I went up to the N1 on Sunday afternoon for a bit of shopping and some food with Khuong. Being the classy ladies that we are, we only bought things at Oxfam and Cancer Research. I found myself two pretty cool dresses. The one I'm wearing today makes me look very Christmassy, apparently. I was told this by some random guy who came into our office. I think he meant it in a good way. Some people are really hamfisted when it comes to compliments.
We went to a little Spanish restaurant to fill our hungry bellies. When the paella (vegetarian, of course) came, we didn't think we'd be able to eat it. But we managed, stuffing our faces with the stuff. True to form, I picked out all the mushrooms. There were a lot actually. Last Tuesday, on my date-that-wasn't, I'd tried to eat mushrooms. They were quite small, and I'd mixed them up with other things. I thought that meant I was over my strange and quite childish dislike of the fungus. Clearly I was wrong. I carefully sifted through my paella to make sure that there were none lurking, not that it was difficult to miss the buggers.
After strolling around for a while, I headed up to Stoke Newington to pick up my mail from my old flat. I didn't think anyone was there to let me in, but they were. There wasn't anything very exciting. Contact lenses. Phone bill. Letter from Nat West telling me that the Debt Recovery agents would be round soon. I folded that one up very small and put it at the bottom of my bag.
I headed over to Camden to see my old school friend. He'd sounded very hungover when I'd spoke to him earlier on, so I was pleased to see that he was actually still awake and coherent. We went to the pub and began drinking. We haven't seen each other in so long, but we still love each other so much. He told me all the latest news from back home and said how everyone had been missing me. His girlfriend has moved to Australia, via a hippy commune in Milton Keynes, so we were equally cynical about the state of modern romance.
He told me that one of my exes had become a trolley dolly. Now this was a rumour I had heard a few days before, but I didn't believe it. I didn't really believe it until I called him, and asked him. We chatted for a while and I promised to go and visit him when he moved to Brighton.
We got progressively more drunk. We drank some Sambucas: always a mistake. He got very tired and wanted to lie down but I sent him outside for some fresh air. When he returned he told me that he'd eaten a pizza. I finally worked out that he hadn't actually eaten a pizza, just a slice of a pizza.
At half past ten- so much for late licensing- we headed back to the tube, and were, on reflection, quite rowdy and annoying. Talking absolute rubbish, we walked from Euston, pausing occasionally to do stupid things like climb on things or twirl each other round to get dizzy. He finally got his train, and I began the long trek back to South London. By the time I got into bed, it was half one. I'd waited at a bus stop in Brixton for about 35 minutes, and I was freezing, so I made some noodles and ate them in bed.
This morning I woke up to a text saying:
"Some people say 'you don't know what you've got until it's gone'. I say, 'you don't know what you've got until it comes back and reminds you of a life that made tears run down your cheeks, a life when you felt understood and somebody cared'."
Monday, November 28, 2005
Friday night, part 2
Having got ridiculously drunk on horrible cheap wine, I started having a chat with one of the boys. We started by talking about the place where we both used to live, and about a mutual friend (who was, by this point, so drunk he fell off his chair). Somehow we ended up sitting away from everyone else, snuggled up while sitting on two little stools.
This has happened once before.
The first time, he kissed me when we were messing about on the sofa, much to my surprise. After that, I thought things had returned to normal. We'd gone out for coffee a couple of times, and we saw each other in the pub of course.
This time, we didn't kiss. He had his hand on my knee, and I had mine on his. I hadn't noticed how bright his eyes were before. A piercing blue, that I'd always found quite watery. They looked more intense than I remembered them. We leant towards each other. I could feel his breath on my face. Our lips brushed together, but we both shifted back so it was nothing more. We stayed like this, close enough to kiss but not letting it happen.
Suddenly it was as if a light had been shone in our alcoholic state, and we stood up. He made excuses:
"Everyone's looking. My friend is watching us, she'll be annoyed with me."
I said, "Nobody's looking. But you're getting married."
I tired of drinking, as my head hurt and the wine was making my stomach ache and my eyesight blur. We walked up to the train station, arm in arm.
He said he couldn't kiss me because he'd feel bad. I said, "Don't."
This has happened once before.
The first time, he kissed me when we were messing about on the sofa, much to my surprise. After that, I thought things had returned to normal. We'd gone out for coffee a couple of times, and we saw each other in the pub of course.
This time, we didn't kiss. He had his hand on my knee, and I had mine on his. I hadn't noticed how bright his eyes were before. A piercing blue, that I'd always found quite watery. They looked more intense than I remembered them. We leant towards each other. I could feel his breath on my face. Our lips brushed together, but we both shifted back so it was nothing more. We stayed like this, close enough to kiss but not letting it happen.
Suddenly it was as if a light had been shone in our alcoholic state, and we stood up. He made excuses:
"Everyone's looking. My friend is watching us, she'll be annoyed with me."
I said, "Nobody's looking. But you're getting married."
I tired of drinking, as my head hurt and the wine was making my stomach ache and my eyesight blur. We walked up to the train station, arm in arm.
He said he couldn't kiss me because he'd feel bad. I said, "Don't."
Friday night, part 1
My weekend passed all too quickly. It's funny, as for a time on Saturday, I felt like it was going so slowly. I don't interest or entertain myself anymore. Time alone stretches on far longer than is necessary.
On Friday, we went to the pub for a colleague's leaving drinks. We always go to the same pub on a Friday. Actually, that's not entirely true. We used to go to a different pub, by Borough Market, but the barstaff are infinitely more attractive at the other pub. Hence our decision. It is a nice pub though, with quite a lot of character. I'm no longer interested in the men there. That's because I went on a date with one of them. It went really well- or so I thought. But he has never called me again, so it clearly wasn't an enjoyable experience for both of us.
Before going to the pub, I went up to the fourth floor, taking the lift of course. The boys were playing cricket in the open plan area. Despite all three being aged about 30, they act like children. The image isn't much helped by the fact that they're all small. Their boss fits into the role of a dad perfectly. He's very camp, and mothers the boys.
One of them told me that earlier, him and the other boys had been throwing things over the toilet cubicle at their boss. Then they'd switched off the lights and run away. The boss heard someone in the cubicle next to him and threw a load of loo roll over the partition, thinking that it was one of the boys. As they were finishing of the cricket game, they decided to tell him that it wasn't in fact them, and that he had brought himself down to their level by throwing things at random people.
We walked over to the pub. I felt quite foxy in my knee high purple boots. I had already been the the loo to check my makeup, just in case the barman was there. On the way we made lots of innuendos and laughed like idiots. We walked into the pub, and of course the barman wasn't there. I'm starting to wonder whether he chooses his shifts deliberately so he doesn't see me. But I think that would take some actual thought about me, which I won't flatter myself by thinking of.
T and I got some wine. It tasted of vinegar. It was pretty much the worst wine I have ever tasted in my life. I still drank a bottle and a half of the stuff. By about 10:30 I was horrendously drunk, and had had random and potentially embarassing conversations with every single one of my workmates. I had also done some funny things- or, what I found to funny at the time. This included:
- doing impressions of our HR manager as a catwalk model
- wearing other peoples clothes
- orchestrating a photo shoot
- kissing one of my female colleagues
- throwing my arms around pretty much everyone
- mistaking my friends ex for some random guy at the bar, who she later went on to sleep with anyway, making it especially odd
There was other stuff too, but that will have to be written about later as I'm on the front desk and I keep being asked to do work. Part 2 has some juicy events that I shall revel in retelling.
On Friday, we went to the pub for a colleague's leaving drinks. We always go to the same pub on a Friday. Actually, that's not entirely true. We used to go to a different pub, by Borough Market, but the barstaff are infinitely more attractive at the other pub. Hence our decision. It is a nice pub though, with quite a lot of character. I'm no longer interested in the men there. That's because I went on a date with one of them. It went really well- or so I thought. But he has never called me again, so it clearly wasn't an enjoyable experience for both of us.
Before going to the pub, I went up to the fourth floor, taking the lift of course. The boys were playing cricket in the open plan area. Despite all three being aged about 30, they act like children. The image isn't much helped by the fact that they're all small. Their boss fits into the role of a dad perfectly. He's very camp, and mothers the boys.
One of them told me that earlier, him and the other boys had been throwing things over the toilet cubicle at their boss. Then they'd switched off the lights and run away. The boss heard someone in the cubicle next to him and threw a load of loo roll over the partition, thinking that it was one of the boys. As they were finishing of the cricket game, they decided to tell him that it wasn't in fact them, and that he had brought himself down to their level by throwing things at random people.
We walked over to the pub. I felt quite foxy in my knee high purple boots. I had already been the the loo to check my makeup, just in case the barman was there. On the way we made lots of innuendos and laughed like idiots. We walked into the pub, and of course the barman wasn't there. I'm starting to wonder whether he chooses his shifts deliberately so he doesn't see me. But I think that would take some actual thought about me, which I won't flatter myself by thinking of.
T and I got some wine. It tasted of vinegar. It was pretty much the worst wine I have ever tasted in my life. I still drank a bottle and a half of the stuff. By about 10:30 I was horrendously drunk, and had had random and potentially embarassing conversations with every single one of my workmates. I had also done some funny things- or, what I found to funny at the time. This included:
- doing impressions of our HR manager as a catwalk model
- wearing other peoples clothes
- orchestrating a photo shoot
- kissing one of my female colleagues
- throwing my arms around pretty much everyone
- mistaking my friends ex for some random guy at the bar, who she later went on to sleep with anyway, making it especially odd
There was other stuff too, but that will have to be written about later as I'm on the front desk and I keep being asked to do work. Part 2 has some juicy events that I shall revel in retelling.
Friday, November 25, 2005
And then...
When we woke up, all tangled up in that lovely way naked bodies tend to be first thing in the morning, I lay awake for a little while, thinking about how strange it was, to be in bed with such a good friend, but then thinking how nice it was at the same time. I had such a rush of hormones running straight through my body. I was glad I was lying down or my knees would have gone weak. I forced myself out of bed, and put on my snoopy shorts (I'd been wearing them under my jeans as there's a huge hole on my bum, as well as rips in the knees) and one of his tshirts and went to the bathroom. My mouth felt like something had died in there. I though about the amount of bacteria in cum, and figured that it probably explained the dead-animal-in-mouth sensation. I was fucking glad they had Listerine. After swilling my mouth out repeatedly, I went back to bed.
Having ignored my alarm, I dozed for a little longer. I was woken by the other guy getting up and leaving, and I lay awake listening to him go. It became obvious that my friend was doing the same, and as the door shut, we fell onto each other like animals. Then, of course, the other guy came into the room again, and we tried to pretend nothing was happening- kind of difficult when it is clear that there are two naked people in a bed, clearly up to no good. After that interruption, we carried on... the feeling inside me was incredible, like I was alive far more than I ever had been. I wasn't worried about what would happen later, or worried about anything at all. All I wanted was him, and all he wanted was me.
He said, "It's so random, that this is happening with us."
I replied, "It's not random at all, it's inevitable."
He asked why. I responded with a question: "How long have you wanted to do this for?"
He said four years. The same as me. He agreed, "I suppose it was always going to happen, as we've both wanted it so long. There's been so much tension between us."
Then I realised that the feeling coursing through my veins was the pent up tension and sexual frustration that has been a part of our friendship for so long being released. I didn't care if it didn't last, I didn't care that this is not what friends are meant to do.
After we collapsed into a heap, and I lay my head on his chest, I felt so calm. I felt him looking at me, he kept kissing the top of my head. He looked.... he looked....
I wasn't surprised when he said, "I can't do this." I smiled and told him that I'd always known that he would say that. As I said it, I knew it was true. He told me, "I can't mess up our friendship. I want you, but you're you". He's known me so long. "I just can't do this."
I kissed him on the forehead. We held each other for a while, and he stroked the back of my neck as I scratched his back for him. After a while, I got up and got dressed, as he made breakfast. We kissed again, and then I left- out into the cold, up the hill to Kentish Town. As I walked I smiled. There's nothing like inevitability to make you happy, and to make you appreciate everything old and new. Even the icy puddles looked beautiful this morning. I savoured the feeling of being whole.
Having ignored my alarm, I dozed for a little longer. I was woken by the other guy getting up and leaving, and I lay awake listening to him go. It became obvious that my friend was doing the same, and as the door shut, we fell onto each other like animals. Then, of course, the other guy came into the room again, and we tried to pretend nothing was happening- kind of difficult when it is clear that there are two naked people in a bed, clearly up to no good. After that interruption, we carried on... the feeling inside me was incredible, like I was alive far more than I ever had been. I wasn't worried about what would happen later, or worried about anything at all. All I wanted was him, and all he wanted was me.
He said, "It's so random, that this is happening with us."
I replied, "It's not random at all, it's inevitable."
He asked why. I responded with a question: "How long have you wanted to do this for?"
He said four years. The same as me. He agreed, "I suppose it was always going to happen, as we've both wanted it so long. There's been so much tension between us."
Then I realised that the feeling coursing through my veins was the pent up tension and sexual frustration that has been a part of our friendship for so long being released. I didn't care if it didn't last, I didn't care that this is not what friends are meant to do.
After we collapsed into a heap, and I lay my head on his chest, I felt so calm. I felt him looking at me, he kept kissing the top of my head. He looked.... he looked....
I wasn't surprised when he said, "I can't do this." I smiled and told him that I'd always known that he would say that. As I said it, I knew it was true. He told me, "I can't mess up our friendship. I want you, but you're you". He's known me so long. "I just can't do this."
I kissed him on the forehead. We held each other for a while, and he stroked the back of my neck as I scratched his back for him. After a while, I got up and got dressed, as he made breakfast. We kissed again, and then I left- out into the cold, up the hill to Kentish Town. As I walked I smiled. There's nothing like inevitability to make you happy, and to make you appreciate everything old and new. Even the icy puddles looked beautiful this morning. I savoured the feeling of being whole.
Can vegetarians give blowjobs?
I would count myself as a vegetarian. And not one of those fake fish-eating pescetarians, who think that they are vegetarians cos they're not chomping down on a piece of cow. A proper vegetarian, who would like to be vegan but likes cheese too much. Some day I will find a nice soya cheese and then I will be a proper vegan. Anyway, I digress. Blowjobs- and I'm clearly talking about swallowing here- I don't know who would spit. I mean, I've gagged on the foul stuff before, but never spat it out. It's too rude, and all that stuff about the calorie content is rubbish. I sometimes worry that vegetarians can't call themselves vege if they suck cock... but this morning I worked it out properly = vegans can't give blow jobs (or can't swallow anyway, though that would be akin to a vegan chewing a lamb chop, but not swallowing it), but veges can, as spunk is a meat by-product, in the same way that milk is.
Quite clearly, from my in-depth thinking about oral sex, and fellatio in particular, I spent the night sucking a cock. That makes it sound really bad, but it's honestly not! I had one of the most passionate nights ever- without even having sex.
After my ballet class last night, I went up to Camden to meet an old friend from sixth form. We were just going to head round to a friend's for a smoke and some beers. Anyway, so me and him always kiss and hug a lot, and hold hands and so on. But this time- for the first time in the five years we've known each other- we were both single. Pretty soon we were snogging. When he told me that he'd wanted to do that for so long, all I could reply was "I thought you never would". We went inside, and watched some rubbish TV, and joked around. We couldn't keep our hands off each other. At about midnight, me, him and his friend went back to his. This friend had to sleep on the sofa, but the sofa was in my friend's room, as his room doubled up as the living room. The moment this other guy was out of the room, we were all over each other. We got in bed, and we were like teenagers, which I suppose was apt, as that was what we were when we first met. We couldn't have sex with this other guy in the room, but for some reason we felt that oral sex was okay...
My heart skips a beat just thinking about it.
Quite clearly, from my in-depth thinking about oral sex, and fellatio in particular, I spent the night sucking a cock. That makes it sound really bad, but it's honestly not! I had one of the most passionate nights ever- without even having sex.
After my ballet class last night, I went up to Camden to meet an old friend from sixth form. We were just going to head round to a friend's for a smoke and some beers. Anyway, so me and him always kiss and hug a lot, and hold hands and so on. But this time- for the first time in the five years we've known each other- we were both single. Pretty soon we were snogging. When he told me that he'd wanted to do that for so long, all I could reply was "I thought you never would". We went inside, and watched some rubbish TV, and joked around. We couldn't keep our hands off each other. At about midnight, me, him and his friend went back to his. This friend had to sleep on the sofa, but the sofa was in my friend's room, as his room doubled up as the living room. The moment this other guy was out of the room, we were all over each other. We got in bed, and we were like teenagers, which I suppose was apt, as that was what we were when we first met. We couldn't have sex with this other guy in the room, but for some reason we felt that oral sex was okay...
My heart skips a beat just thinking about it.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Today my overwhelming feeling has been one of boredom. Work has been dragging on, although I haven't got a great deal done. I just checked my logging stats and yes, I have done nothing.
Last night I went out on my pseudo-date. We went to see "de battre mon coeur s'est arrete" at the Ritzy. It was really gripping. It's about a thug who decides that he wants to be a concert pianist. I really enjoyed it. The violence was more real and effective than a lot of other films that have far more violence. Then me and my "date" walked over to Herne Hill, and had dinner at some place on the corner- I can't remember the name of it. I don't think he'll want to see me again. He said I was very opinionated and that I shouldn't be so ambitious and ruthless. I was a bit bored, really, by the conversation. He's very nice, but we fundamentally disagree on things like whether taking risks is a good thing. Still, after half a bottle of wine, I was fine, and talked away regardless. He walked me to my door (via the garage as I'd smoked all my fags- damn chainsmoking!!), and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I hate that awkwardness you get when you've slept with someone, and then you see them again, and you just think "hmmm, I must have been really fucking drunk".
Thinking about men who you don't want to see again, I haven't heard from the French guy for a while. It was actually the day after I'd shagged the guy I was on the date with yesterday: I had a dinner party, although I was still really pissed. We all drank lots of wine, and then we kissed. Then as I got more and more drunk, we kissed some more. At about 2am we ended up at his house, snogging on the sofa. I must have suddenly sobered up as then I made an excuse and legged it home. The next day, he got my number. That was at about midday. By 8pm he'd rung me 3 times and sent me 4 messages. Urgh. I finally spoke to him and told him that I didn't want to talk to him and that I'd been very drunk and sorry etc, and I've been studiously ignoring him ever since.
Anyway, the guy I fancy hasn't called. When I spoke to him on thursday, he said he'd call at the beginning of next week (so that's this week). Well, it's wednesday now, and still no word. I thought I sensed in his voice that he wasn't really interested, but I thought I was being paranoid. I know he's studying and everything, but surely he can find 5 minutes sometime to call? Or if he's not interested, why isn't he man enough to say so? I really dislike all those psychological games. I really appreciate it when people are just honest- if you like me, say so; if not, say so- or say nothing (and don't go out on a date and act like you like me!!). I'd much rather be insulted than taken for a fool.
There's my rant about the state of love and romance over. For now anyway.
Last night I went out on my pseudo-date. We went to see "de battre mon coeur s'est arrete" at the Ritzy. It was really gripping. It's about a thug who decides that he wants to be a concert pianist. I really enjoyed it. The violence was more real and effective than a lot of other films that have far more violence. Then me and my "date" walked over to Herne Hill, and had dinner at some place on the corner- I can't remember the name of it. I don't think he'll want to see me again. He said I was very opinionated and that I shouldn't be so ambitious and ruthless. I was a bit bored, really, by the conversation. He's very nice, but we fundamentally disagree on things like whether taking risks is a good thing. Still, after half a bottle of wine, I was fine, and talked away regardless. He walked me to my door (via the garage as I'd smoked all my fags- damn chainsmoking!!), and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I hate that awkwardness you get when you've slept with someone, and then you see them again, and you just think "hmmm, I must have been really fucking drunk".
Thinking about men who you don't want to see again, I haven't heard from the French guy for a while. It was actually the day after I'd shagged the guy I was on the date with yesterday: I had a dinner party, although I was still really pissed. We all drank lots of wine, and then we kissed. Then as I got more and more drunk, we kissed some more. At about 2am we ended up at his house, snogging on the sofa. I must have suddenly sobered up as then I made an excuse and legged it home. The next day, he got my number. That was at about midday. By 8pm he'd rung me 3 times and sent me 4 messages. Urgh. I finally spoke to him and told him that I didn't want to talk to him and that I'd been very drunk and sorry etc, and I've been studiously ignoring him ever since.
Anyway, the guy I fancy hasn't called. When I spoke to him on thursday, he said he'd call at the beginning of next week (so that's this week). Well, it's wednesday now, and still no word. I thought I sensed in his voice that he wasn't really interested, but I thought I was being paranoid. I know he's studying and everything, but surely he can find 5 minutes sometime to call? Or if he's not interested, why isn't he man enough to say so? I really dislike all those psychological games. I really appreciate it when people are just honest- if you like me, say so; if not, say so- or say nothing (and don't go out on a date and act like you like me!!). I'd much rather be insulted than taken for a fool.
There's my rant about the state of love and romance over. For now anyway.
There's nothing nicer than...
Actually, there are plenty of things that are nicer. But I do love the smell of fabric conditioner, and nice clean clothes in general. I was drying some clothes on the radiator in my room, and when I woke up this morning there was a lovely smell... I don't know what it reminds me of, as when I was growing up we never had the radiators on, let alone clothes drying on them (they were usually outside). But it really is a lovely smell, it makes me want to snuggle. I think that I have an inbuilt snuggle reflex. If there is something that I can snuggle into, I will give it a go, whatever it is!!
Brushing my teeth is another of my favourite things. It's strange, as I never think it's going to be that much fun, but once I start, I can't stop. I have a pretty cool pink toothbrush, which makes it extra fun. Sometimes I get a bit carried away. My ex used to make me stop after 10 minutes of brushing as he said I'd brush my teeth away. I do really enjoy it though. My toothbrush is battery operated, so my teeth get extra clean, and I make sure I brush every possible bit of tooth. I think I'm so obsessive about this because I have a real fear of my teeth falling out. Sometimes I have dreams where all my teeth are wobbly, and I have to try and push them back in. I wake up feeling so relieved that I still have teeth in my mouth. So now I brush my teeth for... hmm, sometimes I guess it's up to half an hour a day. That's pretty bad. But that's with flossing and everything (I have very cramped teeth so flossing is very difficult). And then to finish off, I use mouthwash. There's nothing like this rigmarole to set you up for the day. I don't know why I've just written so much about brushing my teeth.... I think I only realised how much I like it this morning, so excuse my enthusiasm.
Listening to music outside in the cold is something else that I really like. By this, I don't mean a sort of winter-glastonbury experience. It's more of a listening-to-mp3-while-sitting-at-the-train-station kind of experience. It combines two of my fabourite things- 1) listening to music, and 2) that feeling in your cheeks when it's cold but you have a nice warm scarf on.
Brushing my teeth is another of my favourite things. It's strange, as I never think it's going to be that much fun, but once I start, I can't stop. I have a pretty cool pink toothbrush, which makes it extra fun. Sometimes I get a bit carried away. My ex used to make me stop after 10 minutes of brushing as he said I'd brush my teeth away. I do really enjoy it though. My toothbrush is battery operated, so my teeth get extra clean, and I make sure I brush every possible bit of tooth. I think I'm so obsessive about this because I have a real fear of my teeth falling out. Sometimes I have dreams where all my teeth are wobbly, and I have to try and push them back in. I wake up feeling so relieved that I still have teeth in my mouth. So now I brush my teeth for... hmm, sometimes I guess it's up to half an hour a day. That's pretty bad. But that's with flossing and everything (I have very cramped teeth so flossing is very difficult). And then to finish off, I use mouthwash. There's nothing like this rigmarole to set you up for the day. I don't know why I've just written so much about brushing my teeth.... I think I only realised how much I like it this morning, so excuse my enthusiasm.
Listening to music outside in the cold is something else that I really like. By this, I don't mean a sort of winter-glastonbury experience. It's more of a listening-to-mp3-while-sitting-at-the-train-station kind of experience. It combines two of my fabourite things- 1) listening to music, and 2) that feeling in your cheeks when it's cold but you have a nice warm scarf on.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Another day goes by
Yet another day has gone past without me doing any work. Well, that's not entirely true, I did lots of work in the morning and early afternoon. I had to get in nice (?) and early to have a meeting with my manager to ask for a pay rise. She agreed with me, although frankly, she'd have to be quite mean not to. I'm living below the poverty line (well, nearly....). So I guess that was a success.
This afternoon I wrote my CV and applied for a new job, where they pay a lot more, and where my skills would actually be used. I think I wrote quite a good covering letter in the end. It's so hard when you know that you would be so good at a job but you have to convince other people that you would be. I know for a fact that I could do that job, but I guess I'll have to wait and see if they agree. I have another load of application forms to fill in tonight as well.
For some reason I have been absolutely starving for the last couple of days. Last night I was lying in bed thinking about how hungry I was, when I'd had a big (and very tasty) supper. I was actually counting the hours til breakfast! Then by lunch time today my stomach was almost digesting itself. I tried to justify it by claiming that it was because I had breakfast very early (which is true, but still!). And now I'm hungry again. I think maybe I have a worm or something. Everyone at work today was saying that I was looking very skinny, but I think that's the clothes I'm wearing (not to mention the good bra I'm wearing) making me look very thin with big tits. A bit like a manga figure I suppose, though not a cartoon.
I'm going to the cinema tonight, to see "The Beat That Skipped My Heart" or something like that. I'm going with this guy I slept with a couple of weeks ago. He's a nice guy, but he's too short (I won't get into my height-rant now, that's for another day). Still, it'll be nice to go to the cinema and it's close to my house anyway.
This afternoon I wrote my CV and applied for a new job, where they pay a lot more, and where my skills would actually be used. I think I wrote quite a good covering letter in the end. It's so hard when you know that you would be so good at a job but you have to convince other people that you would be. I know for a fact that I could do that job, but I guess I'll have to wait and see if they agree. I have another load of application forms to fill in tonight as well.
For some reason I have been absolutely starving for the last couple of days. Last night I was lying in bed thinking about how hungry I was, when I'd had a big (and very tasty) supper. I was actually counting the hours til breakfast! Then by lunch time today my stomach was almost digesting itself. I tried to justify it by claiming that it was because I had breakfast very early (which is true, but still!). And now I'm hungry again. I think maybe I have a worm or something. Everyone at work today was saying that I was looking very skinny, but I think that's the clothes I'm wearing (not to mention the good bra I'm wearing) making me look very thin with big tits. A bit like a manga figure I suppose, though not a cartoon.
I'm going to the cinema tonight, to see "The Beat That Skipped My Heart" or something like that. I'm going with this guy I slept with a couple of weeks ago. He's a nice guy, but he's too short (I won't get into my height-rant now, that's for another day). Still, it'll be nice to go to the cinema and it's close to my house anyway.
Some facts about me
1. Almost everyone I've ever met knows someone who looks just like me.
2. I used to really like Natasha Kaplinsky, but now I don't.
3. I know a lot about Formula 1.
4. I love walking in the winter and standing on frosty leaves, wrapped up nice and warm.
5. I still don't really know what I want to do when I grow up.
6. I'm one of the most stubborn people in the world.
2. I used to really like Natasha Kaplinsky, but now I don't.
3. I know a lot about Formula 1.
4. I love walking in the winter and standing on frosty leaves, wrapped up nice and warm.
5. I still don't really know what I want to do when I grow up.
6. I'm one of the most stubborn people in the world.
Monday, November 21, 2005
Nat West
If there is one thing that is always guaranteed to piss me right off it's Nat West. On Friday, as I was lying in my bed feeling really ill, I got a call from some bimbo wanting to talk about my account. Ignoring my pleas of illness, she insisted that I do something about my account, or else she'd send the boys round, or something like that. Fucks sake. I told her that there was nothing I was going to do about it that day, and that she'd have to hold her pretty little horses, and that I'd do it on Monday. So today I trekked down to my local branch, brandishing £30 to pay into my account. The queue was enormous, but of course there were only 3 cashiers. Obviously in the rural location of London Bridge at lunchtime, they weren't expecting many people in. Some stupid moron tried to convince me to put my money in an envelope and post it into some tardis. I said no, unsurprisingly, and told her that I wouldn't post my cash anywhere, least of all a bank with one of the worst records of accountability and effectiveness, which she didn't take too kindly. After what seemed like five years, especially with some fat, smelly man behind me breathing like Darth Vadar, I finally got to the cashier. Only to be told that my account was dormant and I wasn't able to pay anything in.
I despair. I fucking hate NatWest. I wish I'd never gone £1500 overdrawn with them, the bastards.
I despair. I fucking hate NatWest. I wish I'd never gone £1500 overdrawn with them, the bastards.
This whole blog thing is a whole new world for me to get my head around. My main quandry is: can you tell people that you've read their blog? For example, I was reading a friend's the other day, and on saturday I told him that I'd read it. He was actually happy. But I can imagine that some people wouldn't be so happy, though why, I don't know, seeing as it's on the internet for all to see.
Is it permissable to tell people you've read their blog, or does that cross a boundary? I know detatchment and separation makes it easier for people to write their feelings down, so, to me, it seems like quite a grey area. Personally, I have no problems with anyone reading this, or thinking whatever they like about it. Why on earth would I mind? I doubt I'm going to start revealing the hidden secrets of my mind and soul here, and if I do, then enjoy it. Whatever.
I think that Debretts needs updating. There's now a section on mobile phone etiquette, so I think next there needs to be something about blogging. I really love Debretts. It's such a great book. More people should read it and abide by it. Though having said that, I also like turning into a deliquent as the week draws to a close. There's nothing better than getting stupidly drunk and falling asleep under a coat on a sofa, hugging a dj.
Is it permissable to tell people you've read their blog, or does that cross a boundary? I know detatchment and separation makes it easier for people to write their feelings down, so, to me, it seems like quite a grey area. Personally, I have no problems with anyone reading this, or thinking whatever they like about it. Why on earth would I mind? I doubt I'm going to start revealing the hidden secrets of my mind and soul here, and if I do, then enjoy it. Whatever.
I think that Debretts needs updating. There's now a section on mobile phone etiquette, so I think next there needs to be something about blogging. I really love Debretts. It's such a great book. More people should read it and abide by it. Though having said that, I also like turning into a deliquent as the week draws to a close. There's nothing better than getting stupidly drunk and falling asleep under a coat on a sofa, hugging a dj.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Yesterday I felt very lonely all of a sudden, and thought it would be hanging over me for a while. But today I feel fine.
I looked for a new job last night, I didn't find anything. I think I need to readjust my expectations, and accept that my degree is worthless and I am as good as unemployable.
Something nice did happen last night. I called my best friend from sixth form. He says he'll come to visit me next weekend, though his idea of a plan has always been rather fluid. Still, it's nice to talk to people from back in the day.
This morning I trapped my finger in a door. It now has that quite pleasant numb feeling. Like I imagine Flat Stanley felt. Though of course I'm not planning on shipping my finger in an envelope to see its friend. That would be stupid, it has 9 other friends in very close proximity.
I looked for a new job last night, I didn't find anything. I think I need to readjust my expectations, and accept that my degree is worthless and I am as good as unemployable.
Something nice did happen last night. I called my best friend from sixth form. He says he'll come to visit me next weekend, though his idea of a plan has always been rather fluid. Still, it's nice to talk to people from back in the day.
This morning I trapped my finger in a door. It now has that quite pleasant numb feeling. Like I imagine Flat Stanley felt. Though of course I'm not planning on shipping my finger in an envelope to see its friend. That would be stupid, it has 9 other friends in very close proximity.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Mobile phones- more trouble than they're worth?
It seems that now we have mobiles, there's an extra complexity in human interactions that I could happily do without. Before Mobiles (BM), people had to stick to plans. If people took your number, they were probably serious (or more serious, anyway). They couldn't send you a text, copping out of a call.
Now we have mobiles, people make plans and then change them at the last minutes, leaving you standing on the station platform dressed up to the nines with nowhere to go.
Or they don't call.
Or they text you, leaving you in complete disarray trying to decipher whether they have any feeling that can in any way be comparable to what you have for them (ie. a big fat crush).
And then there's this one: it's broken. Not mine (mine is forever threatening that course of action, but hasn't quite followed through), but his. This, of course, can mean only one thing: hours spent pondering "has my number just been blocked?", "will I ever speak to him, let alone SEE him, again?" and the such like. It's not conducive to... well, anything really.
I wish we could go back to the good old days where plans meant something and a call was a call was a call.That said, those days were pretty rubbish. I got very cold waiting around all the time.
Now we have mobiles, people make plans and then change them at the last minutes, leaving you standing on the station platform dressed up to the nines with nowhere to go.
Or they don't call.
Or they text you, leaving you in complete disarray trying to decipher whether they have any feeling that can in any way be comparable to what you have for them (ie. a big fat crush).
And then there's this one: it's broken. Not mine (mine is forever threatening that course of action, but hasn't quite followed through), but his. This, of course, can mean only one thing: hours spent pondering "has my number just been blocked?", "will I ever speak to him, let alone SEE him, again?" and the such like. It's not conducive to... well, anything really.
I wish we could go back to the good old days where plans meant something and a call was a call was a call.That said, those days were pretty rubbish. I got very cold waiting around all the time.
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