Why blogging is like clubbing (minus the sexual harassment) Zero to Hero Challenge 1&3:

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I live in a city now, so I spend most of my time trying to look hip and with it, darling. But because I’m originally from a village where the closest we get to night life is the 9pm post collection, I fail. That’s who I am and where I come from. Post one done. (I could elaborate, but I’m a teenage girl. If you get me started on talking about myself, I won’t stop until you can recite the names of my teddy bears.) 

I’m also a writer, blogger, and chronicler of things that I find hilarious. Like today, when I was in a shopping mall, packed with rabid sale season shoppers, and the shop was playing Pink Floyd’s ‘Money. It’s a crime…” Recommended daily dose of irony…

When I started blogging, a thought that crossed my mind was this is awfully like clubbing. I’m going to spend my entire time desperately trying to be noticed, and then if someone does take an interest, I’m going to go quiet and stare at the floor. Then I’ll get sad that no one is looking, drink something that smells like paint stripper, and cry on a sofa.

But I hope I can break this trend. I hope I can make some funny observations that divert you from the tedium of your day. I hope I can create tit bits of interest, morsels of amusement, and crumbs of insight.

I feel like the things that keep you going, are the scraps of life that are so funny you have to wonder whether God does stand up. And the moments of delicious moral outrage, when you wildly exclaim “How Ridiculous!” and wave your hat in righteous anger.

And this is what I wanted to do when I started blogging: share the funny moments, and the serious moments, like a spicy and sweet chai. Oh God, I just made a chai reference, I’m getting rather up myself. Like the other day when I got excited that the green stuff on my pie was avocado. It was mushy peas. Sorry Dad, I didn’t get the Liverpool genes.

So that is post 1 and 3 of Zero to Hero challenge done. I feel almost like an actual..you know…organised person.

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