Emo - How the other half live

If you're Emo, it's a fact of life that you probably don't know what you want, other than the fact that you want to belong to a subculture, you're just not sure which one will accept you. So you fall into this category.

You ponder your existence on earth in the most melodramatic fashion, you ask the most cliché questions possible, such as "If life is so fair, why do roses have thorns?" and "Why are my parents such assholes?".

Just the other day, I was listening to "How could this happen to me" by a band called Simple Plan.

They personify emo, and when hearing this song title in full flow of the song, I couldn't think of anything else other than an Emo kid writing the song because he turned up to a no-school-uniform day in full school uniform.

Perhaps "Welcome to My Life" by the same band could be relating about how the Emo kid turning up for the school disco on the wrong night.

How about "Me Against the World" because his Mother has cooked him fish fingers, when his personal preference would have been Chicken Kievs.

Finally, "Shut Up" could be dedicated to his Father for suggesting that he smile every once in a while.

Then again, they could be related to really serious heart-string-pulling subjects.

But I doubt it.

First impressions are important...

On the weekend, I took charge of my Mum's dog, Heidi.

She's a German Shepherd, and misses her Mum very much because she's gone on holiday to Spain for the weekend and left her behind.

So I put her and her luggage into my tiny Ford KA, and we head around the corner (no further than about 600 yards) to my place.

I take her straight in leaving all belongings in the car. The reasoning behind this was to make Heidi comfortable with her surroundings and give her some familiarity with both me and the room before I go to get her things.

She's been breathing heavily, and is clearly nervous as she runs around the room (she's 12 remember) gathering information about the lower tier of the house. She chooses (wisely) not to venture upstairs because she knows as well as I do that getting down will be a hell of a problem.

She goes back into the lounge and surveys the scene whilst slipping around like a maniac on our laminate floor.

She starts to lose her footing.

I start laughing.

Her back legs completely give up, and she starts doing the splits on the floor.

I laugh harder.

She moves slightly to the right, and I notice that she's actually been squatting, and has left a trail of shit along our living room floor.

I stop laughing.

The last laugh was on the German Shepherd.