Heaven... Hell

OK, after blowing up the garage on bonfire night, winding up in hospital with concussion and waking up to find I'd lost two days but regained a friend (Johnny came to see me in hospital - evidently, he cared more for me as a friend than he did for the fact that he was hanging out with Little Miss Crazy), my parents finally decided there was something wrong with me. Wow, ten out of ten for observation. Your daughter sets fires for fun and drinks about 3l of lemonade a day to keep her spirits up (theory: can't be depressed when you need to pee). Either that or they just snapped at the idea of massive structural damage.

In an attempt to save their house from fire damage, they signed me up with a counsellor. I had my first session a few days ago. I'm going pretty much every day.

"Hello, Samantha."
"Hi."
"Now, I want you to feel relaxed and comfortable around here. This is your sanctuary (etc etc etc)"
"OK, well, it'll help me relax if you call me Trash."
"Trash? Is that what you think of yourself?"
"No. Have you ever read any Stephen King? It comes from a firestarting character in The Stand - Trashcan Man."
The counsellor frowned at this point. Evidently I was like getting a Big Mac at the Ritz. Not what you expected, and you can't send it back really.
"So... you like fires, do you?"
"Love them. They're so beautiful..."
Yep, defiantly not standard fayre.

After a while, I told her an edited version of my life history. The counsellor decided that my problems stemmed from being ostracized my whole life, so I decided to react in a way that would get me the most attention and say "if you're going to treat me like a social leper I'll act like a social leper!" Hence the firestarting. She also said I'd lost my faith in humanity. Personally, I'm amazed that I even had a faith in humanity to lose.

Urg

OK, OK, OK, I haven't updated in, well, ages.

Can't be helped, you know. A series of computer bans and hand burns. Nothing major though, with the possibility of the roundabout. That was an accident. I was playing with a cigarette. But chain-smoking CHAVs used to hang out on there in the small hours of the morning, so they got blamed and natural justice has been served.

Johnny's not talking to me. Cat the Brat 'mentioned' that I might just be pyromaniac. Cat also has the joy of having no educational supplies since I did my old trick of setting fire to the contents of her locker (and my lastest set of burns dressings). But Johnny doesn't want the dubios pleasure of being friends with the 'crazy gril'. Just like all my other friends. In addition, I have no money. Because I have to pay for Cat's new books, papers ect.

I hate my life, and humanity in general. I'm typing this on a laptop in the garage connected to the router by a long cable. I'm not allowed to watch the fireworks this year. Ah, well, I'm sure I can make soem of my own. Cables, batteries, flammable liquids... I'm in heaven.

On Fire (a memoir of the craft)

^ Apologies made to Mr Stephen King for shameless mutilation of one of his book titles.

I have not been on the Internet for... a long time. Owing to various things, including burnt hands (again, this time from some old tires), computer bans, sister discovering the delights of some social networking website yet again ect ect. And nothing happened. I will not be one of these bloggers who talks about nothing.

Johnny, I think, is still oblivious. This is a good thing. A very good thing.

Still, my reputation goes before me. I scare chavs and I have to go to another town to buy lighter fluid. I think everyone knows except Johnny and the police. Heh heh.

Johnny also says he made a 'me' on the Sims. He's a sim addict, I tells ya. A SIM ADDICT! He says he will send me a picture of 'her' and I can have it. So you, dear reader, can see it.

Anyway. Last Friday, we had an assembly. It was boring. Some crap about crap. I wasn't listening. Neither was Johnny. He was on the verge of leaning on my shoulder and drooling. I poked him.
"Hey, Johnny. Dare you to stand up and yell 'FIRE!'"
Johnny looks at me and then does so.
Everyone looks round, sees Johnny, sees me, then runs. Evidently my presence added a certain likelyhood to the event.
So, me and Johnny got detention. Well, Johnny got detention. But I am a pyromaniac of honour. So I owned up too. Reverse chivalry?

Sorry about the delay

See above post... long story involving groundings, computer bans and missed detentions. Work it out.

Anyway, I was grounded not just because of missed d/ts, but because I was 'breaking' my grounding and setting fire to stuff. Which I have not. Honest. Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a poker in my eye. They do not bear the marks of my burnings.
1. The attacks are very close to people's homes... something I tend to avoid
2. Burning in in strong winds, something else I avoid. No need to cause too large a conflagration.
3. I never burn the same public space twice.

Anyway, went on to The Heath (ahem, it's some organic wisps over sand) and found the burner. It was Bozzer, a 'hard nut' CHAV of very little brain whose hobbies include stealing anything from any shop - he once got done for stealing tampons - happy slapping and causing mayhem. I confronted him. At a safe distance.

TCG: What on earth are you doing?
Bozzer: Nuffink.
TCG: No, you are doing something. You're setting the heath on fire.
Bozzer: Noimnot.
TCG: *takes a moment to translate* What are you doing with the petrol can and lighter then?
Bozzer: Nuf-FINK!
TCG: You know who I am?
Bozzer: Wot? (At this point it becomes apparent to me that he is stoned out of his tiny mind)
TCG: I'm Trashcan Girl, fastest arsonist in the west, and according to the legends, mentally unstable. (I don't usually say this, but I had to deal with him, and I thought I'd remind him completely)
Bozzer: Oh yeah, you're the crazy fugly bird who burns hobos at the stake.
TCG: Um... I don't burn anyone, but it's never too late to start, I suppose...

Bozzer dropped his can and took of like a cheetah with a stick of dynamite up its rectal cavity (not that I've seen/tried this).

I just hope he wasn't too attached to the paint job on his car. I tipped a load of paint stripper on it because he was a git. I found his stash under one of the wheel rims... now it's in the local sewerage system.

Do not muscle in on my turf... payback is swift, sadistic and very expensive for you.

I am a political prisoner

Well, I had my sociology exam today, it was a breeze, I am amazing... la la la.

BUT.

I was put in detention afterwards! Me and Johnny. We were celebrating the end of the exams by a spot of singing, and were put in after-school d/t. OK, we were singing "Build a bonfire, build a bonfire, put the teachers on the top ect ect" - don't look at me like that, I would never hurt a human being deliberatly. Yet.

So, I am political prisoner. Freedom of speech does not exist in our school.

ROFLMAO for the last few days...

I don't often use txt tlk, 1337 ect, but I think that illustrates it.

As I mentioned, Catharine receive The Spear for Christmas. She finished reading it yesterday, and started it yesterday too. She read to about 1/4 of the way through, so I'm impressed, before truning it over to me and saying "This is more your book, Sammie."

The reason I was ROFLMAO was because I KNEW IT! She was never going to finish that book! She hates anything that is not pure chick lit! Oh, I am loving this!

I called up Johnny on the phone and told him. He vanished for a few minutes. It turns out he was also laughing. You probably have to know my sister to get the joke, really. Lets say that her idea of horror is (don't laugh... or do) Bambi. I do admit the part where Bambi's mum gets shot is traumatizing for all veiwers, including me, but... horror? Seriously, I think not.

Do we know it's Christmas Time at all?

Urgh, god. Christmas.

Christmas starts with me and She Who May Not Be Named Under Pain Of Horrific Mascara Torture And Death Of The Stand aka Catharine aka Satan's Favourite Prostitute ect etc [/insults] opening our Santa-sacks. I got a new copy of The Stand (seeing as my old one had all-new front covers made from an old plastic mac) and that glue gun I requested, which I have dubbed "Dobbin".
Catharine got pink sparkly hideous crap, as per usual, and The Spear. I'm going to enjoy this. It's a book about neo-Nazis and the ressurection of a rather mouldy Heimlich Himmler, and she is very very squemish. Nearly as squemish as Himmler himself (he fainted when some brains splattered on him at a mass execution - serves him right).

Then Gramma comes over. Apparently, Gramma wasn't always permadrunk, but that was before I was born. Mum drank to keep her company and therefore both were passed out on the sofa by lunchtime. This meant that it was up to me, Cat and dad to cook Christmas Dinner (Grappa doesn't belive that men should cook). We can't cook anything more comlicated than a microwave dinner. So, as always, we had Turkey Twizzlers, MacCain MicroChips and raw carrots. Followed by Cadbury's chocolate mousse.

Then, Christmas Films. These are a 'family event' which mean I have to watch them. Joy of Joys. I'd much rather be watching 'The World At War' which I can watch as long as I cover my eyes during the opening credits because I find them creepy. Yeah, I know, flames, but I find the faces creepy. Lets say I am pro-bombs but anti-war. So I sang rude carols through 'Finding Nemo' and them sugested we find him in sushi. It was at this point that Catharine threatened my new copy of The Stand and I shut up. No-one touches my The Stand!!!

Yes, after that was Doctor Who with The Lovely David Tennant. Squee! Bascially, David Tennant is not the only reason I watch Doctor Who - more like the cream on a delicious chocolate fudge cake. The Cream (David Tennant) makes the fudge cake (Doctor Who) a lot lot nicer, but it is not essential. Lovely though.

I do wonder... why do I look forwad to Christmas, seeing as it's always like this?

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night.

Trashcan Girl.