Tuesday, 24 April 2012

Surviving cooking 101

My cooking skills are legendary. I have had moments of sheer brilliance that have gone down in history.

There was the time I set fire to a frying pan. I don't know what I was cooking but it wasn't being deep fried, that's for sure. But somehow I started a grease fire. I screamed, Dad came running into the kitchen and I think threw the flaming oil into the sink or something.

One time with my mum, I was making popcorn. I wasn't used to her gas stove because Dad has... the other type... and I somehow set fire to a tea towel. Mum was on the phone as I ran screaming into the loungeroom waving a flaming tea towel.

The other running joke at my mum's place is blue food. "Mum, I'll cook dinner, don't worry." A few hours later, after using every dish in the kitchen I proudly presented a meat pie with peas, potatoes and carrots followed by Mum and my stepdad looking warily at each other. "Sam... why are the potatoes blue?" Because mashed potatoes are boring and I thought it would be fun to dye them blue, that's why! Apparently nobody else agrees with me. I have gone through so much blue dye at my mum's place because now anything that can be can be dyed blue, is dyed blue.

If nothing else, at least my meals are adventurous. When Dad told me I could add anything I wanted to a stew, I chose grapes and pineapple. Again, not my finest moment.

My brother is born on St Patrick's Day. He loves rum. So one year I baked a cake from a box that I promptly dyed green and added copious amounts of rum to. I mean, I made the icing with the packet mix and rum - no butter, no water, no milk. Just rum. It was foul.

I've made lamingtons that looked like brownies and tasted like raw pancake mix. I've made biscuits that could break teeth, cupcakes that were inedible, a damper that could be fired from a cannon and through walls and undercooked meals that if consumed would have been deadly.

Then of course we have my legendary attempt at burritos that resulted in a night spent in hospital, much intravenous morphine, second degree burns and three months as an outpatient.

But all that aside, sometimes I get something right! So without further ado, I'd like to present you with my patented recipe for
'Leftover Nachos'.

Step 1
Sit on the couch and watch Family Guy reruns and play around on Twitter while your Dad cooks a stew. This is actually really hard because the stew takes about four hours to prepare and cook but will start smelling awesome almost immediately. Try to avoid whining and demanding to know when dinner will be ready because you're hungry nooooooooow...

Step 2
Dad is one of those people who refuses to waste food so the giant pot of stew will actually last about a week. By the seventh night, you are really bored of stew with rice and stew with mashed potato. You will be so desperate for something other than stew but because you're saving money for England and swore you'd only eat out once a week with your best guy friend Simon, you have to finish the stew.

Step 3
Look in the cupboard wistfully. It is at this point you will find Doritos and develop a sudden and insatiable craving for nachos. Fear not because you are now poised to soon be devouring 'Leftover Nachos'.

Step 4
Preheat the oven. This step is optional right now. I sometimes do it somewhere between step 5 and putting the food into a cold oven.

Step 5
Spread a bed of nachos over a baking tray covered in al foil. Don't eat the al foil. It hurts. Just trust me on this one. On top of the nachos, drop dollops of leftover stew. Try not to make the blobs of stew too big or they might end up cold and uncooked. But I haven't killed myself yet, so you should be right.

Step 6
Spread some grated cheese over the top. If you don't have any, grate some block cheese instead. I'm too lazy to wash another plate later so I grate the cheese right over the baking tray. So I always end up missing and clumsily smashing my grater into my nachos. My food ends up delicious, so this probably adds to the flavour. Do this.

Step 7
Put the baking tray into the oven. Discover the oven is cold and realise you've forgotten to preheat the oven. Again. Do this now. Wait about two minutes. This isn't long enough to preheat an oven, but damn it, I'm hungry now.

Step 8
After... some amount of time... take the food out of the oven. It could be anywhere between slightly melted cheese and cold bits of carrot to black doritos and burnt cheese. Be sure to use the super, heavy duty, industrial strength cooking glove your family got you for Christmas after the last cooking incident.

'Leftover Nachos'

Step 9
Put the weekend's newspaper on the coffee table in front of the TV so you don't burn the wood and eat straight from the tray with your fingers. Burn your fingers on the hot tray at least once. Ta-daaahh! Leftover Nachos!

Step 10 Gentleman, I am single so if you could all form an orderly queue this would save some time.

Miss SAMawdsley xx

  • What's your go to meal at home?
  • What's the most creative thing you've done with leftovers?

Monday, 23 April 2012

The "What if...?" game. It's a stupid game. Nobody wins.

Last night a thought occurred to me.
"All the amazing guys have girlfriends. All the amazing girls have boyfriends. I don't have a boyfriend so therefore, I am not one of the amazing girls."
It's as simple as 1 + 1 = 2. Now logically I know that to not be true because I know some amazing single girls and boys. But I wondered if other people think this sometimes too, so I posted it on Facebook. I was sure to clarify that I wasn't fishing for compliments, because I wasn't. I just needed to verbalise the bad thought.

But I woke up this morning to a message from a Facebook friend saying he thought I was a great catch. He wasn't trying to chat me up or anything - he is not single - he was just being honest with me. While it was sweet, it made me roll my eyes a bit because I had a crush on this guy when I was 15. (How lovely to know 10 years later, that I'm suddenly a great catch, right?) There was a while where my crush was intense and I really wished he would ask me out. He was probably the last crush I had like that before I grew up and realised that's not how life works. It's just not healthy to base your self-worth on if this one guy remembered your name or smiled at you in class. I still thought he was very good-looking and rather sweet to me (still do) but by senior school I was much happier in myself, more chilled out, fun and much more myself than I had ever been.

In senior school, this guy saw me one day and thought to himself, 'Wow. Samantha is a pretty awesome girl' and developed a crush on me. Let that in itself be a lesson to you girls reading this.

So it seems there was a period of time where we each liked the other person. He was someone I had spoken to a little bit so I personally felt we got along well and would probably have got along really well with if given the chance. And that's where my point lies. We were never given the chance. I wasn't the kind of girl to admit to a crush (other than to my closest girlfriends) and he wasn't the kind of guy to ask girls out much or do anything about liking a girl. So nothing ever happened. Until the conversation today, neither of us even knew the other had this stupid crush.

Ten years later we are where we are and that's OK. I'm not wishing things were different or anything. But I still can't help but play the "What if...?" game. What if we had of found out we had something cool in common and started talking as more than classmates? What if somebody other than my friends found out I had a crush on him and told him? What if he'd told one of his friends he thought I was actually pretty cool? What if either of us were the types of people to actually ask someone out?
Life: The game of 'what if...?'
Take a chance and roll the dice.
I'm happy with my life. That is not what this is about. When I'm not on crutches, it's filled with just the right amount of playing football, watching football, playing Xbox, hanging out with my amazing friends, spending wonderful days with a family I love and doing a job I am passionate about. I'm single, yes, but I am fine with that. It's taken a lot of time spent learning to love myself for me to get to the point that my last pash was over three months ago & I couldn't care less.

There are many situations I substitute when I play the "What if...?" game. For years after my parents divorced, it was "What if I had chosen to go to work with my Mum instead of choosing to go on the boat with my best friend?" For years I blamed my parents divorce on me choosing the former. So many things could have gone differently throughout my life and there were many things that could have lead to this guy and I actually developing some sort of relationship... but they didn't. And while that is perfectly fine, I still can't help but wonder... what if?

Miss SAMawdsley xx


  • Do you ever play the "What if...?" game?
  • What is your biggest "What if...?" scenario?

Monday, 16 April 2012

What would you sacrifice to do something you love?

I am accident prone. This is no secret. I have blogged about this in my post, "And try not to hurt yourself".

Since then, my relationship broke up and my football season started up again. The football part is great news for me because I love my football - both playing and watching. It's terrible news for my boss because since the season started, I've limped into work almost every Monday morning. He's told me that if I was in the army, I would have been sanctioned for self-inflicting these wounds.

Now, to clarify, my boss is also my uncle. So he's kidding. Same as when he tells me I'm not the accident waiting to happen, I'm the accident that keeps on happening. He loves me dearly, I know that. And he only wants what is best for me - both personally and professionally. As my uncle he has, on numerous occasions, urged me to give up football. My aunty has insisted I do girl things. She wrote it on my whiteboard at work. "Sammy is a girl and must only do girlie things!" And upon hearing last week that both my knees were injured (strained ACL on my left and a bruise on my right) Mum's exact words were "You have to give up the football, kiddo." Where are these sentiments coming from?

Well today I didn't limp into the office. No, no. My dad drove me to work & carried my laptop in while I hobbled in on crutches. My team was 1-0 with only a few minutes to go in our game on Saturday. Desperate to not concede a goal, I went in for a challenge and while I did dispossess the attacker, I came off second best. I have an appointment with the doctor tomorrow and I imagine I will be sent for an X-Ray &/or an MRI.

For months my uncle has insisted I will regret my decision to continue playing football. Now you can't be a Mawdsley without being passionate about football, so you must understand he has had a long involvement with the game - he and my dad were even foundation members of a local club, Rochedale Rovers. He played with my dad for many, many years. He was goalkeeper and he hurt his knee and back on numerous occasions. He continued to play. He regrets it now. He believes I will too.

My uncle has a lot of constant and very severe back and knee pain. It robs him of sleep, physical mobility, the ability to do much of the work he is capable of doing around his house and being able to play all rough and tumble with his granddaughter - the light of his life.

On the other hand, there is my dad. Now granted, he is a couple of years younger than my uncle, but only a couple. He plays football on Monday nights with a big group of men (& I play with him). On Wednesday nights he plays in a huge 35+ comp. I'm not old enough to play there. On Thursdays, he trains my team. Now when I say train, I don't mean stands around and yells instructions, I means gets in there and does everything we do. He plays in the game at the end of training and has been brought down in tackles on numerous occasions. He has had surgery on both knees, two shattered wrists, a broken ankle, a shattered cheek, numerous broken toes, memory loss and more strains, sprains and muscle tears than he could possibly count. But he still plays, he still loves it and he regrets absolutely nothing. He loves football - the light of his life.

So what do I do? I love football. I am still on a high from our 1-0 win on Saturday. In a way, I wear my knee bandage as a badge of honour. The only reason I got hurt is because I went in for a hard tackle to stop a goal. The only reason I cared so much about the result is because I love my football team. And the only reason I love my football team so much is because I have never met a group of 16 girls who are as accepting, fun-loving and supportive as my team.
Samantha, football star.
I played football when I was about six but I hated getting up early (see 'Ambition > Talent') so I gave it up for gymnastics which was on a weekday afternoon. I started up again when I was 12 and played on the boys team with three other girls. Those girls were all friends and were horrible to me. Absolutely horrible. At the end of the season, QSF told me I couldn't play with the boys anymore and would have to join a women's team. With those three bitches. So I quit again. In high school I wouldn't join the football teams because none of my friends would. I finally sucked it up and joined by myself in grade 11 and 12. I enjoyed it but the girls weren't that nice to me. Dad came to every single game when no other parent showed up to even a single one. That's just what football means to my family. At this time, I also played on a men's commercial league team with my dad. Each Friday night I would lace up my boots and march out there to play - the only girl - small for my age & inevitably with blonde pigtails. My team sent me out as captain. The general consensus was you had to be 17 and a male to play. I was 15 and a girl. But when someone finally challenged this, no definitive rule could be found & I was allowed to continue playing. I've played on men's six-a-side comps, men's indoor football comps and in other tournaments.

Last year, my cousin mentioned she was signing up for another season with her football team. She asked me why I didn't play with her. I told her I categorically refused to play with girls after my recent experiences. I was hesitant but she insisted they were absolutely lovely. Finally, I caved. Dad - ever the football fan - came to my first training session. By the end of the hour he'd been asked to be assistant coach. My cousin was right. The group of girls was amazing. Breathtaking. Lovely. Funny. Warm. There aren't enough adjectives. I love those girls - every one of them. As someone who has been judged, treated poorly and deemed 'weird' her whole life, I feel accepted. I've made friends. And I get to play football every week with my friends. And my dad. He's now our coach.

I think I just answered my own question, didn't I? I love my football team too much to quit. I love the time I spend each Monday night with my dad. I don't see me ever giving up the sport I love so much. Even if it means I won't be able to walk in 25 years time.
I have a football team.
I have friends.

Miss SAMawdsley xx


  • What do you love most in the world?
  • What would you sacrifice to do that thing?

Tuesday, 10 April 2012

Adventures in packing for England

I'm thinking about packing for England and I'm so excited! I leave really soon. And by really soon I mean in nearly 5 months. But a girl can never be too prepared, right?

I've been to England twice before - once for September - October 2006 and again for the whole of March 2010. My first trip was pretty cold. I wore jeans every day with a singlet or Tshirt and a jacket. If it was really cold, I wore a black parka. My shoes were either joggers or my converses. Upon going through my photos, I barely wore a beanie or scarf - though I definitely took a beautiful long black scarf with me.

October 2006, Hyde Park, London

In 2010 I learned what cold really was. Again, I wore jeans every day. On the coldest days, I even wore long johns underneath. I then wore a thermal underwear singlet with a long sleeve shirt over it. These were gorgeous ones I borrowed from my cousin that have thumb holes to keep you really warm all the way to your hands. I then wore a sloppy joe over that and a parka over that. To top it all off, I wore a scarf and beanie and snow boots or my Adidas sneakers. I seemed to have themed my whole suitcase to go with white. I had a white parka, white beanie and a white scarf. They came back really dirty & I regret that choice.

March 2010, Natural History Museum, London

So what have I learned? Well obviously, not to wear white again. It also won't be that cold this time as I will be arriving just in time for September so I'm happy with one beanie and scarf set. I think. I'm basing my suitcase on black this time. I didn't really co-ordinate my clothing for my first trip. Lesson learned. So I have picked out my basics.

  • black parka
  • black scarf
  • black beanie
  • black fingerless gloves
  • black over knee socks
  • black knee high socks
  • black Edgar Allan Poe oversize hoodie
  • three pairs of jeans
I have a reversible Nightmare Before Christmas hoodie - black on one side and black & purple thick stripes on the other. I'm wondering if I should take that?

And shoes? I don't have any knee high boots. Weird, I know. Should I get a pair? I thought I'd just take my black Converses, black zombie kicking boots and like... my white Adidas sneakers? And socks - I thought 3 x ankle socks, 3 x socks, 3 x knee high socks and a pair of over the knee socks. That's 10 pairs of socks. Then I was going to take two pairs of black stockings.

I was so excited when I figured out a way to wear my red tartan mini skirt! Over black stockings with a pair of black over the knee socks and my black Converses. I've got a variety of long sleeve tops that I plan to wear with various Tshirts over it. It seems really boring but it also seems easier for packing. I also have a black and grey jumper dress that I can wear with similar sock things to dress up for night time. Oh, night time. What do I wear out? A guy looks hot in a pair of jeans and a shirt but what does a female tourist wear out to dinner? I need high heels! What if I go on a date!? Oh God! *hyperventilates*

But then how many pairs of underwear and socks do I take? Do I take any sexy bras and panties or just the super comfy nice ones? Seriously... I am so stressed about what to wear now... Lucky I have... oh, look. 4 months, 19 days, 14 hours, 12 minutes and 11 seconds until I have to be on the plane. I should start packing now...

Miss SAMawdsley xx


  • What are your rules for packing?
  • Do you have any style tips for Winter dressing?

Monday, 9 April 2012

The Hunger Games... so far...

Since Harry Potter finished, there has been a desperate void of addictive novels to engross me. I tried to fill it with Twilight but that was just too much dribble for this girl to really handle. I liked the idea but it just didn't quite translate & as a fervent admirer of heroines like Buffy Summers and Hermione Granger, I just could not respect Bella Swan. Well over a year ago, my girlfriend Bobby gave me a book called 'The Hunger Games'. I stashed it in my desk drawer where it remained until the movie was released. I completely forgot about actually reading it. So before I saw the movie, I wanted to read the book.

Do not read this section if you have not read 'The Hunger Games' - Suzanne Collins

My initial impression of the book while reading the first few chapters of the book was this - "Oh, yes. It's like 'Battle Royale' but they speak English." It even has the same subplot of two participants feeling out the possibility of a relationship while in the games arena. There's the idea of the weapons, some deadly, some seemingly pointless and a power that governs and controls all aspects of the games. Of course the two stories are different. But the premise remains very much the same.

Suzanne Collins resolutely denies any obvious similarities are intentional. She claims she was flicking channels between news coverage of a war zone and a reality show. I do wonder if she'd seen it before but in this world of ignorance, I suppose she very well could have avoided seeing a foreign film. And the idea of killing for entertainment certainly isn't anything new. But come on.

Then there is the glaringly obvious fact. This book is so poorly written. There is almost zero character development. Other than her feelings of self-righteousness, and not-so-subtle and supposedly accidental martyr-ism, you really know very little about Katniss Everdeen. The other characters hardly come to life. In fact, one is simply called 'Fox-face'. I wonder if the complete lack of detail about the other 22 tributes is to avoid upsetting delicate teenage readers or simply laziness and a lack of effort.

But the most glaringly obvious fault with this book is (and I must stress, this is a spoiler! So if you have not finished reading 'The Hunger Games', STOP reading this blog post!) Suzanne Collins' complete inability to create a mystery. When I finished the book, I felt like I had been talked down to like an idiot. The book seemed to go like this.

Peeta told eveyone he loves me. But he doesn't love me.
He then saved my life after telling me he loves me. But he doesn't love me.
He did everything he could to keep me alive because he says he loves me. But he doesn't love me.
We then both survive and he tells me he's happy because he loves me. But he doesn't love me.
Now here's the twist you never saw coming!! Peeta loves me!

Yep. The greatest mystery every written. Collins explicitly states things. The refutes the claim by simply stating 'But that can't be true' and we're meant to be surprised when it is true? That's not how a mystery works. It's like Hayley Joel Osment telling Bruce Willis "I see dead people. They don't even know they're dead. Like you. Did you know you're really dead?" and ol' Brucey saying "No, kid. I'm not dead. I'm your psychiatrist. You see dead people but I'm not one of them." and then half an hour later we viewers are all shocked that actually, the crazy kid was right all along. Mysteries are hinted at. When it's all unravelled you reflect and go 'Oh my God. The clues were all there! That's amazing!" You don't say "Yeah, she said that, but then she said it wasn't true. I'm so very, very shocked and surprised right now." What a twist!

Do not read this section if you have not seen 'The Hunger Games'

Then I saw the movie. I saw it at the drive in with my three cousins - none of whom had read the book. This turned out to be a good thing as there were so many things I had to explain to them because the movie simply didn't make sense.

For example, Katniss tells Prim the chances of her name being drawn as a tribute are so remote because she only has her name in once. However, she asks Gale how many times his name is in the draw. He answers '48'. Why? Is Gale some sort of sadist? Is his one wish in life to enter the Hunger Games?

And what happened to Katniss' mother? Was she just upset that her loungeroom blew up? I understood the imagery because I had seen the book. However, I know others were left wondering if perhaps they had just watched the District 12 equivalent of  a Lady Gaga film clip.

My girlfriend Jess saw the movie before reading the book. I've since lent her my copy so she can catch up but she was completely confused by the districts. The segregation is not made obvious. As far as the movie is concerned, the lack of knowledge between districts is sheer, selfish ignorance.

The cornucopia is described as a beautiful gold horn overflowing with weapons and food. What the film offers looks like something a meth-addicted art school drop out sketched on a sidewalk. And the muttations! They are meant to be a horrific creation of the gamemakers and are supposed to obviously resemble each of the fallen tributes. Instead they're the werewolves from Twilight. And the mockingjay pin. In the books it seems so important but in the movie it's simply a badge. She gets it from a stall and gives it to her sister. It is supposed to be a token of her district given to her by Madge - a token left over from her Aunty's failed participation in the games. It comes to symbolise so much but it just looks like a cheap gift that Katniss happened to be given by some strange woman.

Also, all four of us watching at the drive in were left feeling somewhat queasy thanks to the shaky handicam work. And more to the point, why isn't Peeta played by someone really ridiculously good-looking? Josh Hutcherson is not unattractive but I would have appreciated better.

And another thing! How? HOW? How does Katniss shoot a bow and arrow with her finger on top of the arrow. I've dabbled in archery and there is no way she could shoot straight like that. Seriously.

Do not read this section if you have not read 'Catching Fire' - Suzanne Collins.

Upon finishing 'The Hunger Games' I was not sure where the second or third books would go. Would there be another Hunger Games? Would Katniss be in it or would she have to mentor? My thoughts were that Prim and/or Gale would be selected as tributes and Katniss, as mentor, would have to decide who to keep alive or how to keep them alive. To Collins credit, her decision to create a games where previous victors were forced to play again was clever - although somewhat forced with the half-arsed idea of the Quarter Quell. Still, it made for interesting reading and of course, like in the first book, wondering how Katniss could survive again (without necessitating a new narrator) and trying to figure out how Peeta could possibly dodge what must be his impending death.

I finished this book today. It was confusing. I had to read pages over and over again to figure out what was supposed to have transpired. Again, there was very poor character development. I guess this is kind of a Collins trademark. Katniss is still a bit whiny and Peeta is about as deep & spineless as Bella Swan. Why he never confronts Katniss on her obvious ploy to use him when she is lonely is beyond me. From as much as I can gather about him, he deserves better than her waxing and waning affections that clearly lie with Gale for the most part.

Again, certain characters were simply used as cannon fodder. Mag was not described in detail so in my mind was simply the old grandma in 'Dante's Peak' facing death and sacrifice in a new way - although I would have giggled if she'd thrown herself in lava to help a melting boat across a burning acid lake.

The mystery of the water source was too obvious as well. Perhaps I'm too much of a survivalist and sheltered girls whose only idea of survival is locating the nearest fast food outlet were baffled.

I liked the arena. It was intriguing and rather well thought out. Though I couldn't understand how the little party survived for so long just chilling on the beach having banquets. Wouldn't the careers have picked them off? Throw an axe or two and then run back into the jungle? Surely it wasn't that hard...

I have not read 'Mockingjay' - Suzanne Collins, so no spoilers please!

I want to read the third book. I feel the series has finally deviated far enough from 'Battle Royale' to keep me interested. I dreamed of the Hunger Games last night. I lead an uprising in which we all fought faceless soldiers to prevent the cruelty and oppression of Panem. I assume this is where the third book is going.

I guess my predictions for the book will be Peeta dies to save Gale. It will be his one last act of devotion to a girl who merely uses him as a means to an end. The Capitol will fall and Katniss and her band of merry men will save the districts. If Peeta somehow does survive, perhaps he will me the new mayor or president or something? Prim will survive but perhaps Mrs Everdeen will not. I wonder if maybe Mr Everdeen is alive and well in district 13, preparing the revolution? A far stretch, perhaps. We'll see. I'm about to start the next book.

Miss SAMawdsley xx


  • What is your opinion on The Hunger Games?
  • Have you or will you read the Hunger Games trilogy?

Wednesday, 4 April 2012

Why I love Twitter but tolerate Facebook

Hello. My name is Samantha and I am a Twitter addict.

Well then you have no soul!!

Do you realise there are 582 people in the world who are hanging on to my every word, wondering what I will tweet next? At least, I like to believe there is. And who am I to deny the public what it wants. Supply and demand, people! And I've supplied the Twittersphere with 26,742 little drops of wisdom and humour. Ok, and a few photos of food I am about to eat. But those 582 people aren't under any sort of obligation to follow me. They choose to. If my posts take a direction they don't like or they finally get sick of me live-Tweeting Liverpool matches, they can (and do) unfollow me. Que Sera, Sera.

I have made new real life friends from Twitter (have even been asked on dates) and scored lots of cool free stuff - over $100 worth of Diva jewellery, anyone? Two nights accommodation in Melbourne thanks to WotIf? Yeah! I have been the first to know about breaking news and in turn, broken the news to my Facebook friends. I have witnessed scandal and suspicion and interacted directly with some of my favourite people in the world.

I have an iPhone. People always joke that I'm addicted to my iPhone but that's simply not true. Take my Echofon app off it & it would be much like my old Nokia 3315. It makes phone calls & receives text messages. But with Twitter, it's like carrying around your friends in your pocket. Waiting for a dentist appointment? Tweet about it & be entertained with a joke. Feeling sad? Tweet about it & let your friends cheer you up. Need advice? Ask Twitter if they can help with your problem. Don't know what to have for lunch? Do a quick Twitter poll. Don't want to watch a TV show alone? Search for the show's hashtag and join the conversation. Don't know something and need it explained in layman's terms? Tweet it with the hashtag #LazyWeb. Lost your dog? Tweet a photo and details and watch as your search for your dog becomes a trending topic as hundreds of strangers are on the lookout. Interested in the Titanic? Watch as @TitanicRealTime live tweets the whole event as it happened 100 years ago.

Basically my main argument for why any anti-Twitter sentiment is wrong is pretty much this. Twitter is only as awesome as the people you follow. I follow 378 carefully selected Twitter accounts. Some of them are celebrities, some are football related, some are humorous accounts, some are people I know in real life, some are just random citizens of this planet. I've been on Twitter for three years now. In three years, that's all I've accumulated - 378 accounts to follow. I've followed and then unfollowed some accounts but that's what happens on Twitter. It's no big deal like on Facebook. Facebook has this weird social obligation to be "friends" with someone who was in that Maths B class you took for a month before the school realised you weren't smart enough for algebra and you now have to put up with every single damn post about their toddler. On Twitter, those rules aren't as set in stone. With most people, you can just unfollow them. I've ignored friend requests from people who bullied me in high school. Why in the name of Kuzco the talking llama would they think I want to be "friends" with them?

Now if anything I've said about Facebook has left you confused or worse, you actually thought 'Luckily every one of my Facebook friends hangs on my every status update regarding the cute things about little Tilloffonee' (or whatever you named your spawn), then we probably won't be Twitter friends. Or you might follow me, but I probably won't follow you back. Twitter is all about MY interests and I'm sorry but I don't care what Tilloffonee did next. I liked your status when you announced you you were pregnant and again when you HAD the baby. That's it. I'm done. I don't like children all that much but I was happy for you! I would have looked at the first photo of your newborn and probably liked it, but from there on out, you became dead to me. I glaze over when you start posting about Tilloffonee and probably only get broken out of my stupor by some hilarious @ mention someone has posted on Twitter.

But notice I said I 'liked' your posts? Chances are I didn't comment because I don't want to be notified every time someone else posts the exact same damn post. "Congrats!", "OMG Congrats!" or the ever thrilling "Congrats x". I don't care. Besides, my post would have just been the same as that anyway. I recognise this.  If someone on Twitter gets a particularly entertaining response to the announcement, they will retweet it. Then I will read it. But on Twitter, I don't have to see any conversations between two people unless I choose to follow both of them. And when those conversations get annoying, I have been known to choose my favourite of the two and unfollow the other. Problem solved. Twitter is my world and it is my prerogative to mould it exactly how I want it to appear.

Nobody follows the exact same 378 accounts I do. If a Twit just wants their feed to be filled with musicians, then that's what they do. They may be followed by sports fanatics, new mums and porn stars but they don't have to care about that. It's their Twitter feed that becomes their own personal Twittersphere. How many followers you have is irrelevant (until the @ mentions start, then Twitter can get really awesome!) But people reading this may be bored to tears with my Twitter feed. In fact, here is my Twitter feed as it appears right now. Not that interesting, right?

{Click to enlarge}

But I don't care what you think, because I find it interesting. I may be bored to tears by other's Twitter feeds. So what?

You see, Twitter is like free speech and who doesn't love free speech? Communists, that's who! And you don't want to be known as a Communist, do you?

Miss SAMawdsley xx

  • Do you prefer Facebook or Twitter? Why?
  • Have you ever tried Twitter? What happened?
  • Should I be following you on Twitter? Plead your case! :P
  • Why aren't you following @SAMawdsley and @Princess_Sassy?
Notice I don't own Facebook merch.?