Yesterday I had to partake in a St John Ambulance First Aid At Work course. Now, I have every respect for members of the public who use their free time to help save lives, but why do they all have to be so serious?? The guy who taught us was ex-military and boy could you tell! He was like a mix of Keith Lard from Phoenix Nights and Serjeant Major from Carry On England. Although to be fair he did make a few jokes, not that any of them were funny, but at least he tried.
This will be the third time I've trained to be a first aider. Mind you, first aid training nowadays involves doing a quick practice on a dummy (which I'm sure most of you young blokes have tried at some point anyway - under slightly different circumstances) and watch a few videos and agree that crawling around on the floor in the kitchen near a chef carrying a pot of hot oil is a bad idea. Anyone with half a brain cell can get a first aid qualification. Except maybe the cast of Made In Chelsea - they probably wouldn't give the kiss of life to anyone without a wallet full of money.
I would like to think that if somebody dropped down on the floor in front of me in Asda (in a non-worshipping kinda way) I'd be able to stay calm and focused and see exactly what the problem is. My only problem lies with my OCD about touching strangers in a "personal" way. I'm not talking about kissing good-looking blokes in clubs of course, that's perfectly acceptable, but having to physically put my lips to somebody else's when they may not have the best hygiene in the world. I don't mean to sound cruel, but if I went to give mouth to mouth to a person who had bad breath I'm afraid it's compressions only or die. Our trainer was talking about various conditions which would make a person collapse and lose control of their bowels, or vomit profusely. One of the many reasons I don't want children is because I don't like poop and I don't like vom. I cannot give somebody, who's just been sick, mouth to mouth without me vomming on their face and I'm sorry but if somebody shits theirself they're on their own. One of the other instructions given to us once finished helping a casualty was "clean up mess". Erm, I've just saved your life and now I'm expected to clean up your faeces? I would say that's taking the piss. Or the shit in this case.
So a word of advice to anybody with some kind of underlying condition which might make them collapse at any time; if you shit yourself or puke whilst I'm around, consider yourself toast!
Friday 16 November 2012
Tuesday 6 November 2012
I'm A Celebrity.....well why not?Everybody else in the free world is!
Oh dear it's that time of year again. I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here. Celebrity....really? So who's going to feature this year I wonder? Nick Clegg's cleaners Mother's Aunt? Peter Andre's Uncle's barber? Or maybe the guy who services John Prescott's Jaguars? Or maybe John Prescott?? No, they'd never sink that low. The word celebrity is used a bit too freely now. How do you actually define a celebrity? I was discussing this with Paul earlier and he suggested a celebrity should be someone in the public eye who we can all aspire to. I too believe this is what a celebrity should be, one who regularly features on TV or film and is instantly recognisable if you were to bump into them in the streets. I picked up a few magazines the other day and didn't recognise a single face on the front. I've actually taken to reading Rock Gardens & Water Features Monthly just so I have something to read which doesn't contain a four-page feature on the latest irritating Mr or Mrs Nobody from The Only Way Is Made In Chelsea Factor Get Me Out Of Here. No doubt Joey Essex will suddenly decide to design his own range of rock gardens and totally ruin my week, then I'll be forced to sit and stare at the staff room wall as it's the only thing in Great Britain which doesn't contain anything to do with reality TV "stars"!
A real star should be someone with a fabulous talent who brings joy and entertainment to the masses. What does Amy Childs bring to the masses other than bejewelled vaginas? Oh, just that then? Fine. Katie Price - the only thing she brings me is the desire to throw up every time I see her spotty orange face on TV selling the latest exclusive story on her child's bowel movements. Joey Essex - Joey who....? I've run out of names now because there are so many douchebags on TV I've given up watching it. People take the mick because I watch Downton Abbey and ok, I admit, it can be a little lame, but at least it features people who can act. The lack of this talent is why I do not watch soaps and reality TV - other than Strictly Come Dancing of course because it features real dance talent!
I hope the majority of my fellow Bloggers agree with me, and I hope that one day people with half a brain cell will realise we need to be admiring real stars with a great personality and a huge talent, and that they will join me in a picket line to banish these dickheads from our screens forever!
Only you can make it so!
A real star should be someone with a fabulous talent who brings joy and entertainment to the masses. What does Amy Childs bring to the masses other than bejewelled vaginas? Oh, just that then? Fine. Katie Price - the only thing she brings me is the desire to throw up every time I see her spotty orange face on TV selling the latest exclusive story on her child's bowel movements. Joey Essex - Joey who....? I've run out of names now because there are so many douchebags on TV I've given up watching it. People take the mick because I watch Downton Abbey and ok, I admit, it can be a little lame, but at least it features people who can act. The lack of this talent is why I do not watch soaps and reality TV - other than Strictly Come Dancing of course because it features real dance talent!
I hope the majority of my fellow Bloggers agree with me, and I hope that one day people with half a brain cell will realise we need to be admiring real stars with a great personality and a huge talent, and that they will join me in a picket line to banish these dickheads from our screens forever!
Only you can make it so!
Saturday 20 October 2012
My Generation...?
I feel like I may have been born into the wrong era. I'm thirty years old - thirty one in a few months - and some times I feel like the most uncool person in the universe! I shall explain and let you decide.
Although I still enjoy watching Sex and the City, Friends (although I had to have a large rest from Friends seeing as it was on about fifty million times a week and I was starting to get bored with it!), NCIS, Strictly Come Dancing, Lewis, Midsummer Murders, Downton Abbey....oh wait, oh dear yes, do you see what went wrong there? For every "cool" programme I like there's about four "uncool" programmes to counteract. I have a rather large back catalogue of old movies in my DVD stash that nobody ever seems to want to watch except me! The problem nowadays is that special effects have taken over real acting and suspense. I went to see The Expendables when it came out (it was my then boyfriends revenge for having made him watch a chick flick the previous week) and I honest to God could not figure out what the hell was happening. I think the plot went something like this; Ageing degenerates in combats shoot at people and then stuff blows up and then they shoot some more people, then this old man who looks like the bloke who played Terminator shows up for five minutes and says something in a weird accent and then they go up in a helicopter and stuff blows up again. Was I close...? All that noise and nonsense. God I do sound old....!
Hollywood in the 1950's looked so glamorous, what with it's beautiful and graceful leading ladies, it's charming and handsome leading men, the funny and non-offensive comedic supporting actors and dreamy scenary. Of course this was not always neccesarily the case in real life; a lot of the charming leading men were misogynistic alcoholics, some of whom prefered a counter-lead male to a female, and the glamorous leading ladies didn't look so glamorous on the casting couch...! But even so, it was pretty well covered up at the time and no matter how badly they behaved in their private lives they still remain fixed into history as silver screen legends with a grace and beauty which is rarely replicated today. Hollywood now is just the same as ever in that it's all about making money and exposing/ruining new talent. She will drop you just as quick as she will raise you up. But it's lost a lot of magic. Don't get me wrong, I'm impressed by how much we've moved on in the special effects stakes - Ray Harryhausen would be gobsmacked if he saw what they could do nowadays - but I prefer my films to be focused on plot and storyline.
Now let's move on to dating. God how dreary. There was once a time when, if you were of a certain class, you'd have a husband picked for you. A rich and successful husband. No dating, no messing. Now I know there are down sides to this, for a start you can't always guarantee you'll fancy "the chosen one", but it sounds like a much simpler life. Sometimes I really hate dating. The pain of trying to figure out what to wear! Do you dress up or do you go casual? Or maybe smart/casual?? What if you dress up and he goes casual? Or vice versa? ARRRGH! If I go for a meal on a first date I always worry I'm going to dribble or have something stuck in my teeth. Then there's the sussing out of what you can or can't say in front of your date. I know there are certain things that are a definite no no; casually mentioning how many kids you'd like to have and what you'd like to call them, or how you like to slouch in your onesie whilst watching Neighbours - absolute definite no no's. Much more on top of this too. So having someone chosen for me, who is quite prepared and ready for marriage without question, sounds pretty reasonable really.
I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm fussy, but I do have certain expectations. I like a guy who makes me laugh but knows how to be serious when the time is right. But, maybe it's because I'm getting older, it's becoming more and more important to me to find a bloke who is a real gentleman. I'm talking about opening doors, pulling out my chair (without the intention of trying to make me fall on my arse), offering to pay for meals or drinks, etc etc. I want politeness and good manners and thoughtfulness, but also strength and the knowledge that if I were in trouble he would be able to put up a fight for me. I want a man who has never owned a pair of trackie bottoms in his life. I want a man who is smart, intelligent without being smarmy, and not too bad looking. Basically, I want James Bond. Unfortunately, Rachel Weisz has just nabbed the last James Bond so I'm pretty screwed. Cowbag. I wish I could say I remember a time when men were real men but, alas, I can't.
Fashion-wise I think my taste alters from one day to the next. I can be fairly up to date and I do like a logo t-shirt and skinny jeans (would be nice if I had the skinny butt to go in them) but I believe people should only dress down when they're going to bed - but that's only if they're retiring alone! A lady should always make the effort to look nice for their man, even more so in bed! If England had better weather I would wear those amazing big fifties-style dresses every day. Well, maybe not every day - I also loved the fashion in post-war twenties America. Sleek and elegant. Very unlike my actual personality, but lovely all the same. I remember being totally shocked one evening when I went to see a show at the theatre in South Wales. There I was in a nice, albeit simple, dress, with my best jewellery on, and all around me were people in jeans! Even more tasteless was a man in Bermuda shorts! What kind of a world are we living in where people wear beach wear to the theatre??? Am I starting to sound really old-fashioned now...?
Finally, music. I do like some modern stuff - Rizzle Kicks, David Guetta and Nicky Minaj are up there on my playlist - but not a lot of the songs on my playlist go much further than 1996. If you rifled through my CD's (yes I'm that old I still own CD's) you will find mostly eighties compilations or artists such as Erasure, Fleetwood Mac, Duran Duran, Blondie and suchlike. I'm also very much into reggae, must be my East London roots! Someone I spoke to recently, who is younger than me I might add, said they also liked reggae, but then continued on to name Dubstep artists. Dubstep isn't proper reggae!!!!!!!! Remember proper Ska music? I'm not talking about Lily fucking Allen, I'm talking about 2 Tone Ska! The Specials, The Beat, Madness! Proper music!!! The stuff you kids listen to nowadays is just a noise! Oh dear god there I go again......
So there you have it. I am a self-professed old-fashioned dame in a swing skirt who likes a bit of Nancy Sinatra or Johnny Cash on the radio, is hoping for a real gentleman to ask my father for my hand in marriage, am dying for a jolly good variety show comeback on the telly box, and hoping to see the next Gloria Swanson and William Holden on the big screen.
Now, where did I put those Werthers Originals.......
Although I still enjoy watching Sex and the City, Friends (although I had to have a large rest from Friends seeing as it was on about fifty million times a week and I was starting to get bored with it!), NCIS, Strictly Come Dancing, Lewis, Midsummer Murders, Downton Abbey....oh wait, oh dear yes, do you see what went wrong there? For every "cool" programme I like there's about four "uncool" programmes to counteract. I have a rather large back catalogue of old movies in my DVD stash that nobody ever seems to want to watch except me! The problem nowadays is that special effects have taken over real acting and suspense. I went to see The Expendables when it came out (it was my then boyfriends revenge for having made him watch a chick flick the previous week) and I honest to God could not figure out what the hell was happening. I think the plot went something like this; Ageing degenerates in combats shoot at people and then stuff blows up and then they shoot some more people, then this old man who looks like the bloke who played Terminator shows up for five minutes and says something in a weird accent and then they go up in a helicopter and stuff blows up again. Was I close...? All that noise and nonsense. God I do sound old....!
Hollywood in the 1950's looked so glamorous, what with it's beautiful and graceful leading ladies, it's charming and handsome leading men, the funny and non-offensive comedic supporting actors and dreamy scenary. Of course this was not always neccesarily the case in real life; a lot of the charming leading men were misogynistic alcoholics, some of whom prefered a counter-lead male to a female, and the glamorous leading ladies didn't look so glamorous on the casting couch...! But even so, it was pretty well covered up at the time and no matter how badly they behaved in their private lives they still remain fixed into history as silver screen legends with a grace and beauty which is rarely replicated today. Hollywood now is just the same as ever in that it's all about making money and exposing/ruining new talent. She will drop you just as quick as she will raise you up. But it's lost a lot of magic. Don't get me wrong, I'm impressed by how much we've moved on in the special effects stakes - Ray Harryhausen would be gobsmacked if he saw what they could do nowadays - but I prefer my films to be focused on plot and storyline.
Now let's move on to dating. God how dreary. There was once a time when, if you were of a certain class, you'd have a husband picked for you. A rich and successful husband. No dating, no messing. Now I know there are down sides to this, for a start you can't always guarantee you'll fancy "the chosen one", but it sounds like a much simpler life. Sometimes I really hate dating. The pain of trying to figure out what to wear! Do you dress up or do you go casual? Or maybe smart/casual?? What if you dress up and he goes casual? Or vice versa? ARRRGH! If I go for a meal on a first date I always worry I'm going to dribble or have something stuck in my teeth. Then there's the sussing out of what you can or can't say in front of your date. I know there are certain things that are a definite no no; casually mentioning how many kids you'd like to have and what you'd like to call them, or how you like to slouch in your onesie whilst watching Neighbours - absolute definite no no's. Much more on top of this too. So having someone chosen for me, who is quite prepared and ready for marriage without question, sounds pretty reasonable really.
I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm fussy, but I do have certain expectations. I like a guy who makes me laugh but knows how to be serious when the time is right. But, maybe it's because I'm getting older, it's becoming more and more important to me to find a bloke who is a real gentleman. I'm talking about opening doors, pulling out my chair (without the intention of trying to make me fall on my arse), offering to pay for meals or drinks, etc etc. I want politeness and good manners and thoughtfulness, but also strength and the knowledge that if I were in trouble he would be able to put up a fight for me. I want a man who has never owned a pair of trackie bottoms in his life. I want a man who is smart, intelligent without being smarmy, and not too bad looking. Basically, I want James Bond. Unfortunately, Rachel Weisz has just nabbed the last James Bond so I'm pretty screwed. Cowbag. I wish I could say I remember a time when men were real men but, alas, I can't.
Fashion-wise I think my taste alters from one day to the next. I can be fairly up to date and I do like a logo t-shirt and skinny jeans (would be nice if I had the skinny butt to go in them) but I believe people should only dress down when they're going to bed - but that's only if they're retiring alone! A lady should always make the effort to look nice for their man, even more so in bed! If England had better weather I would wear those amazing big fifties-style dresses every day. Well, maybe not every day - I also loved the fashion in post-war twenties America. Sleek and elegant. Very unlike my actual personality, but lovely all the same. I remember being totally shocked one evening when I went to see a show at the theatre in South Wales. There I was in a nice, albeit simple, dress, with my best jewellery on, and all around me were people in jeans! Even more tasteless was a man in Bermuda shorts! What kind of a world are we living in where people wear beach wear to the theatre??? Am I starting to sound really old-fashioned now...?
Finally, music. I do like some modern stuff - Rizzle Kicks, David Guetta and Nicky Minaj are up there on my playlist - but not a lot of the songs on my playlist go much further than 1996. If you rifled through my CD's (yes I'm that old I still own CD's) you will find mostly eighties compilations or artists such as Erasure, Fleetwood Mac, Duran Duran, Blondie and suchlike. I'm also very much into reggae, must be my East London roots! Someone I spoke to recently, who is younger than me I might add, said they also liked reggae, but then continued on to name Dubstep artists. Dubstep isn't proper reggae!!!!!!!! Remember proper Ska music? I'm not talking about Lily fucking Allen, I'm talking about 2 Tone Ska! The Specials, The Beat, Madness! Proper music!!! The stuff you kids listen to nowadays is just a noise! Oh dear god there I go again......
So there you have it. I am a self-professed old-fashioned dame in a swing skirt who likes a bit of Nancy Sinatra or Johnny Cash on the radio, is hoping for a real gentleman to ask my father for my hand in marriage, am dying for a jolly good variety show comeback on the telly box, and hoping to see the next Gloria Swanson and William Holden on the big screen.
Now, where did I put those Werthers Originals.......
Wednesday 17 October 2012
I'll say no to the online freakshow, thanks
A few of my mates have recently been trying to convince me to start internet dating. I have to say I'm not sure I'm keen on the idea. I dated two guys quite a few years back having met them via My Space (do you still remember My Space??) and it did not go entirely smoothly! One dumped me by text after having cheated on me at the Download festival (great, I lose out to a skanky goth chick who shits in a field and doesn't wash all weekend), the other turned out to be a real dark horse - and not in a good way. Due to the nature of My Space being open to all to read your profile, I got quite a few private messages from desperate weirdos wanting to "poke me"....or whatever it was My Spacers used to do to try and provoke a reaction. Thankfully I've only had to "ignore" three random friend requests on Facebook so far. Quite frankly, if you're too tight to pay for a profile on a proper dating site - what makes you think I'd date you? You're likely to be one of those guys who suggest you "go dutch" on a first date and, I'm sorry, but I like my first dates to be strictly British.
I received an email last week from a guy I went to school with. I have to admit I never really gave him a second thought at school, I was too busy chasing the cool funny boys (and subsequently being rebuffed by the cool funny boys), but he's actually turned out pretty well. He just broke up with his girlfriend earlier in the year and noticed that I am now single again (yawn!). I started to think he may have potential - nice looking and a good job is always a flying start. I haven't seen him since high school so I have no idea what kind of a person he is now, but he seemed like a good lad back then. I don't remember him dating anybody, although it wasn't really proper dating back then was it? When you're fifteen years old dating means eating your lunch together in the playground, holding hands and snogging outside the chippy.
So anyway, we're emailing about what we've been up to recently and he presents a proposal, which I truly believe he probably spent a long time thinking about; "Do you fancy getting together some time and having fun, to fill the gap whilst single"?
To fill the gap...???? Really?? Is this really how guys "woo" nowadays?? I've certainly heard some bollocks chat-up lines in my life ("Hi, I'm Fred Flintstone...wanna make my bed rock"? was actually a genuine line I heard one time), not to mention straight out blunt requests like "Do you wanna come back to mine and fuck all night"? A particularly romantic line I must say. But asking if I'd be interested in being a gap filler between girlfriends is surely crossing a line? I bet even those numpties from The Only Way Is Essex wouldn't dream of using a line like that! Needless to say, as much as I miss having sex, I politely ignored this romantic gesture.
I know of a few people who have made internet dating work for them. In fact, I'm going to be bridesmaid for my best mate who next year is getting married to her fiance whom she met online. But given the fact that I have been so extremely unlucky with guys in the past (and present!) I'm not sure I want to take the risk. The last thing I would want is for my parents to receive a phone call from the police to say they've found my body in someones dustbin, or in a cellar belonging to a Russian sex trafficker. At the very least I'd receive no matches whatsoever once I'd vetted them. My "no kids, must earn good money, must own a car, must not be Take That/X Factor/football fans, must have own hair, not smoke, not be an alcoholic" requests are, evidently, proving very hard to work with!
So I think I'll stick with the old fashioned routine of meeting a guy face to face, thus ensuring I don't fall into the trap of believing his profile picture is recent and not in fact taken five years ago when he was fifteen stone lighter.
I received an email last week from a guy I went to school with. I have to admit I never really gave him a second thought at school, I was too busy chasing the cool funny boys (and subsequently being rebuffed by the cool funny boys), but he's actually turned out pretty well. He just broke up with his girlfriend earlier in the year and noticed that I am now single again (yawn!). I started to think he may have potential - nice looking and a good job is always a flying start. I haven't seen him since high school so I have no idea what kind of a person he is now, but he seemed like a good lad back then. I don't remember him dating anybody, although it wasn't really proper dating back then was it? When you're fifteen years old dating means eating your lunch together in the playground, holding hands and snogging outside the chippy.
So anyway, we're emailing about what we've been up to recently and he presents a proposal, which I truly believe he probably spent a long time thinking about; "Do you fancy getting together some time and having fun, to fill the gap whilst single"?
To fill the gap...???? Really?? Is this really how guys "woo" nowadays?? I've certainly heard some bollocks chat-up lines in my life ("Hi, I'm Fred Flintstone...wanna make my bed rock"? was actually a genuine line I heard one time), not to mention straight out blunt requests like "Do you wanna come back to mine and fuck all night"? A particularly romantic line I must say. But asking if I'd be interested in being a gap filler between girlfriends is surely crossing a line? I bet even those numpties from The Only Way Is Essex wouldn't dream of using a line like that! Needless to say, as much as I miss having sex, I politely ignored this romantic gesture.
I know of a few people who have made internet dating work for them. In fact, I'm going to be bridesmaid for my best mate who next year is getting married to her fiance whom she met online. But given the fact that I have been so extremely unlucky with guys in the past (and present!) I'm not sure I want to take the risk. The last thing I would want is for my parents to receive a phone call from the police to say they've found my body in someones dustbin, or in a cellar belonging to a Russian sex trafficker. At the very least I'd receive no matches whatsoever once I'd vetted them. My "no kids, must earn good money, must own a car, must not be Take That/X Factor/football fans, must have own hair, not smoke, not be an alcoholic" requests are, evidently, proving very hard to work with!
So I think I'll stick with the old fashioned routine of meeting a guy face to face, thus ensuring I don't fall into the trap of believing his profile picture is recent and not in fact taken five years ago when he was fifteen stone lighter.
Friday 12 October 2012
Bowled over
After a pretty great night last night I am happy to say that nothing has changed. In relation to my bowling skills that is. I am still shit. I don't believe in second or third, I think if you're not first - you're a loser. Well I came second to last out of six of us, so I believe that makes me an epic loser! However, a fun night was had by all and it ultimately led to me being nominated as "Social Secretary" of staff nights out!
I've always been good at organising events, I guess you could say it's my forte, so I'm kind of chuffed I was nominated. Not least because this means I can ensure I never have to get dragged into the painful experience of karaoke. I've quite had my fill of sitting through pissed up tarts screeching "I Will Survive" into the microphone, when all I really want to ensure is that they don't actually survive to bang out another "classic" and completely ruin my night.
The one thing that does irritate me with organising events is undecisive people. I don't want to hear things like "Ooo, I'll have to see", or "I should be ok unless something else crops up". I will give you enough notice to put it in your diary. If somebody dies I will take that as a reasonable excuse for you not to turn up, or if for any reason you need to make an emergency visit to the hospital I will completely understand. But the reason I give you prior notice is so that you can put it in your diary if you should so wish to come, then if anything else does happen to "crop up" you can say "Actually no sorry, Leigh has organised a staff night out for us". A bit of advice for anybody reading this who knows me personally; if I invite you to an event and you don't want to come.....just say you don't want to come!!!! Granny dying = reasonable excuse. Wanting to wait for something better to be invited to = UNreasonable excuse!
So due to the extreme spasticness of my bowling technique I need to redeem myself by organising something that can show I'm not a total pleb.
Sorry guys, but this next event may take some time to devise....!
I've always been good at organising events, I guess you could say it's my forte, so I'm kind of chuffed I was nominated. Not least because this means I can ensure I never have to get dragged into the painful experience of karaoke. I've quite had my fill of sitting through pissed up tarts screeching "I Will Survive" into the microphone, when all I really want to ensure is that they don't actually survive to bang out another "classic" and completely ruin my night.
The one thing that does irritate me with organising events is undecisive people. I don't want to hear things like "Ooo, I'll have to see", or "I should be ok unless something else crops up". I will give you enough notice to put it in your diary. If somebody dies I will take that as a reasonable excuse for you not to turn up, or if for any reason you need to make an emergency visit to the hospital I will completely understand. But the reason I give you prior notice is so that you can put it in your diary if you should so wish to come, then if anything else does happen to "crop up" you can say "Actually no sorry, Leigh has organised a staff night out for us". A bit of advice for anybody reading this who knows me personally; if I invite you to an event and you don't want to come.....just say you don't want to come!!!! Granny dying = reasonable excuse. Wanting to wait for something better to be invited to = UNreasonable excuse!
So due to the extreme spasticness of my bowling technique I need to redeem myself by organising something that can show I'm not a total pleb.
Sorry guys, but this next event may take some time to devise....!
Sunday 7 October 2012
Back and Unbiased! Kind of....
Ok, I may have let my "daily" Blogs slip a little bit just lately! I was kinda waiting for my views to stop being marred by the turn out of my ex not quite turning out to be the great boyfriend he made himself out to be. Next time I start dating again I'll be sure to choose someone a bit more manly and strong-willed, and preferably someone who really knows what they want! Mind you, I wonder if many of us actually do know what we want....?
I've been at my new job for almost three months now, which means I've been living in Ipswich for almost six months. What's happened in this time span? Not much really. I got invited to a fancy "do" through work and had to have my Mum ship my long evening gown over from Lowestoft just so I didn't look under-dressed in my little black cocktail dress. Turns out almost everybody was wearing bloody cocktail dresses. £7.50 postage well spent(!). As it was, I looked at the photos afterwards and realised I didn't look as good as I though I did! My boobs looked fantastic though, obviously. Myself and a colleague had a few glasses of champagne (a few can mean about five, right..?) and had a pretty good laugh - although I did notice my boss throw me a few "Don't you dare embarrass me" glances my way. I'm pleased to say there was no embarrassment that night. At least none I'm aware of. I happened to be sitting next to one of the guys on our marketing team, who was a blast to talk to. It's usually my luck to get positioned next to the company bore, or the office sleaze, so it was a refreshing change!
I'm now living with my colleague, Jemima, and her husband Paul, who both have a two year old boy. I have to admit he does tug at my heart strings a little sometimes, but I still remain firmly positioned in the "Person Least Likely To Have Children" box. Even cuddling my niece this weekend hasn't made me feel broody one single bit. I'm missing the maternal gene. Although I do feel concerned when people don't eat properly, and I love to make packed lunches. But that doesn't make me maternal, that just makes me odd.
I'm going to crack back on with attempting to lose weight again. Paul attends a spinning class three times a week and Jemima, I think, is toying with the idea. She's mentioned it a few times but it's usually before dinner and then all thoughts of exercise are dropped after we've finished our meal. Probably because the thought of missing out on home-made lasagne is just too insane to consider. Although I have to add that I do put courgettes and peppers in my lasagne, which pretty much cancels out the red meat and white sauce. Right....?
Due to the extremely ridiculous parking charges in town I am now forced to become a "bus wanker". The Park & Ride was ok because it was full of professional working people who own cars. But the regular buses....? Oh dear god. I wonder where some of these people crawl out from on a daily basis and why they don't just stay there. Last week there was a guy who sat up the top section of the bus at the front, with his dirty feet up on the ledge, stinking of booze and humming to himself. He made the whole bus stink of whiskey! On Friday a woman let her little boy, who couldn't have been much older than four years, climb up on the luggage rack and swing from the window bar. If you ever want to see an example of bad parenting - get on a public bus, there are dozens of great examples to case study! Let's not forget about the weirdos who randomly start up a conversation with you about their problems.
I don't mean to sound harsh but, if I don't know you please rest assured that I don't give a flying turd about your problems. A strange middle-aged lady wearing a bright orange fleece seated in the seat across from me on the bus last week turned to a lady behind her and struck up a (one-sided) conversation about cats. The conversation then turned to how her ex-husband tried to take her cat away. This then developed into a tyrade of abuse about her ex-husband. She glanced my way at one point but I cunningly avoided all eye contact.
People read my Blog by choice, so you can't complain about my moaning if you choose to read it. People sat on the bus minding their own business do not choose to listen to your utter bollocks, so please please please....keep it to yourself or start up a Blog! On a separate note; £1.80 for a one-way journey, bus is always at least fifteen minutes late, and I don't always get a bloody seat. Thanks Cameron, good idea to get the bus nowadays right mate???!
I've picked up on the pace on my childrens book, despite losing all my fecking notes. I've basically started from scratch. I guess that's the joy of moving house, you always lose something. I'd've rather it could've been my credit card bills that went missing, but no such luck. I've organised a bowling trip with the guys from work on Thursday next week, so no doubt you'll be seeing the next Blog a few days late due to my breaking a finger or spraining my wrist! In my head, I'm like the human equivalent of Fred Flintstone when it comes to bowling. In reality, I probably couldn't get a strike even if they put the bumpers up at the gulleys. My three month old niece could probably bowl better than me. Still, it'll be a laugh anyway. Mainly at my expensive, but still....!
I'm off to the New Forest in a few weeks with Emma. I've let myself be persuaded to allow her to purchase us tickets to Peppa Pig World. God help me if I get sick on any of those rides, I'll never live it down.
I've been at my new job for almost three months now, which means I've been living in Ipswich for almost six months. What's happened in this time span? Not much really. I got invited to a fancy "do" through work and had to have my Mum ship my long evening gown over from Lowestoft just so I didn't look under-dressed in my little black cocktail dress. Turns out almost everybody was wearing bloody cocktail dresses. £7.50 postage well spent(!). As it was, I looked at the photos afterwards and realised I didn't look as good as I though I did! My boobs looked fantastic though, obviously. Myself and a colleague had a few glasses of champagne (a few can mean about five, right..?) and had a pretty good laugh - although I did notice my boss throw me a few "Don't you dare embarrass me" glances my way. I'm pleased to say there was no embarrassment that night. At least none I'm aware of. I happened to be sitting next to one of the guys on our marketing team, who was a blast to talk to. It's usually my luck to get positioned next to the company bore, or the office sleaze, so it was a refreshing change!
I'm now living with my colleague, Jemima, and her husband Paul, who both have a two year old boy. I have to admit he does tug at my heart strings a little sometimes, but I still remain firmly positioned in the "Person Least Likely To Have Children" box. Even cuddling my niece this weekend hasn't made me feel broody one single bit. I'm missing the maternal gene. Although I do feel concerned when people don't eat properly, and I love to make packed lunches. But that doesn't make me maternal, that just makes me odd.
I'm going to crack back on with attempting to lose weight again. Paul attends a spinning class three times a week and Jemima, I think, is toying with the idea. She's mentioned it a few times but it's usually before dinner and then all thoughts of exercise are dropped after we've finished our meal. Probably because the thought of missing out on home-made lasagne is just too insane to consider. Although I have to add that I do put courgettes and peppers in my lasagne, which pretty much cancels out the red meat and white sauce. Right....?
Due to the extremely ridiculous parking charges in town I am now forced to become a "bus wanker". The Park & Ride was ok because it was full of professional working people who own cars. But the regular buses....? Oh dear god. I wonder where some of these people crawl out from on a daily basis and why they don't just stay there. Last week there was a guy who sat up the top section of the bus at the front, with his dirty feet up on the ledge, stinking of booze and humming to himself. He made the whole bus stink of whiskey! On Friday a woman let her little boy, who couldn't have been much older than four years, climb up on the luggage rack and swing from the window bar. If you ever want to see an example of bad parenting - get on a public bus, there are dozens of great examples to case study! Let's not forget about the weirdos who randomly start up a conversation with you about their problems.
I don't mean to sound harsh but, if I don't know you please rest assured that I don't give a flying turd about your problems. A strange middle-aged lady wearing a bright orange fleece seated in the seat across from me on the bus last week turned to a lady behind her and struck up a (one-sided) conversation about cats. The conversation then turned to how her ex-husband tried to take her cat away. This then developed into a tyrade of abuse about her ex-husband. She glanced my way at one point but I cunningly avoided all eye contact.
People read my Blog by choice, so you can't complain about my moaning if you choose to read it. People sat on the bus minding their own business do not choose to listen to your utter bollocks, so please please please....keep it to yourself or start up a Blog! On a separate note; £1.80 for a one-way journey, bus is always at least fifteen minutes late, and I don't always get a bloody seat. Thanks Cameron, good idea to get the bus nowadays right mate???!
I've picked up on the pace on my childrens book, despite losing all my fecking notes. I've basically started from scratch. I guess that's the joy of moving house, you always lose something. I'd've rather it could've been my credit card bills that went missing, but no such luck. I've organised a bowling trip with the guys from work on Thursday next week, so no doubt you'll be seeing the next Blog a few days late due to my breaking a finger or spraining my wrist! In my head, I'm like the human equivalent of Fred Flintstone when it comes to bowling. In reality, I probably couldn't get a strike even if they put the bumpers up at the gulleys. My three month old niece could probably bowl better than me. Still, it'll be a laugh anyway. Mainly at my expensive, but still....!
I'm off to the New Forest in a few weeks with Emma. I've let myself be persuaded to allow her to purchase us tickets to Peppa Pig World. God help me if I get sick on any of those rides, I'll never live it down.
Saturday 15 September 2012
Accentuate the Positive
Thank God for work. Yep, I know what I just said - and no I'm not drunk or taking any kind of medication, I truly mean it.
These last few weeks have been a real piece of horse shit. After been strung along for a little while, Mr Z (don't think it'd be 100% accurate to call him Mr "D", but it's certainly borderline) realised that relationships aren't all moonlight and roses, and that I actually have my own opinions which didn't match his. I guess some guys just can't handle a woman having strong views. Probably for the best I suppose, his skinniness made me feel like a freakin' whale. I'd just realised that he was a good guy, and that I was happier than I'd been before, when he suddenly decided he was bored with being a boyfriend.
I know quite a few blokes at the moment who aren't happy in their relationships, but they're just too scared to say anything. Not because they're scared of their girlfriends but because they don't want to rock the boat, or they don't like the confrontation. Some guys think they're doing the best thing by not talking things out, but all it does is makes the situation worse.when suddenly out of the blue they start giving you the cold shoulder - and you've no idea why.
Statistics show that women speak three times as much as men, with women using approximately 20,000 words per day compared to a mans 7,000 (approx). Maybe this is where we're going wrong? Maybe us women should just revert back to how our ancestors were back in the 18th and 19th century and just keep our mouths shut. Instead of us trying to talk things through, we should just except that the other person isn't "the one" and move on. But then, at the end of the day, I still can't change my opinions and views, and Mr Z didn't like that my views were different to his. If everyone agreed with each other it'd be the worlds most boring - and shortest - conversation ever!
So here I am, single again and getting ready to order my "Crazy cat lady starter kit". But at least I can watch my tv programmes in peace!
Things have been tough recently, and not just because of Mr Z, but thankfully I'm starting to feel a bit more positive and I owe that to my lovely work mates. I may be a cynic, but I'm losing a little of my negativity. I think. Have your winter woollies at the ready just in case hell freezes over.
These last few weeks have been a real piece of horse shit. After been strung along for a little while, Mr Z (don't think it'd be 100% accurate to call him Mr "D", but it's certainly borderline) realised that relationships aren't all moonlight and roses, and that I actually have my own opinions which didn't match his. I guess some guys just can't handle a woman having strong views. Probably for the best I suppose, his skinniness made me feel like a freakin' whale. I'd just realised that he was a good guy, and that I was happier than I'd been before, when he suddenly decided he was bored with being a boyfriend.
I know quite a few blokes at the moment who aren't happy in their relationships, but they're just too scared to say anything. Not because they're scared of their girlfriends but because they don't want to rock the boat, or they don't like the confrontation. Some guys think they're doing the best thing by not talking things out, but all it does is makes the situation worse.when suddenly out of the blue they start giving you the cold shoulder - and you've no idea why.
Statistics show that women speak three times as much as men, with women using approximately 20,000 words per day compared to a mans 7,000 (approx). Maybe this is where we're going wrong? Maybe us women should just revert back to how our ancestors were back in the 18th and 19th century and just keep our mouths shut. Instead of us trying to talk things through, we should just except that the other person isn't "the one" and move on. But then, at the end of the day, I still can't change my opinions and views, and Mr Z didn't like that my views were different to his. If everyone agreed with each other it'd be the worlds most boring - and shortest - conversation ever!
So here I am, single again and getting ready to order my "Crazy cat lady starter kit". But at least I can watch my tv programmes in peace!
Things have been tough recently, and not just because of Mr Z, but thankfully I'm starting to feel a bit more positive and I owe that to my lovely work mates. I may be a cynic, but I'm losing a little of my negativity. I think. Have your winter woollies at the ready just in case hell freezes over.
Thursday 30 August 2012
A Walk On the Bright Side
I woke up this morning still feeling shit, but I've had a great idea. Shocking I know. I've decided on a way to perk myself up, even if it's only temporary it could at least start the ball rolling. It's difficult to go out and have fun when you're very strapped for cash, but by buggery I'm going to do it! On a budget! I have my work cut out.
I've had to be thrifty before; when I was living in Wales things were so hard at times we had to have breakfast cereal for dinner on a number of occasions! And it was the cheap nasty supermarket own brand cereal too. When I moved back to the land of the living (although probably not the most accurate description for Lowestoft), I found a job right away at the local holiday camp and even had my own lodgings. Granted it was gobshite and I had to share it with ants, but at least it was cheap! After I left that job I had to move back in with my folks. It's safe to say I had no worries about budgeting then. The rent was ridiculously cheap and I had no bills other than my mobile bill. You'd have thought previously living on the breadline amongst a sea of red bills would make one a bit more wise and prudent. Not so. Now I had the taste of earning my own money again, I fucked the budget up the arse. My motto was "If ya like it, buy it"! Oh what a naive young lady I was.
After I moved out of my parents house and in with a couple of mates from work, I found I had to tighten the purse strings a little bit more. Not enough to have to buy supermarket own brand I might hasten to add *retch*, but just enough so I wasn't in danger of having my new, financed, car repossessed. When one housemate eventually found a new place to live, and the other took a job in a different city and had to move, I found I couldn't afford to live in the place on my own, so back to the parents I went! Splitting my time between home and Douchbag Darrens flat was a bit of a strain on the finances, he being a tight bastard about spending cash on anything else that wasn't alcohol, but I was never exactly what you'd call "destitute". Nor did I feel the need for a credit card at that point. Then, in the Summer, I got the dreaded credit card to enable DD to pay for an extra five years on his Grandparents headstone at the local fancy cemetary. He didn't have the cash, he'd been refused a credit card, and they wanted payment up front. I was a fool, so I paid for it on the ole credit card and he paid me back in (very low) repayments every month. In hindsight (not much fucking use is it, hindsight??) I should've just let him deal with it somehow, because after we split up he rubbed it in my face that he still owed me about fifty quid. I hope a pikey nicks his bicycle, the washed-up alcoholic bike wanker. Not that I'm bitter.
So back to the subject of fun! My now rather large credit card bill and soon to be be bigger pay-out every month means I can't be having a great time whilst spending too much money. There's a Jason Biggs film (Jason Biggs, you remember him? The one-trick American Pie pony?), it's called Loser. In the film, he dates a girl who shows him how he can have a great day/evening whilst not spending any more than a few dollars. I bet there are plenty of free events and tourist attractions in Ipswich. Ok so maybe not great ones, but maybe some of them will be semi-interesting?! I'm going to trawl through the local Tourist Info, plus I'm going to start using...dare I say it....coupons. Yes I know it's a bit skanky but it's the kind of prudence that will turn pennies into pounds! Maybe even water into wine, seeing as I'll be saving enough money to buy Merlot rather than twenty size pence bottles of Tesco water.
I've been thinking about all the things that made me happy when I were young; making up dance routines with mates, listening to my cassette tape on the kitchen stereo through the worlds largest headphones, spending all my two pennies in the amusement arcades and winning as many tickets as I could - even though after spending around tenner I still only had enough tickets to buy a few lollipops and a single bubblegum with free tattoo. Time spent building sandcastles on Leigh-On-Sea beach was so great! It still makes me smile when I remember the excitement of my parents driving us to the seaside and that moment when the smell of salt and seaweed drifts in through the windows and you know you're getting close! Me, Emma and a few mates went to the beach a few months ago. We built sandcastles and we didn't care how stupid we looked! It was bloody hilarious.
With this in mind I'm compiling a list of things to do that made me happy in the past and I'm going to spend the next month or two doing every one of them. Regardless of whether they're stupid or childish (within reason!) I'm going to do it! If dragging a few mates over for a karaoke/dance night is what it takes to put a spring back into my pigeon-footed step then so be it. If anybody has any suggestions please feel free to put them forward, no matter how silly it is (again, within reason. I won't for example streak naked through the local football pitch, or anything else along those lines, or do anything that might actually put my own life in danger!). I'll do every one of them and post the evidence right here on Blogspot!
School's out!
I've had to be thrifty before; when I was living in Wales things were so hard at times we had to have breakfast cereal for dinner on a number of occasions! And it was the cheap nasty supermarket own brand cereal too. When I moved back to the land of the living (although probably not the most accurate description for Lowestoft), I found a job right away at the local holiday camp and even had my own lodgings. Granted it was gobshite and I had to share it with ants, but at least it was cheap! After I left that job I had to move back in with my folks. It's safe to say I had no worries about budgeting then. The rent was ridiculously cheap and I had no bills other than my mobile bill. You'd have thought previously living on the breadline amongst a sea of red bills would make one a bit more wise and prudent. Not so. Now I had the taste of earning my own money again, I fucked the budget up the arse. My motto was "If ya like it, buy it"! Oh what a naive young lady I was.
After I moved out of my parents house and in with a couple of mates from work, I found I had to tighten the purse strings a little bit more. Not enough to have to buy supermarket own brand I might hasten to add *retch*, but just enough so I wasn't in danger of having my new, financed, car repossessed. When one housemate eventually found a new place to live, and the other took a job in a different city and had to move, I found I couldn't afford to live in the place on my own, so back to the parents I went! Splitting my time between home and Douchbag Darrens flat was a bit of a strain on the finances, he being a tight bastard about spending cash on anything else that wasn't alcohol, but I was never exactly what you'd call "destitute". Nor did I feel the need for a credit card at that point. Then, in the Summer, I got the dreaded credit card to enable DD to pay for an extra five years on his Grandparents headstone at the local fancy cemetary. He didn't have the cash, he'd been refused a credit card, and they wanted payment up front. I was a fool, so I paid for it on the ole credit card and he paid me back in (very low) repayments every month. In hindsight (not much fucking use is it, hindsight??) I should've just let him deal with it somehow, because after we split up he rubbed it in my face that he still owed me about fifty quid. I hope a pikey nicks his bicycle, the washed-up alcoholic bike wanker. Not that I'm bitter.
So back to the subject of fun! My now rather large credit card bill and soon to be be bigger pay-out every month means I can't be having a great time whilst spending too much money. There's a Jason Biggs film (Jason Biggs, you remember him? The one-trick American Pie pony?), it's called Loser. In the film, he dates a girl who shows him how he can have a great day/evening whilst not spending any more than a few dollars. I bet there are plenty of free events and tourist attractions in Ipswich. Ok so maybe not great ones, but maybe some of them will be semi-interesting?! I'm going to trawl through the local Tourist Info, plus I'm going to start using...dare I say it....coupons. Yes I know it's a bit skanky but it's the kind of prudence that will turn pennies into pounds! Maybe even water into wine, seeing as I'll be saving enough money to buy Merlot rather than twenty size pence bottles of Tesco water.
I've been thinking about all the things that made me happy when I were young; making up dance routines with mates, listening to my cassette tape on the kitchen stereo through the worlds largest headphones, spending all my two pennies in the amusement arcades and winning as many tickets as I could - even though after spending around tenner I still only had enough tickets to buy a few lollipops and a single bubblegum with free tattoo. Time spent building sandcastles on Leigh-On-Sea beach was so great! It still makes me smile when I remember the excitement of my parents driving us to the seaside and that moment when the smell of salt and seaweed drifts in through the windows and you know you're getting close! Me, Emma and a few mates went to the beach a few months ago. We built sandcastles and we didn't care how stupid we looked! It was bloody hilarious.
With this in mind I'm compiling a list of things to do that made me happy in the past and I'm going to spend the next month or two doing every one of them. Regardless of whether they're stupid or childish (within reason!) I'm going to do it! If dragging a few mates over for a karaoke/dance night is what it takes to put a spring back into my pigeon-footed step then so be it. If anybody has any suggestions please feel free to put them forward, no matter how silly it is (again, within reason. I won't for example streak naked through the local football pitch, or anything else along those lines, or do anything that might actually put my own life in danger!). I'll do every one of them and post the evidence right here on Blogspot!
School's out!
Friday 17 August 2012
If I could turn the page in time then I'd re-arrange just a day or two...
Neglecting my Blog again. Yes I'm useless. When I stay at Mr Z's I like to avoid sitting in front of the laptop screen for long periods of time, it's usually much nicer to just cuddle in front of the TV! When I'm staying at Em and the Mexican's I feel a bit cheeky always borrowing their laptop. If I weren't in such a financial black pit at the moment I'd get a iPad (yes I admit I will eventually succumb to the "iGang"), then I could Blog on the move and look all professional and posh. Or something.
Not really feeling too inspirational in regards to writing this week. I may have pissed off Mr Z a tiny bit. I've been pretty stressed this last month, and I'm not by any means making up any excuses, but when I get stressed and worried about things I do have a tendency to snap a little bit. I don't even realise I'm doing it some times. Although to be fair, isn't that a woman thing in general...? But I think I've probably taken a step too far, now we're "cooling off" a little. Just writing that sentence makes me go cold (that actually wasn't a pun). I'm sure from previous experience most of you will know what "let's have a little break" or "We need to spend a bit less time together" really means. I hope I'm wrong - it's not very often somebody like Mr Z comes along and makes me feel as happy as he does. I'm confident once I settle into a new place (yep, still living out of a suitcase!) and I can stop feeling like I'm in everybody's way and I'm pissing everybody off for just generally existing....maybe he'll see me for the person I am on a normal day-to-day basis when I'm not so terrified I've made the wrong decisions again. So many times I've not managed to make things work out before, be it relationships, work or lifestyle, I've fluffed up a bit. Again. I'm training my mind to think positively, although it's a little hard at the moment. Maybe I'll write to Richard Gere, or Cat Stevens, and see how turning Buddhist has worked out for them...? I'm joking of course - I'd never have the guts to shave my head.
On the opposite end to being a douche, I had the fabulous news this week of my new baby niece arriving into the world at an eye-watering 9lb 14oz. Luckily for my brothers girlfriend she was a c-section baby. Imagine if she'd had to give birth naturally! Walking through the town on a windy day she'd whistle like crazy......
So, from within a depressing week came a shining light. I get to cuddle baby Molly tomorrow and be a proud Aunt, all the while hoping that she never listens to any of my relationship advice.
Not really feeling too inspirational in regards to writing this week. I may have pissed off Mr Z a tiny bit. I've been pretty stressed this last month, and I'm not by any means making up any excuses, but when I get stressed and worried about things I do have a tendency to snap a little bit. I don't even realise I'm doing it some times. Although to be fair, isn't that a woman thing in general...? But I think I've probably taken a step too far, now we're "cooling off" a little. Just writing that sentence makes me go cold (that actually wasn't a pun). I'm sure from previous experience most of you will know what "let's have a little break" or "We need to spend a bit less time together" really means. I hope I'm wrong - it's not very often somebody like Mr Z comes along and makes me feel as happy as he does. I'm confident once I settle into a new place (yep, still living out of a suitcase!) and I can stop feeling like I'm in everybody's way and I'm pissing everybody off for just generally existing....maybe he'll see me for the person I am on a normal day-to-day basis when I'm not so terrified I've made the wrong decisions again. So many times I've not managed to make things work out before, be it relationships, work or lifestyle, I've fluffed up a bit. Again. I'm training my mind to think positively, although it's a little hard at the moment. Maybe I'll write to Richard Gere, or Cat Stevens, and see how turning Buddhist has worked out for them...? I'm joking of course - I'd never have the guts to shave my head.
On the opposite end to being a douche, I had the fabulous news this week of my new baby niece arriving into the world at an eye-watering 9lb 14oz. Luckily for my brothers girlfriend she was a c-section baby. Imagine if she'd had to give birth naturally! Walking through the town on a windy day she'd whistle like crazy......
So, from within a depressing week came a shining light. I get to cuddle baby Molly tomorrow and be a proud Aunt, all the while hoping that she never listens to any of my relationship advice.
Thursday 2 August 2012
Soap-box City
People on buses who piss me off: Those who play "Guess the Theme Tune" then proceed to sing the most annoying theme tunes ever created. People who arrive at the bus stop at the last minute and then barge on to the bus with no consideration for the fact you've been waiting there for the last twenty minutes. Children. People who listen to their music without earphones (and why is it always SHIT music???). People who choose to have very private conversations, very loudly, on their phones. People who walk past you whilst you're still sitting on the bus and smack you round the head with their shopping bags, not bothering to apologise for their attempted GBH. People who sit on the aisle seat and dump their handbag on the window seat so that nobody can sit next to them. I think that's about it. I've only just started using public transport again after around ten years, so I'm sure there'll be more issues to come. Having to sit next to somebody who smells bad would rank (rank being the operative word) pretty high on the list too. A few of these issues could be solved by my iPod, but unfortunately I have no earphones and I refuse to be one of those annoying people! Plus my playlist is a bit embarrassing. God I hate public transport.
I'm a bit (ok, a lot) grumpy today. It's been a long week. I've been playing Game Of War with a virus who seems dead keen to take me down, but I refuse! I'm taking all types of medication I could possibly take without overdosing, plus I've never eaten so many oranges in my life. Having to work whilst feeling run down is not helping, but due to the current state of my finances (bad. Quite bad) I don't have much choice. That and almost crashing my car into a complete wankbag who pulled out in front of me today, together with not spending any evenings with Mr Z this week (an attempt to limit my germ spreadage), has left me feeling a tad sorry for myself. I'd say the money thing was top of my list of worries right now though. I looked at a very nice house-share on Monday and I'm really excited about the thought of moving in, but the deposit is £900 and that just doesn't exist to me right now! But this house is amaaaaaaaziiiiiiiiiing! I've already planned my moving in party and pictured where my slow cooker would sit in the kitchen (which has a huge oven and lots of prep area....YAY!!!!).
Thank god it's Friday tomorrow. I'm feeling a bit better health-wise, so hopefully I've already given my virus to the asshole on the bus who couldn't guess the theme tune to Bob The Builder.
I'm a bit (ok, a lot) grumpy today. It's been a long week. I've been playing Game Of War with a virus who seems dead keen to take me down, but I refuse! I'm taking all types of medication I could possibly take without overdosing, plus I've never eaten so many oranges in my life. Having to work whilst feeling run down is not helping, but due to the current state of my finances (bad. Quite bad) I don't have much choice. That and almost crashing my car into a complete wankbag who pulled out in front of me today, together with not spending any evenings with Mr Z this week (an attempt to limit my germ spreadage), has left me feeling a tad sorry for myself. I'd say the money thing was top of my list of worries right now though. I looked at a very nice house-share on Monday and I'm really excited about the thought of moving in, but the deposit is £900 and that just doesn't exist to me right now! But this house is amaaaaaaaziiiiiiiiiing! I've already planned my moving in party and pictured where my slow cooker would sit in the kitchen (which has a huge oven and lots of prep area....YAY!!!!).
Thank god it's Friday tomorrow. I'm feeling a bit better health-wise, so hopefully I've already given my virus to the asshole on the bus who couldn't guess the theme tune to Bob The Builder.
Saturday 28 July 2012
Going for gold? I'm going for the TV remote....
The Olympics. Oh how I couldn't give a flying relay baton about the Olympics. I know it's been a world-wide tradition since 700-odd BC, but it's nowhere near as exciting as it used to be - if history is correct. For a start, the Ancient Greeks would play the games completely naked. Now, this instantly improves my opinion of the Olympics by at least 50%. The comedy value of watching the naked mens hurdles, willies flapping up and down, is far greater than the supposed enjoyment of watching men jumping over stiles in boring old lycra.
The Olympics of the early centuries was brutal. Bring back chariot racing!! How many people actually sit and watch the rowing and cycling...? I find it incredibly dull. Plus, as you know, I'm not a great fan of cyclists.
I'm also annoyed by the disruptiveness the games are causing. Imagine those people working in London being held up because one of the runners decides to take a sprint down the local McDonalds. I don't understand why they should get right of way to people trying to get to work. Of course I know an athlete wouldn't want to go to McDonalds before the games, but you know what I mean. Maybe I should've said Yo! Sushi.
The opening ceremony last night lasted over three hours. Instead of watching a DVD together as planned, Mr Z decided to watch the entire ceremony instead. More disruption! "It's a once in a lifetime opportunity to watch this"! people cry. No it's not. BBC will be ramming it down our throats once the Olympics is finished between then and the end of time. Plus there's always You Tube. I watched the first ten minutes just to be sociable, as everybody else in the house were watching. I think it was a good idea to tell a bit of the history of Great Britain, I do love history; the suffragettes, the industrial revolution, the men fighting for our country in WWI & II, but I'd've rather seen it done in a slightly less pretentious way. What the hell was all that waving and swaying about?? Considering the man who put it together was the same guy who made a film about junkies and a drug addict sifting through human faeces to get to his ecstacy tablet, I was rather disappointed by the wetness of it all. It was boosted to pretentiousness of epic proportions when Kenneth "can't direct a movie without starring in it" Brannagh came strolling out into the field quoting Shakespeare. No doubt ole Ken will have a permanent erection all week following his starring performance. I'll admit the set was pretty impressive, but the cost of the performance slightly dampened my enthusiasm. £42 million is the estimated cost of the ceremony. Not to mention £400 million for "building consultants". All in all the estimated cost is between £5 and £20 billion. So Great Britain is skint is it..? I'm so glad we were able to put all those people out of work, and even more ecstatic that nurses and the like are being handed pay cuts, just so we could stage sports in London and attempt to win sports we've always been shit at. That's not impressive, that's just sickening.
The English are crap at pretty much most sports, so why are people getting excited that we now have an even bigger choice at stuff to be crap at? I do hope "Team GB" win a few golds (silver and bronze are bullshit, if you don't come first you've lost. Why take a consolation price to show you're not quite good enough??), but I might get bored hearing about it for the next forty years, as we have been since England won the World Cup in 1966. 1966!!!
The one thing I'm happy about in regards to the Olympics is that it's disrupting the schedule of Eastenders and BBC3 programmes. Even I prefer sports to terrible acting and programmes about pikeys and chavvy women in labour. Well done and thank you on that account BBC!
The Olympics of the early centuries was brutal. Bring back chariot racing!! How many people actually sit and watch the rowing and cycling...? I find it incredibly dull. Plus, as you know, I'm not a great fan of cyclists.
I'm also annoyed by the disruptiveness the games are causing. Imagine those people working in London being held up because one of the runners decides to take a sprint down the local McDonalds. I don't understand why they should get right of way to people trying to get to work. Of course I know an athlete wouldn't want to go to McDonalds before the games, but you know what I mean. Maybe I should've said Yo! Sushi.
The opening ceremony last night lasted over three hours. Instead of watching a DVD together as planned, Mr Z decided to watch the entire ceremony instead. More disruption! "It's a once in a lifetime opportunity to watch this"! people cry. No it's not. BBC will be ramming it down our throats once the Olympics is finished between then and the end of time. Plus there's always You Tube. I watched the first ten minutes just to be sociable, as everybody else in the house were watching. I think it was a good idea to tell a bit of the history of Great Britain, I do love history; the suffragettes, the industrial revolution, the men fighting for our country in WWI & II, but I'd've rather seen it done in a slightly less pretentious way. What the hell was all that waving and swaying about?? Considering the man who put it together was the same guy who made a film about junkies and a drug addict sifting through human faeces to get to his ecstacy tablet, I was rather disappointed by the wetness of it all. It was boosted to pretentiousness of epic proportions when Kenneth "can't direct a movie without starring in it" Brannagh came strolling out into the field quoting Shakespeare. No doubt ole Ken will have a permanent erection all week following his starring performance. I'll admit the set was pretty impressive, but the cost of the performance slightly dampened my enthusiasm. £42 million is the estimated cost of the ceremony. Not to mention £400 million for "building consultants". All in all the estimated cost is between £5 and £20 billion. So Great Britain is skint is it..? I'm so glad we were able to put all those people out of work, and even more ecstatic that nurses and the like are being handed pay cuts, just so we could stage sports in London and attempt to win sports we've always been shit at. That's not impressive, that's just sickening.
The English are crap at pretty much most sports, so why are people getting excited that we now have an even bigger choice at stuff to be crap at? I do hope "Team GB" win a few golds (silver and bronze are bullshit, if you don't come first you've lost. Why take a consolation price to show you're not quite good enough??), but I might get bored hearing about it for the next forty years, as we have been since England won the World Cup in 1966. 1966!!!
The one thing I'm happy about in regards to the Olympics is that it's disrupting the schedule of Eastenders and BBC3 programmes. Even I prefer sports to terrible acting and programmes about pikeys and chavvy women in labour. Well done and thank you on that account BBC!
Thursday 26 July 2012
Rest and Retreat
I've had a few days off work this week as Em very kindly invited me to be her plus one at Clarice House Spa in Bury St Edmunds. We arrived there yesterday around midday and decided to hit the pool rightaway. After about 15 minutes of attempting to squeeze myself into my tummy-control swimming cozzie (don't believe a word of what they say, it controls absolutely nothing!) I was hot and flustered and ready to get pool-side. It felt rather strange walking around in public wearing the dressing gown and complimentary slippers. Not that it was an unusual sight, everybody else was wearing the same attire. Would've looked a bit weird popping down to Tesco Express though. Mind you, boxers walk out into large crowds wearing their dressing gowns, so maybe it wouldn't have looked so weird after all.
So we flip-flopped down to the pool and was greeted by friendly staff, dumped our stuff into the locker and enjoyed a nice little swim for a while. Well I say swim, we mostly floated. And chatted. And made fun of men in stupid speedoes. I did swim two lengths though! I felt like my lungs were packing up, but at least I did it. I know this is a terrible thing to say, but one of the good things about going to swimming pools and beaches is that you always see a few people who make you feel grateful for the size of your own body. It could be a hell of a lot worse!
After our dip in the pool and our lounge in the jacuzzi, and all of sixty seconds in the steam room (Em found it a tad hard to breathe, bless'er), we headed to our room to chill for an hour before our treatments. The room was fabulous! I highly recommend this place to anybody thinking of booking a spa break. We watched telly for a bit, got pissed off by a huge June bug and spent about ten minutes trying to kill the big fecker. A cushion eventually took him to his death, just in case you were wondering.
Time came for our treatments and we meandered down to the salon to await our calling. The therapists come out with big clipboards and call your name, you then follow them down a dark corridor and are led into an even darker room. I've never actually been to a brothel before, but I'd imagine that's probably what it'd be like. But with whale music.
I was booked in for a Swedish back and shoulder massage. Just writing that makes my back hurt thinking about it. There were certain parts that hurt - a lot! I think it may be because I was tensing up, but all the same - it hurt! Today I feel like I've been kicked repeatedly between the shoulder blades. I'm sure I'll be fine and sprightly in a few days time though. There were also certain massaging techniques that I liked. A lot. I hesitated a bit over whether or not I should admit this but sod it, I'll just say it: it made me horny. I memorised the move so that I could show Mr Z exactly what to do. *ahem*.
We had some fabulous A La Carte food, although when the starter turned up I was tempted to ask the waitress if she'd eaten some of my food on the way to the table. A La Carte food is very sparse! It was very nice though, even if there was something on my plate which looked like a giant sperm. The mains made up for the (lack of) starter, it was gorgeous, and very rich. Our break included breakfast the next day (another posh A La Carte choice!) and lunch at midday. Both rather lovely. We took a stroll around Bury St Edmunds after we checked out, to do a bit of shopping. Mr Z has a gig on Saturday and I really want to buy something new to wear. He's seen pretty much all my nice stuff already and I want him to look at me from the stage and feel glad he's taking me home instead of anyone else there that night. I have no worry about him having wandering thoughts, but the little insecurities inside of me still want to make sure I look good at all times!
The one thing I can guarantee for sure is that I shall be smiling through the back pain!
So we flip-flopped down to the pool and was greeted by friendly staff, dumped our stuff into the locker and enjoyed a nice little swim for a while. Well I say swim, we mostly floated. And chatted. And made fun of men in stupid speedoes. I did swim two lengths though! I felt like my lungs were packing up, but at least I did it. I know this is a terrible thing to say, but one of the good things about going to swimming pools and beaches is that you always see a few people who make you feel grateful for the size of your own body. It could be a hell of a lot worse!
After our dip in the pool and our lounge in the jacuzzi, and all of sixty seconds in the steam room (Em found it a tad hard to breathe, bless'er), we headed to our room to chill for an hour before our treatments. The room was fabulous! I highly recommend this place to anybody thinking of booking a spa break. We watched telly for a bit, got pissed off by a huge June bug and spent about ten minutes trying to kill the big fecker. A cushion eventually took him to his death, just in case you were wondering.
Time came for our treatments and we meandered down to the salon to await our calling. The therapists come out with big clipboards and call your name, you then follow them down a dark corridor and are led into an even darker room. I've never actually been to a brothel before, but I'd imagine that's probably what it'd be like. But with whale music.
I was booked in for a Swedish back and shoulder massage. Just writing that makes my back hurt thinking about it. There were certain parts that hurt - a lot! I think it may be because I was tensing up, but all the same - it hurt! Today I feel like I've been kicked repeatedly between the shoulder blades. I'm sure I'll be fine and sprightly in a few days time though. There were also certain massaging techniques that I liked. A lot. I hesitated a bit over whether or not I should admit this but sod it, I'll just say it: it made me horny. I memorised the move so that I could show Mr Z exactly what to do. *ahem*.
We had some fabulous A La Carte food, although when the starter turned up I was tempted to ask the waitress if she'd eaten some of my food on the way to the table. A La Carte food is very sparse! It was very nice though, even if there was something on my plate which looked like a giant sperm. The mains made up for the (lack of) starter, it was gorgeous, and very rich. Our break included breakfast the next day (another posh A La Carte choice!) and lunch at midday. Both rather lovely. We took a stroll around Bury St Edmunds after we checked out, to do a bit of shopping. Mr Z has a gig on Saturday and I really want to buy something new to wear. He's seen pretty much all my nice stuff already and I want him to look at me from the stage and feel glad he's taking me home instead of anyone else there that night. I have no worry about him having wandering thoughts, but the little insecurities inside of me still want to make sure I look good at all times!
The one thing I can guarantee for sure is that I shall be smiling through the back pain!
Tuesday 17 July 2012
The end is nigh. Bring my mascara......
After watching The Walking Dead last night it got me thinking as to what I would save if I had to flee across the country. Those essential things I couldn't possibly live without should a zombie apocolypse commence suddenly. Quite a tough decision considering the volume of essentials the modern day woman has in her ownership.
Obviously my closest family would be the first people I'd check on and encourage to join me. Parents, brother, brothers girlfriend and my soon-to-be niece. I'd like to say cousins too but quite frankly, I have too many. They will have to save themselves and meet up with us a safe and convinient time (I've thought about this long and hard as you can probably tell). Mr Z is a definite essential on my "To Save" list, not just because he's my man, but also due to the fact he's probably seen every zombie movie and every zombie TV programme ever created so therefore would have more than a few survival tips up his sleeve. I'm confident that if this apocolypse should ever happen, Mr Z would probably be the last surviving human being - possibly along with Emma's fella "The Mexican", as he is equally enthused with zombies.
So after the close family and boyfriend (I would attempt the best friends but they'd probably be too busy saving their own. I'd like to think that with the Mexican guiding Em and her family, they'd survive long enough to meet up with us at a safe location at some point), my thoughts turn to beauty essentials. Obvs. Initially I thought, whoa...must save the straighteners, then I realised the worlds power supply would probably be down so it'd be fruitless trying to salvage my kinky tresses. So to compensate for the fact that I will have permanently shit hair during this apocolypse, I realised the most important thing to save would be my make-up bag. With make up in it of course. My make up essentials will become vitally essential! I know it may seem a bit silly to be worrying about something so "trivial" as looking pretty - whilst my neighbours and friends are trying to rip out my internal organs and eat my brains, but the whole world going to pot is no excuse for neglecting your beauty routine. Fact.
Whilst I'm on the subject of beauty essentials, I would have to ensure that I have cold waxing strips with me. The last thing my boyfriend wants to deal with at this traumatic time is having a girlfriend with a bikini line that resembles a baby Chewbacca.
Obviously my closest family would be the first people I'd check on and encourage to join me. Parents, brother, brothers girlfriend and my soon-to-be niece. I'd like to say cousins too but quite frankly, I have too many. They will have to save themselves and meet up with us a safe and convinient time (I've thought about this long and hard as you can probably tell). Mr Z is a definite essential on my "To Save" list, not just because he's my man, but also due to the fact he's probably seen every zombie movie and every zombie TV programme ever created so therefore would have more than a few survival tips up his sleeve. I'm confident that if this apocolypse should ever happen, Mr Z would probably be the last surviving human being - possibly along with Emma's fella "The Mexican", as he is equally enthused with zombies.
So after the close family and boyfriend (I would attempt the best friends but they'd probably be too busy saving their own. I'd like to think that with the Mexican guiding Em and her family, they'd survive long enough to meet up with us at a safe location at some point), my thoughts turn to beauty essentials. Obvs. Initially I thought, whoa...must save the straighteners, then I realised the worlds power supply would probably be down so it'd be fruitless trying to salvage my kinky tresses. So to compensate for the fact that I will have permanently shit hair during this apocolypse, I realised the most important thing to save would be my make-up bag. With make up in it of course. My make up essentials will become vitally essential! I know it may seem a bit silly to be worrying about something so "trivial" as looking pretty - whilst my neighbours and friends are trying to rip out my internal organs and eat my brains, but the whole world going to pot is no excuse for neglecting your beauty routine. Fact.
Whilst I'm on the subject of beauty essentials, I would have to ensure that I have cold waxing strips with me. The last thing my boyfriend wants to deal with at this traumatic time is having a girlfriend with a bikini line that resembles a baby Chewbacca.
Saturday 14 July 2012
Meet The Parents
This weekend is the weekend my boyfriend meets my parents. I was very tempted to wind him up and describe my Dad as being similar to Bricktop in the film Snatch, maybe throw in a few made-up stories of ex-boyfriends being beaten to within an inch of their lives just for not holding doors open for me or something. A friend of mine does actually call my Dad Bricktop and I told this to Mr Z - who looked at my face desperately searching for a hint of humour. He really has nothing to worry about this weekend, other than to make sure he's as polite as he always is. In fact, he only needs to be himself and they'll like him straight away. But maybe I'll just wind him up a little anyway.
We were due to visit them today but unfortunately illness has struck. It's true what they say about blokes when they're ill, they turn into complete and utter wimps. Being the devoted and caring girlfriend that I am, I made him get out of bed to fetch me the laptop, just to prove that he isn't in fact disabled. I did make him a toasted sandwich though and I bought it up to him. See, I can be caring too! Sadly, he felt well enough to go downstairs for a dirty fag. I shouldn't complain too much really, I was ill last night and he played the dutiful caring boyfriend very well indeed.
We'll be venturing back to Lowestoft tomorrow, providing the illness has passed of course. I will have to go regardless, as Mr Z's birthday presents are sitting in my cupboard at my parents house. There aint no way I'm buying a second lot of presents!
I have to admit it is pretty nerve-wracking meeting your partners parents for the first time. I never worry too much about what people think of me, I am what I am and I can't change for anybody, but if a relationship works out to be a long term thing you really don't want to be spending the rest of your life bitching about the in-laws. Thankfully Mr Z's Mum and partner are pretty laid-back and I know where I stand with them - if I'm being a pain in the arse they will tell me so. I'm rather good at being a pain in the arse, so I think I've gotten away with it pretty well so far. His sister was my biggest worry; no matter how much siblings bicker, they always look out for each other one way or another. Mr Z's Mum told me if his sister didn't like someone she'd make it very obvious. Thanks Mrs Z, that really helps my nerves! Sisters judge their brother's partners a lot worse then Mothers do - trust me. Luckily we got on fine when we met, but that may be partly due to the fact that Mr Z's previous girlfriends were socially retarded (according to his sister). So at least I can rest easy in the fact that I'm ok - possibly only because I'm being compared to total numbskulls. Yippee.
I remember the first time I stayed over at Mr Z's, I didn't sleep a wink all night. I've been told I talk in my sleep, so what if I said something stupid, or even worse - mentioned another guys name! Or even worse...farted in my sleep! I had an epic belly ache the next morning as I spent the night tensing my gut to stop any *ahem*...excess breezage slipping out. Don't even get me started on using the toilet; what if he hears me peeing? To this day, over a month on, I still cannot perform "two-sies" in Mr Z's house. What if it didn't flush? You've seen Dumb and Dumber right..? I don't want a recreation of that bathroom scene, I'd never be able to show my face here again!
But I say all this, I don't really think Mr Z is all that nervous. If he is he's not showing it. If anyone should be nervous about him meeting my parents it's me....my Mother still has a large supply of my baby photos on display. Eek!
We were due to visit them today but unfortunately illness has struck. It's true what they say about blokes when they're ill, they turn into complete and utter wimps. Being the devoted and caring girlfriend that I am, I made him get out of bed to fetch me the laptop, just to prove that he isn't in fact disabled. I did make him a toasted sandwich though and I bought it up to him. See, I can be caring too! Sadly, he felt well enough to go downstairs for a dirty fag. I shouldn't complain too much really, I was ill last night and he played the dutiful caring boyfriend very well indeed.
We'll be venturing back to Lowestoft tomorrow, providing the illness has passed of course. I will have to go regardless, as Mr Z's birthday presents are sitting in my cupboard at my parents house. There aint no way I'm buying a second lot of presents!
I have to admit it is pretty nerve-wracking meeting your partners parents for the first time. I never worry too much about what people think of me, I am what I am and I can't change for anybody, but if a relationship works out to be a long term thing you really don't want to be spending the rest of your life bitching about the in-laws. Thankfully Mr Z's Mum and partner are pretty laid-back and I know where I stand with them - if I'm being a pain in the arse they will tell me so. I'm rather good at being a pain in the arse, so I think I've gotten away with it pretty well so far. His sister was my biggest worry; no matter how much siblings bicker, they always look out for each other one way or another. Mr Z's Mum told me if his sister didn't like someone she'd make it very obvious. Thanks Mrs Z, that really helps my nerves! Sisters judge their brother's partners a lot worse then Mothers do - trust me. Luckily we got on fine when we met, but that may be partly due to the fact that Mr Z's previous girlfriends were socially retarded (according to his sister). So at least I can rest easy in the fact that I'm ok - possibly only because I'm being compared to total numbskulls. Yippee.
I remember the first time I stayed over at Mr Z's, I didn't sleep a wink all night. I've been told I talk in my sleep, so what if I said something stupid, or even worse - mentioned another guys name! Or even worse...farted in my sleep! I had an epic belly ache the next morning as I spent the night tensing my gut to stop any *ahem*...excess breezage slipping out. Don't even get me started on using the toilet; what if he hears me peeing? To this day, over a month on, I still cannot perform "two-sies" in Mr Z's house. What if it didn't flush? You've seen Dumb and Dumber right..? I don't want a recreation of that bathroom scene, I'd never be able to show my face here again!
But I say all this, I don't really think Mr Z is all that nervous. If he is he's not showing it. If anyone should be nervous about him meeting my parents it's me....my Mother still has a large supply of my baby photos on display. Eek!
Wednesday 27 June 2012
Make Do.....Or Mend
It never ceases to amaze me how certain people feel quite prepared to risk all the good things they have in their life, just for a quick fling. When I say people I mean men, of course. I'm sure there are plenty of women who would do exactly the same, but not ever having dated women and therefore consequently being cheated on by a woman, I can't speak much on that subject I'm afraid. Please feel free, all you men reading this, to share your similar experiences - if you have any. I wouldn't want this being a one-sided slag off ;-)
It seems to me that once someone special enters your life, all those naughty, bored little cretins come out of the woodwork to try and tempt you away. I hasten to add at this point that I am not easily tempted and would never be lured away from my man. Unlike certain people, I am content with what I have, and if the day ever came whereby I might feel I've had enough - I will end it honourably. I've known guys who openly display their lusty thoughts in front of their girlfriends/wives. I remember dating one guy who actually used to point out other women to me. "She's got a nice arse", he'd say. Or he'd do a double-take if a beautiful woman walked past and utter something like "Jesus, some lucky bastard gets to tap that", followed by an overly-dramatic facial expression or a shivver - as if to try and shake off those horny thoughts. He'd then look at me and give me an apologetic smile and a shrug as if to say "Well I'm only human". When I found out he'd cheated on me with some skank from Essex (on my birthday I might add) I wasn't very much surprised. When I also found out at a later date that he'd caught an STD from her, I wasn't very much surprised either. I was however, extremely delighted.
I understand that there are some beautiful people around, I'm under no illusion that men are blind to them, I just wish that these certain cretins would banish any thoughts that make them think the grass might be greener in a different bed. I've been a witness to a few married men making the most of time away from their wives; I used to work in a holiday camp, nothing can shock me any more. I once asked one particular cheating married man why he did it. He replied; "Because I can. Who's going to tell her"? What chance does a woman have against a guy like that? Nine times out of ten you can never tell a man will cheat. There are usually no visible warning signs. I've noticed previous boyfriends stealing a glance at other women in the street, like my mother I have "eyes in the back of my head"! But I don't mind because it's a natural instinct, just like if Bradley Cooper walked down my street I'd gawp at him too. In fact, to be fair, I'd probably run and leap on him. Mr Z would understand - just like I'd understand if Katy Perry came to town and he'd turn into a dribbling mong.
So for all you deceiving husbands/boyfriends out there, can I suggest you be happy with what you already have? And if you aren't, do the honourable thing before you go sniffing around other women who are perfectly happy with what they have. This is a fling that refuses to be flung!
It seems to me that once someone special enters your life, all those naughty, bored little cretins come out of the woodwork to try and tempt you away. I hasten to add at this point that I am not easily tempted and would never be lured away from my man. Unlike certain people, I am content with what I have, and if the day ever came whereby I might feel I've had enough - I will end it honourably. I've known guys who openly display their lusty thoughts in front of their girlfriends/wives. I remember dating one guy who actually used to point out other women to me. "She's got a nice arse", he'd say. Or he'd do a double-take if a beautiful woman walked past and utter something like "Jesus, some lucky bastard gets to tap that", followed by an overly-dramatic facial expression or a shivver - as if to try and shake off those horny thoughts. He'd then look at me and give me an apologetic smile and a shrug as if to say "Well I'm only human". When I found out he'd cheated on me with some skank from Essex (on my birthday I might add) I wasn't very much surprised. When I also found out at a later date that he'd caught an STD from her, I wasn't very much surprised either. I was however, extremely delighted.
I understand that there are some beautiful people around, I'm under no illusion that men are blind to them, I just wish that these certain cretins would banish any thoughts that make them think the grass might be greener in a different bed. I've been a witness to a few married men making the most of time away from their wives; I used to work in a holiday camp, nothing can shock me any more. I once asked one particular cheating married man why he did it. He replied; "Because I can. Who's going to tell her"? What chance does a woman have against a guy like that? Nine times out of ten you can never tell a man will cheat. There are usually no visible warning signs. I've noticed previous boyfriends stealing a glance at other women in the street, like my mother I have "eyes in the back of my head"! But I don't mind because it's a natural instinct, just like if Bradley Cooper walked down my street I'd gawp at him too. In fact, to be fair, I'd probably run and leap on him. Mr Z would understand - just like I'd understand if Katy Perry came to town and he'd turn into a dribbling mong.
So for all you deceiving husbands/boyfriends out there, can I suggest you be happy with what you already have? And if you aren't, do the honourable thing before you go sniffing around other women who are perfectly happy with what they have. This is a fling that refuses to be flung!
Tuesday 26 June 2012
The waiting game is over!
Finally, seven months after losing my permanent job (not counting the two small temp positions since then) I have been offered a job! I can now breathe an epic sigh of relief. It's actually another temp, but for ten months, so that's enough to pay rent at least. It's happened quite quick, they want me to start on Thursday - which is great, except it gives me only a very small window to drive home and grab more work clothes. That's what the sensible me would do anyway. The normal me would just go into town and buy a new work wardrobe. But I won't get ahead of myself just yet, I'll give the job a few weeks before I start spending on anything apart from bills. I'm already a tad concerned about the coming of my credit card bill. Eek!
The best thing is knowing I'll be closer to Em, the Mexican, and all my old buddies I rarely get a chance to see - not to mention Mr Z of course. I can't get much closer than living quarters. I think E & M are sincerely going to regret inviting me to stay! It's suddenly gone from staying for a week, to staying until I get enough money to find my own place. Mr Z actually talked last night about me cooking dinner for him until I could afford to pay him rent, as I do love to cook. Now I didn't want to elaborate too much on this in case he wasn't being serious and then I'd look a massive twat being all "female" about my boyfriend inviting me to move in with him. But I think he meant it. I may have to gently broach the subject again later though, just to be sure what I heard was right! My food does have an effect on people. Diarrhoea is the usual effect, but he'll soon learn to stomach it.
The Slimming World diet is going ok so far. Kind of. I might've allowed Mr Z's mum to force feed me a slice of lemon cake yesterday. It was for a genuinely acceptable reason though - I had to down a glass of codine for my headache and it tasted like puke, so the cake helped it go down, therefore actually aiding that particular quest for good health. Oh shut up.
Well let's hope I can tick "Find a job I enjoy" off my bucket list. I can already tick off "Find a genuinely nice bloke who treats me well" and "Get out of Lowestoft". My next goals are "Successfully manage to keep hold of genuinely nice bloke" and "Win an obscene amount of cash on the lottery". Well nobody said I couldn't aim high!
The best thing is knowing I'll be closer to Em, the Mexican, and all my old buddies I rarely get a chance to see - not to mention Mr Z of course. I can't get much closer than living quarters. I think E & M are sincerely going to regret inviting me to stay! It's suddenly gone from staying for a week, to staying until I get enough money to find my own place. Mr Z actually talked last night about me cooking dinner for him until I could afford to pay him rent, as I do love to cook. Now I didn't want to elaborate too much on this in case he wasn't being serious and then I'd look a massive twat being all "female" about my boyfriend inviting me to move in with him. But I think he meant it. I may have to gently broach the subject again later though, just to be sure what I heard was right! My food does have an effect on people. Diarrhoea is the usual effect, but he'll soon learn to stomach it.
The Slimming World diet is going ok so far. Kind of. I might've allowed Mr Z's mum to force feed me a slice of lemon cake yesterday. It was for a genuinely acceptable reason though - I had to down a glass of codine for my headache and it tasted like puke, so the cake helped it go down, therefore actually aiding that particular quest for good health. Oh shut up.
Well let's hope I can tick "Find a job I enjoy" off my bucket list. I can already tick off "Find a genuinely nice bloke who treats me well" and "Get out of Lowestoft". My next goals are "Successfully manage to keep hold of genuinely nice bloke" and "Win an obscene amount of cash on the lottery". Well nobody said I couldn't aim high!
Friday 22 June 2012
Upside Down
I'm in a slightly better mood today on account of my car passing it's MOT. It's a fairly new car so I would've been shocked (and slightly suspicious) if it'd failed, but you know how I like to worry. My mood, much like the weather today, is changing back and forth from sunny to dreary. I'm not too sure if it's a woman thing, or if it's recent activities making me volatile. No, volatile isn't the right word - if I were in my volatile mood I'd have people avoiding me at all costs. Up and down sounds better. A month ago I had no idea what I was doing or what I wanted to do. Now I've got a much better idea of both, but things aren't moving fast enough! Lack of money is obviously very restricting. I'm conscious of the fact that I just have enough money coming in to cover my car repayments and health insurance. Good job too, the way things are going I'll be needing that health insurance soon. Thank god for Emma and her birthday present of a free spa weekend for two people next month! I am shitting myself at the fact that my credit card bill is due soon. Which reminds me, I must try and find those smelling salts ASAP.
I shall be lodging, once again, with Emma and the Mexican next week. Thankfully we're still on speaking terms but I don't want to push my luck. As soon as I get a whiff of a job offer I'll be checking out the local flat/house share prices. Mr Z has me under strict instructions to be aware of any "Single White Female"-looking lodgers, as he will be staying well away otherwise. Unfortunately, many freaks and weirdos hide their true selves pretty well - until the day you come home and find Eddie "Freddy" Kruger in your bedroom, wearing one of your bras and sniffing the contents of your underwear drawer with his wang in his hand. Oh god what a thought. I hope Em and Mexican don't get pissed off with me any time soon....!
Mr Z is playing a gig next weekend and I'm very excited at the thought of watching him play. Luckily, if my excitement turns a little....over-excited, we're house-sitting for Em and Mex that weekend, which means a house to ourselves. Good times! I'll even treat him to my home-made peanut butter cookies as a "Welcome Back from Brighton and thanks for not humping a stripper" present! My cookies are pretty amazing. I know how to win a mans heart. Ok, maybe I don't. But he'll freaking love those damn cookies! I, on the other hand, am back on the Slimming World diet. I'm not sure at which point I actually came off it, I just got fed up counting "syns". I'll stick to it this time though, Mr Z is rather slim so I can't be letting the side down. My mirror seems to have turned into one of those bendy circus mirrors which make you look like a rhino. Mr Z thinks I'm being stupid, and it's lovely that he's not bothered by size - it makes a refreshing change not to be judged on my appearance any more, but I have a weight goal and I'm determined to reach it. I think if I can accomplish that I can accomplish anything!
Fuck me am I hungry though.......
I shall be lodging, once again, with Emma and the Mexican next week. Thankfully we're still on speaking terms but I don't want to push my luck. As soon as I get a whiff of a job offer I'll be checking out the local flat/house share prices. Mr Z has me under strict instructions to be aware of any "Single White Female"-looking lodgers, as he will be staying well away otherwise. Unfortunately, many freaks and weirdos hide their true selves pretty well - until the day you come home and find Eddie "Freddy" Kruger in your bedroom, wearing one of your bras and sniffing the contents of your underwear drawer with his wang in his hand. Oh god what a thought. I hope Em and Mexican don't get pissed off with me any time soon....!
Mr Z is playing a gig next weekend and I'm very excited at the thought of watching him play. Luckily, if my excitement turns a little....over-excited, we're house-sitting for Em and Mex that weekend, which means a house to ourselves. Good times! I'll even treat him to my home-made peanut butter cookies as a "Welcome Back from Brighton and thanks for not humping a stripper" present! My cookies are pretty amazing. I know how to win a mans heart. Ok, maybe I don't. But he'll freaking love those damn cookies! I, on the other hand, am back on the Slimming World diet. I'm not sure at which point I actually came off it, I just got fed up counting "syns". I'll stick to it this time though, Mr Z is rather slim so I can't be letting the side down. My mirror seems to have turned into one of those bendy circus mirrors which make you look like a rhino. Mr Z thinks I'm being stupid, and it's lovely that he's not bothered by size - it makes a refreshing change not to be judged on my appearance any more, but I have a weight goal and I'm determined to reach it. I think if I can accomplish that I can accomplish anything!
Fuck me am I hungry though.......
Thursday 21 June 2012
Does your butt take credit cards...?
I may be getting a little ahead of myself, but I'm drawing up a list of things I'm going to buy once I find myself a job. Obviously somewhere to live would be top of the list, but I haven't been able to do a proper shopping spree in a while and it's all built up inside me like a volcano ready to erupt. I stood in front of a shop window yesterday eyeing up a pair of Vivienne Westwood shoes and could feel the slightest sensation of a tiny bit of saliva starting to ease it's way out of the corner of my mouth. My eyes glazed over and I felt almost the same sensation I get when I look into Mr Z's dreamy blue eyes. Don't tell him I said that though.....
I'm also looking at tattoo designs as I feel it's about time I mutilated my body again, for the sake of art of course. I have two Chinese symbols on my shoulder which mean Luck and Prosperity. At least that's what I believe they're meant to say. For all I know I could have number 12 and number 9 of the local Chinese takeaway menu on my fricking back. They look good anyway, regardless of whether they say Luck - or Crispy Won Ton. I've picked out a few designs which I shall be sharing with my man and my closest friends, as they're the only opinions that count. Mind you, if I find a design I really like but they think it looks stupid I'll listen to their reasoning - but get it done anyway. Stubborn ass that I am.
Mr Z is off to Brighton for a stag do this weekend. I'm keeping myself occupied, as the thought of a size zero, big titted stripper sticking her butt and jubblies in my boyfriends face is an image I'm finding hard to banish from my mind, much to my displeasure. The trust is there, but you know what us women are like - none of us like to see any other woman prettier or slimmer than us flaunting that very fact in front of an impressionable boyfriend! There's a slight concern he might be forever looking at us in a different light and thinking "I wish she had a butt like that pole dancer", or, "I wish my girlfriend could do that thing with a ping pong too...". I wouldn't give a guy a hard time about it, insecurities can fuck things up royally, but I'm looking forward to being distracted and not thinking about the weekend at all. Obviously I hope he has a good time, and I'm not stupid, I know what occurs at stag do's - I crashed one with a few mates a couple of years ago (coincidently, I will never ever drink Absinth. Ever.) - "When In Rome" and all that. I just don't want to hear the full details. What happens in Brighton stays in Brighton. Unless it includes cheating. Cheating should always be 'fessed up no matter what any magazine agony aunts might say! I trust Mr Z in that respect though, he knows my milkshake will bring him back to the yard. ( I can't quite carry off that statement can I...?).
The job interview went well yesterday and I should hear by tonight if I've got it or not. Several more in the pipeline, things looking up. All I can do is hope. In fact, that could be my tattoo. I think I'd better Google a nice Chinese symbol for "Hope". But maybe run it past the guys at my local takeaway first.
I'm also looking at tattoo designs as I feel it's about time I mutilated my body again, for the sake of art of course. I have two Chinese symbols on my shoulder which mean Luck and Prosperity. At least that's what I believe they're meant to say. For all I know I could have number 12 and number 9 of the local Chinese takeaway menu on my fricking back. They look good anyway, regardless of whether they say Luck - or Crispy Won Ton. I've picked out a few designs which I shall be sharing with my man and my closest friends, as they're the only opinions that count. Mind you, if I find a design I really like but they think it looks stupid I'll listen to their reasoning - but get it done anyway. Stubborn ass that I am.
Mr Z is off to Brighton for a stag do this weekend. I'm keeping myself occupied, as the thought of a size zero, big titted stripper sticking her butt and jubblies in my boyfriends face is an image I'm finding hard to banish from my mind, much to my displeasure. The trust is there, but you know what us women are like - none of us like to see any other woman prettier or slimmer than us flaunting that very fact in front of an impressionable boyfriend! There's a slight concern he might be forever looking at us in a different light and thinking "I wish she had a butt like that pole dancer", or, "I wish my girlfriend could do that thing with a ping pong too...". I wouldn't give a guy a hard time about it, insecurities can fuck things up royally, but I'm looking forward to being distracted and not thinking about the weekend at all. Obviously I hope he has a good time, and I'm not stupid, I know what occurs at stag do's - I crashed one with a few mates a couple of years ago (coincidently, I will never ever drink Absinth. Ever.) - "When In Rome" and all that. I just don't want to hear the full details. What happens in Brighton stays in Brighton. Unless it includes cheating. Cheating should always be 'fessed up no matter what any magazine agony aunts might say! I trust Mr Z in that respect though, he knows my milkshake will bring him back to the yard. ( I can't quite carry off that statement can I...?).
The job interview went well yesterday and I should hear by tonight if I've got it or not. Several more in the pipeline, things looking up. All I can do is hope. In fact, that could be my tattoo. I think I'd better Google a nice Chinese symbol for "Hope". But maybe run it past the guys at my local takeaway first.
Tuesday 19 June 2012
Don't stop movin'
I'm getting ever-so-slightly subtle hints from my mates about doing more Blogs ("Where's todays fucking Blog???), so I am here, on this beautifully sunny day, inside....doing a Blog. I really really need to get myself an iPad!
Things are moving a tiny bit forward in regards to my work situation lately. I've had dozens more jobs to apply for in Ipswich than I have in Lowestoft, but then I guess there are more people to apply for them so it's kind of a Catch 22 thing. I have a job interview lined up tomorrow afternoon, plus one of the recruitment agencies I forced myself onto have rang to say a receptionist job is available and can I do a telephone interview for it. Cue fake posh telephone voice. I've done my company research, I've updated my CV, I've chosen the interview outfit (lilac shirt, grey pleated skirt, huge white belt - always a winner), and I've got my Tom Tom programmed to take me there (half an hour early so I can give myself a pep talk - "Don't fuck this up you dumb cow"!). All I can do is hope for the best. I know how fabulous I am, it's convincing others to believe me that seems to be the problem.
I'll be staying with Mr Z tonight. In fact, I've been staying with Mr Z quite a bit. I don't want to push my luck though, his Mum is lovely but I'm sure after a while she'll start to plot to get us out of her house. I'm expecting the itching powder in the bed trick, or sitting down to "burnt to a crisp" dinner. That particular trick wouldn't work with me, I'd just be happy with take-away every night! Mr Z and I are in the same situation; both of us moved out once (or in my case, twice) and it didn't work out so we had to move back. Once you've had that taste of freedom it's very hard to have to give it up again. After a month or two of moving back in with the parents you start to imagine different ways of bumping them off. I'm joking of course. *ahem*. The worse thing to experience is when the bed starts to develop a squeek because you've been humping so much. All you want to do is bang away wildly, but at the forefront of your mind is "Mum knows what we're doing". If I don't get a flat of my own soon I think we're going to end up like one of those couples you see in the back of a car lined up near the local dogging patch.
Ok I think I need to get outside and catch some rays before my jaunt to Ipswich this afternoon. I want all of you to think positive thoughts for me - they worked when I asked you to think positively for me and Mr Z! I need this job. I need to get out of Lowestoft. I need to get a bed that doesn't squeek.
Things are moving a tiny bit forward in regards to my work situation lately. I've had dozens more jobs to apply for in Ipswich than I have in Lowestoft, but then I guess there are more people to apply for them so it's kind of a Catch 22 thing. I have a job interview lined up tomorrow afternoon, plus one of the recruitment agencies I forced myself onto have rang to say a receptionist job is available and can I do a telephone interview for it. Cue fake posh telephone voice. I've done my company research, I've updated my CV, I've chosen the interview outfit (lilac shirt, grey pleated skirt, huge white belt - always a winner), and I've got my Tom Tom programmed to take me there (half an hour early so I can give myself a pep talk - "Don't fuck this up you dumb cow"!). All I can do is hope for the best. I know how fabulous I am, it's convincing others to believe me that seems to be the problem.
I'll be staying with Mr Z tonight. In fact, I've been staying with Mr Z quite a bit. I don't want to push my luck though, his Mum is lovely but I'm sure after a while she'll start to plot to get us out of her house. I'm expecting the itching powder in the bed trick, or sitting down to "burnt to a crisp" dinner. That particular trick wouldn't work with me, I'd just be happy with take-away every night! Mr Z and I are in the same situation; both of us moved out once (or in my case, twice) and it didn't work out so we had to move back. Once you've had that taste of freedom it's very hard to have to give it up again. After a month or two of moving back in with the parents you start to imagine different ways of bumping them off. I'm joking of course. *ahem*. The worse thing to experience is when the bed starts to develop a squeek because you've been humping so much. All you want to do is bang away wildly, but at the forefront of your mind is "Mum knows what we're doing". If I don't get a flat of my own soon I think we're going to end up like one of those couples you see in the back of a car lined up near the local dogging patch.
Ok I think I need to get outside and catch some rays before my jaunt to Ipswich this afternoon. I want all of you to think positive thoughts for me - they worked when I asked you to think positively for me and Mr Z! I need this job. I need to get out of Lowestoft. I need to get a bed that doesn't squeek.
Friday 15 June 2012
Gotta love it when a plan starts to come together!
I've really been abandoning this Blog for the last few weeks so it's about time I do some updating. I have a lot to update!
Since I came up to Ipswich a few weeks ago it seems lots has happened in a short space of time and I'm having trouble finding my head from my arse. Time has flown by, although probably not for my poor friends whose house I've gate-crashed since the beginning of the month! I can assure you though, it's been productive....
I was thinking a few months back that I should be branching out to Ipswich with my job search, being that it's closer to London & Essex but slightly cheaper to live in. Since November I've not had a huge choice of jobs to apply for in Lowestoft and the ones I've applied for have been unsuccessful, bar one seven week temp job. In the last two weeks of being in Ipswich I've applied for fifteen jobs and within a day of applying to one of them I got offered a job interview. I've also signed on to eight recruitment agencies, one of which immediately enthused about a job I might be suitable for ASAP. It's amazing what happens when you work hard to find the greener grass.
I also have an extra small incentive to move a little more Southernly now; my fabulous, and wonderfully patient, Bramblewood friends. And Mr Z.
Before you start thinking, "hang on - she said she'd never do anything extreme for a man again"...don't worry, I know what I'm doing! I'd like to state for the record that I am moving to Ipswich strictly to look after my career needs (and to have more parties/TV nights/general drinking and acting the twat nights with Em & the Mexican). But after spending quite a bit of time with Mr Z lately, it's made the prospect of going back to Lowestoft feel pretty shit. It's been a fair while since a guy made me feel happy. In fact it's been a fair while since a guy made me feel even the slightest bit chirpy. It's just so refreshing to be with someone I can be silly with and not feel like a total moron, or not feel like I have to be something or someone I'm not. I'm feeling like myself again. God help us all!
A trip to Alton Towers at the beginning of the week was another cherry on the cake this month! Emm & Mexican are the only couple I can third-wheel with and not feel like a gooseberry. We had a freakin awesome time! I have posted you a few pictures to prove I'm not a total wimp. Although after seeing Emm stagger off Nemesis a little worse for wear I'm glad I stuck to being a bit of a wimp! The Nutty Squirrel ride was about as hard-core as I got. Epic. Other occasions this month : the Jubilee Party and Dublin, shall require a whole Blog all to themselves, another day!
Everything seems to be coming together, slowly but surely. I'm remembering what having a good time feels like. I'm in the company of people and friends who take me as I am and don't expect any more or less - and vice versa. The job front is looking more positive and the prospects are better than they were previously. Then there's Mr Z. Through a little vice or two he's pretty damn cool and I wouldn't change a thing about him. And if for any reason it doesn't work out in the end......in fact, I'm not going to finish that sentence - It's time for a change in my negativity I think. I may even be starting to like the Beastie Boys. Congrats Mr Z, you've already accomplished so much!
Since I came up to Ipswich a few weeks ago it seems lots has happened in a short space of time and I'm having trouble finding my head from my arse. Time has flown by, although probably not for my poor friends whose house I've gate-crashed since the beginning of the month! I can assure you though, it's been productive....
I was thinking a few months back that I should be branching out to Ipswich with my job search, being that it's closer to London & Essex but slightly cheaper to live in. Since November I've not had a huge choice of jobs to apply for in Lowestoft and the ones I've applied for have been unsuccessful, bar one seven week temp job. In the last two weeks of being in Ipswich I've applied for fifteen jobs and within a day of applying to one of them I got offered a job interview. I've also signed on to eight recruitment agencies, one of which immediately enthused about a job I might be suitable for ASAP. It's amazing what happens when you work hard to find the greener grass.
I also have an extra small incentive to move a little more Southernly now; my fabulous, and wonderfully patient, Bramblewood friends. And Mr Z.
Before you start thinking, "hang on - she said she'd never do anything extreme for a man again"...don't worry, I know what I'm doing! I'd like to state for the record that I am moving to Ipswich strictly to look after my career needs (and to have more parties/TV nights/general drinking and acting the twat nights with Em & the Mexican). But after spending quite a bit of time with Mr Z lately, it's made the prospect of going back to Lowestoft feel pretty shit. It's been a fair while since a guy made me feel happy. In fact it's been a fair while since a guy made me feel even the slightest bit chirpy. It's just so refreshing to be with someone I can be silly with and not feel like a total moron, or not feel like I have to be something or someone I'm not. I'm feeling like myself again. God help us all!
A trip to Alton Towers at the beginning of the week was another cherry on the cake this month! Emm & Mexican are the only couple I can third-wheel with and not feel like a gooseberry. We had a freakin awesome time! I have posted you a few pictures to prove I'm not a total wimp. Although after seeing Emm stagger off Nemesis a little worse for wear I'm glad I stuck to being a bit of a wimp! The Nutty Squirrel ride was about as hard-core as I got. Epic. Other occasions this month : the Jubilee Party and Dublin, shall require a whole Blog all to themselves, another day!
Everything seems to be coming together, slowly but surely. I'm remembering what having a good time feels like. I'm in the company of people and friends who take me as I am and don't expect any more or less - and vice versa. The job front is looking more positive and the prospects are better than they were previously. Then there's Mr Z. Through a little vice or two he's pretty damn cool and I wouldn't change a thing about him. And if for any reason it doesn't work out in the end......in fact, I'm not going to finish that sentence - It's time for a change in my negativity I think. I may even be starting to like the Beastie Boys. Congrats Mr Z, you've already accomplished so much!
Tuesday 5 June 2012
An Affair to Remember.....and continue
Well It's Tuesday today, which means I survived the Jubilee party. Yay me!I have to admit, I started off a little too keen - downing a glass of Pimms swiftly followed by another five glasses of Pimms. Good times. After a few near misses with my stiletto boots on the garden gravel, and talking complete and utter shit, I decided to catch up on my glasses of water....!
I spent a good twenty minutes this morning untagging myself in some rather unsavoury pictures involving my tits and a massive gusset close-up (I'm never drinking ever again). I'm sure you've all been in that situation (having to untag the next day, not flashing gussets to the camera. Or maybe you have!). Lot's of pictures of tits, people falling over, boozy blokes pretending to dry hump each other, squirty cream, devilled eggs falling down bras, dipping burgers in ketchup squirted into bras, BBQ catching fire.....actually - how an event would look if you combined a brothel orgy with the London riots. Fuck I've enjoyed this weekend!
As much as I enjoyed a most epic party, the best part of the last four days has been meeting Mr Z. I had my concerns before we met, as you know from my previous Blogs, but from the first few hours of getting to know each other those worries started to drop away. He was sweet and funny, not to mention totally gorgeous, and we got on even better than I'd hoped. Everything felt right. In a way, it kinda scares me. I'm not known for my successful relationships. I'm the one people come to for advice on how to spot a douchebag. I just wish I knew how to spot one from the very beginning! Mr Z was everything I'd hoped for and more. Four days has felt like four years, but in a good way. I leave for Essex tomorrow, then it's Dublin on Friday, so I'm excited about that. But now it's kind of bittersweet. I wish I could talk about the entire weekend so you can fully understand exactly how I'm feeling right now, but that is one thing I need to keep between him and I. In a way, although I'd love to be a hard hitting Blogger and tell you all the gory details, I think it's good for some things to remain unsaid. For now ;-)
However, I won't talk about Mr Z in the past tense, because this is definitely not the end of it. He appears to feel the same and we're going to continue seeing each other to see where it might lead. If it continues along the same route as it has over the last four days then I'm thinking happy days may be here again. Finally.
I spent a good twenty minutes this morning untagging myself in some rather unsavoury pictures involving my tits and a massive gusset close-up (I'm never drinking ever again). I'm sure you've all been in that situation (having to untag the next day, not flashing gussets to the camera. Or maybe you have!). Lot's of pictures of tits, people falling over, boozy blokes pretending to dry hump each other, squirty cream, devilled eggs falling down bras, dipping burgers in ketchup squirted into bras, BBQ catching fire.....actually - how an event would look if you combined a brothel orgy with the London riots. Fuck I've enjoyed this weekend!
As much as I enjoyed a most epic party, the best part of the last four days has been meeting Mr Z. I had my concerns before we met, as you know from my previous Blogs, but from the first few hours of getting to know each other those worries started to drop away. He was sweet and funny, not to mention totally gorgeous, and we got on even better than I'd hoped. Everything felt right. In a way, it kinda scares me. I'm not known for my successful relationships. I'm the one people come to for advice on how to spot a douchebag. I just wish I knew how to spot one from the very beginning! Mr Z was everything I'd hoped for and more. Four days has felt like four years, but in a good way. I leave for Essex tomorrow, then it's Dublin on Friday, so I'm excited about that. But now it's kind of bittersweet. I wish I could talk about the entire weekend so you can fully understand exactly how I'm feeling right now, but that is one thing I need to keep between him and I. In a way, although I'd love to be a hard hitting Blogger and tell you all the gory details, I think it's good for some things to remain unsaid. For now ;-)
However, I won't talk about Mr Z in the past tense, because this is definitely not the end of it. He appears to feel the same and we're going to continue seeing each other to see where it might lead. If it continues along the same route as it has over the last four days then I'm thinking happy days may be here again. Finally.
Thursday 31 May 2012
It's nearly show time!
Ok, so it's Friday tomorrow and I'm torn between whether to be excited or nervous. I've been very excited up till now, as it's suddenly dawned on me that after speaking to Mr Z for something like three weeks now, he may be a tad disappointed upon meeting me in person. I mean there's no reason why he should, I've only been myself so far - I haven't even curbed my swearing, and he seems to be happy with that. But you know how it is, women and their insecurities and all that. I suppose it's not going to be as bad as if it were a blind date, thanks to the modern craze of Social Networking we both know what each other looks like so it's not as if he's going to be shocked by my forked tongue and 666 scar on my forehead.
I'm so anxious for Friday to be here I actually packed my bag on Monday this week and all my stuff is at the door ready to be loaded into my car tomorrow! Although to be fair, as I'm not coming home before I fly to Dublin next Friday I'd say that was erring more on the cautious and sensible rather then the neurotic OCD. I've left a post-it note on my dashboard which reads "Don't forget your straighteners and make-up you dipshit"! as I have been in this situation before and, right now, I cannot afford to buy another collection of make-up - or a pair of hair straighteners!
I may or may not have a chance to Blog for the next few weeks, although if I ask Em nicely she might let me use her laptop. Well it's either that or I empty the contents of her cats bowl into the vegetarian dinner I plan to cook. In fact that's quite amusing so I might do it anyway.
I want all of you to think positive thoughts for me. Use this mantra - "Leigh Noble will finally find a decent guy without issues or alcohol-related problems." I will of course tell you absolutely everything on my return. Well, maybe not everything, I wouldn't want to embarrass the guy (unless it's a glowing report on his manhood, then I'm sure he won't mind). Hopefully I'll also be able to tell you I made loads of money at the car boot and be able to give you the link to our jewellery website, which should be up and running by Monday if all goes to plan. Blimey, all this excitement is enough to make me feel woozy! Oh and that's another thing - am definitely not getting hammered at the Jubilee party on Monday. No matter how great Mr Z might be, I'm pretty sure the sight of me hurling at the end of the evening will kill any glowing reports I might've planned...!
Have a fabulous Jubilee weekend! God Save the Queen an' all that shizzle!
I'm so anxious for Friday to be here I actually packed my bag on Monday this week and all my stuff is at the door ready to be loaded into my car tomorrow! Although to be fair, as I'm not coming home before I fly to Dublin next Friday I'd say that was erring more on the cautious and sensible rather then the neurotic OCD. I've left a post-it note on my dashboard which reads "Don't forget your straighteners and make-up you dipshit"! as I have been in this situation before and, right now, I cannot afford to buy another collection of make-up - or a pair of hair straighteners!
I may or may not have a chance to Blog for the next few weeks, although if I ask Em nicely she might let me use her laptop. Well it's either that or I empty the contents of her cats bowl into the vegetarian dinner I plan to cook. In fact that's quite amusing so I might do it anyway.
I want all of you to think positive thoughts for me. Use this mantra - "Leigh Noble will finally find a decent guy without issues or alcohol-related problems." I will of course tell you absolutely everything on my return. Well, maybe not everything, I wouldn't want to embarrass the guy (unless it's a glowing report on his manhood, then I'm sure he won't mind). Hopefully I'll also be able to tell you I made loads of money at the car boot and be able to give you the link to our jewellery website, which should be up and running by Monday if all goes to plan. Blimey, all this excitement is enough to make me feel woozy! Oh and that's another thing - am definitely not getting hammered at the Jubilee party on Monday. No matter how great Mr Z might be, I'm pretty sure the sight of me hurling at the end of the evening will kill any glowing reports I might've planned...!
Have a fabulous Jubilee weekend! God Save the Queen an' all that shizzle!
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