Hello, internet! I was supposed to do the big ole review a book thing today but the inspiration juices weren't flowing, and the rule - by which I mean, my personal rule - is: give the people of the internet top-notch quality or don't bother because you will bring dishonour on all people and things related to your person. So this is my attempt at "quality". Don't get too excited. Also, this is going to read as a novel in its own right, but I promise it's worth it. At least I hope so.
Dear people of internet, today my question for you is:
Have you read the Georgia Nicolson series?
If not, let me explain you a thing. This thing is that you absolutely should immerse yourself in this excellent piece of hilariosity at the hand of Louise Rennison. Preferably, you would follow my example, which is that you binge this entire series. To be fair, I binged it in two parts: book #1-#5 in the summer and the rest when I needed some brightness in the gloomy winter months. It was a lurvely experience.
Reading Georgia is an experience in itself. The book sort of reads as a diary, albeit a very disjointed one. There is an assimilation thing that starts happening when reading the books, which results in the following:
(Note: This is a highly edited version.)
I feel like yelling at him. "I am fourteen years old, Uncle Eddie! I am bursting with womanhood, I wear a bra! It's a bit on the loose side and does ride up round my neck if I run for the bus ... but the womanly potential is here, you bald coot."
Good stuff. Huh, I don't think I've ever worn a training bra. I must be an embarrassment to the sort.
3. I have a three-year-old sister who may have peed somewhere in my room. I miss my sister. She was supposed to come home today but apparently it's Sunday. Stupid independence.
5. I am very ugly and need to go into an ugly home. I am packing my bag right now. My sister - who still isn't here - would wholeheartedly agree with that statement. I wish she'd come home today so she would actually say it to my face. It's complicated. I miss her.
Oh, wait. I did wear training bras. Eh. Probably still an embarrassment to the sort.
Shit. Fell asleep with my glasses still on. Where was I? Oh yeah, shaving the eye brows with Dad's razor. Oy.
Don't do it, Georgia. STAHP.
Girl, you should have listened. Now step away from the eyebrow pencils.
And from those friends of yours.
I moviod deskiod all the time.
Those are a lot of steps to take before proper kissing.
I don't think we mean the same thing when we say someone is wet. Mental horrible images of "wet" Lindsay. Must. Stop. Brain.
Hm, I don't trust him, but I'm happy for Georgia. Luckily, my trusted sources have informed me that a new ship is on the horizon. *side-eyes the Big Knickers book (i.e. the Dating A Sex God book for you Hamburger-a-gogo land people (Georgia's words, not mine.))*
Verdict: This reads like a Jenna Marbles video on crack. Except ... funnier.
Georgia Speak. There is British English and then there is Georgia English, which has led to the following commandments:
A proper Georgiaphile does not cry. She blubs.
A proper Georgiaphile does not have a father nor a mother. She has a vati and a mutti.
A proper Georgiaphile does not get fits. She has a ditherspaz.
A proper Georgiaphile does not have a best friend. She has a bestest pally.
A proper Georgiaphile does not get her heart broken. She is on the rack of love. Or in the cakeshop of aggers. Or simply resides in Heartbreak Hotel.
A proper Georgiaphile does not look at birds. She knows them as voles.
A proper Georgiaphile does not get angry. She gets a strop. Or strops off. Or gets the Hump.
A proper Georgiaphile does not get nervous. She is in a ditherama. Or she has a nervy b.
A proper Georgiaphile does not get weak in the knees. She gets jelloid. Preferably she gets jelloid knickers.
A proper Georgiaphile never does anything for God's sake. She does it for the sake of God's pantyhose.
Reason #3It inspired me to write the following ode full of Georgia Speak. No questioning my poetic abilities, okay? I know they need work.
Ode to Georgia
Good grief, Thy Schnozzle-beaked Fabulosity, elle qui
est amies with the "really big knickers"-wearing
one! Thy powers of hilariosity never disappoint me.
Result!!! OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod now PLEASE dump the SG &
get off with Dave the Laugh, already! Bloody sacré blue,
I CANNOT BELIEVE that he doesn't make your knees
all jelloid. Your fabbity fab fans agree that SG is
not worthy, he is not worthy. His douchiosity
is making us go BERSERK!!! Horriblement erlack. I
could not be happier that I still have eight more
of the Ace Gang's adventures to read.
Let out your Buddhist warrior chant when you're
surrounded by les idiots and tell me how the world you
Om Om Om in is BONKERS with knobs!!!
Never let the wet and weedy one (Lindsay) defeat you,
for she is only jelly of votre maturosity. The nob is
that you should have come à mon attention much sooner.
What is the matter with
people parents??? Oh blimey - what a life!!!
That spells Georgia Nicolson FTW, by the way. Have I convinced you yet?
Remember when I mentioned that new ship? Well. It is our dear Georgia and Dave the Laugh, a.k.a. the original OTP. Their cluelessness when it comes to the other is excruciating, because they're always dating other people when damn it, they should admit it already. It leads to highly feelsy moments like this:
Dave said, “What if you were really meant to be with someone? But you kept messing about and having the Horn and so on and you lost them."
Oh, brilliant, Dave the Laugh was having one of his unlaugh moments.
Bugger, he had gone all girly. I was going to have to talk about his stuff before I was allowed to to get on to the interesting stuff about me and the Italian Stallion.
I said really quickly, “Look, I’m sure that if you went back to Rachel she would forgive you. She is remarkably stup… er… stupendously nice.”
Dave looked at me and said, “You just don’t get it, do you?”
"Oh, you mean Ellen. She would have you back tomorrow; she has no pridenosity."
He said, “You great kittykat loonie. I’m talking about you and me.”
Spoiler: Georgia remains clueless. Yes. She manages that. Sure, it's utterly frustrating, but that's Georgia Nicolson for you.
Situations like these are daily happenings in the life of Georgia Nicolson:
Q: Your parents planned a family trip to Scotland. You don't want to go, since you'd rather be having snog fests and go to fish parties. What do you do?
A: (Since they're likely having sex at that precise moment), you inform them you won't be coming along by screaming from the other side of their bedroom door. You end up tagging along by mistake.
Q: Your parents have decided to neuter your cat. What's your response?
A: You make them an appreciative CAT MOLESTERS poster, which you greet them with. In a caring manner, of course. You stop speaking to them and conspire with your sister to go on permanent dirty protest.
Q: You just called your Sex God of a boyfriend from a phone box in good ol' Och Aye land. What's the first thing you do after hanging up?
A: You stroke your T-shirt with the receiver, pretending it to be him. You spot a Jock McTavish outside, watching you, so you act as if you're cleaning the receiver instead.
Q: Your eyebrows are getting out of control, but you don't dare touch your father's razor after you accidentally shaved off your brows last time. How do you prevent them from growing to the floor?
A: You put your trust in your Mutti's hair-removing cream. It's just a little dab here and there. Just to be sure no one will think a firework was stuck up your bum-oley, you tape your fringe to your forehead and refrain from raising your eyebrows ironically. No need to draw attention.