more than you can chew.”

?????

It’s a pretty standard idiom and a very apt one at that. When I literally bite off more than my jaw can cope with, it takes me ages to get it down and I inevitably look like a choking chipmunk. So, really, this idiom is an apt description of anything.

However, (and that’s a fat-ass “however!”). Yes, at times. We bite off more than we can chew and it takes its toll on us, but part of me feels like we have become fickle in what we do. In relationships, work, time, life itself. We give up too quickly and say nonchalantly,

“I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.” With a big dramatized shrug at the end of it. Sure, sure. I believe you.

But really. You can do better than that. I can do better than that. We can Definitely do better than that. Is it really too much chewing for us to get up on that one Tuesday (or whenever you like getting up) to write that blog post we sense is itching at our fingers? Nope, nope not at all. Fickleness is getting tiresome for me. I need to bite down on something and when the going gets tough, hold on like a wolf holds onto its prey. You don’t see wolves letting go of their running food and shrugging it off with the excuse of their mouths being too full. No. They bite down and accomplish a good appetizer.

When I give my Siberian Husky a piece of steak, (give or take) the size of three fingers, it just glides down his throat. Course, he chokes from time to time which freaks me out, but we all choke on occasion. Choking is a part of life, hence why we have the physical ability to do so. Bad things are a part of life, we’re stuck with them, can’t ignore them. That’s why we gotta bite down hard on the good things, keep them with us. Make an effort to make that relationship work, or make an effort to accomplish those dreams of yours. Bite down. And you just might land yourself a good appetizer, or dream job. Whichever’s cool.

Now I’m not saying be that creepazoid stalker boy/girlfriend wanting to get back in that relationship or an employee on the telly that refuses to be Fired! Not at all. I’m merely saying bite down on the dreams/relationships/wonders you aspire towards. Maybe you’ll have to let go and admit to biting off more than you can chew. Maybe you’ll choke a bit. Or maybe, you’ll succeed in holding onto good opportunities and good people.

So, bite down, people. And all the best to ye!

via Daily Prompt: Bite

 

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11 is a Good Number.

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Now, 11 isn’t a good number because of Stranger Things. Don’t get me wrong, El is definitely Bitchin’. But no. For me, 11 is a good number because of a certain Doctor.

I never got why Doctor Who was so popular until I started watching it myself. And don’t judge, but I only started watching from season 5, when Matt Smith became the Doctor (it was also the first season they had on Netflix, so…) I’m sure Doctor Who fanatics will think that’s sacrilege. Which is understandable. I would think so too if I had been there from the very beginning of the show. However, as is usual for me, I didn’t want to watch the show and my brother, aka Binge-buddy, convinced me to try out an episode and I was swept straight into the TARDIS with the beloved Doctor, Amy, and Rory. For those of you who don’t know, the TARDIS is a space and time travelling blue box. Yeah, I know, pretty whacky.

It happens a lot with me and my brother. He finds a movie or series that he thinks is cool and I think is not. I don’t want to watch, I end up watching it and loving it sometimes a little more than my brother. I can’t tell you how many times that has happened to me. I could name a couple like Rise of the Guardians, Maze Runner, obviously Doctor Who, CommunityMadmax (with Tom Hardy and Charlize Theron), Vikings, etc. etc. etc. I can go on, but I won’t. I guess I have a habit of judging a DVD by its cover.

I can’t describe to you why I like the show. It’s undeniably cheesy and full of good and bad dialogue. Some actors rise to the occasion (Matt Smith is brilliant), and some actors, not so much. The CGI animation is both cool and weird. And the aliens and monsters are bizarre and uncanny. And at times, the plot is cringe-worthy. BUT.

I love it!

It’s mind-bogglingly brilliant and the plot has spun me and my brother upside down and right way up again. I think we gasped and gawked right through season 6, saying things like, “Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.” Or, ” What the_?” “How the hell?” “What?” Yeah, we went a little nuts. I think the best way to describe it to you is how my brother did. And I quote,

“Its like watching people playing dressup.”

So, yeah. 11 is a good number for me. I’m thoroughly enjoying the bizarre adventures of the 11th Doctor. I’ve come to realise bow ties are cool, and glasses and fezzes. Although, still not getting the whole fez thing. But Doctor Who is definitely Cool.

Until next time readers…I bid you adieu!

 

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