Sunday, November 18, 2007

Bonnes choses viennent aux personnes qui attendent

I'm very sorry to tell you this but I'm afraid my life hasn't been a complete can of spam this week. In fact, this week has been great.

Basically, I've gone and landed myself a new job that I start tomorrow (the joys of being a temp). It is permanent (woooohoooooo) with a view to a Training Contract (Double wooooohoooooo) AND they have offices all over the world so after I've been there a bit I can go and work in France for three months if I want (I don't want to wooooohoooooo myself out or anything but fuck it, lets go for broke, woooooooohooooooooo). So it was with great pleasure that I said, "Adieu" to my last post and ran out of there on Friday crying tears of joy.

There are other things going on behind the scenes as well which all seem to be pretty positive so on the whole it has been a very good week.

Obviously though some hilarity has to be included as my life is one long situation comedy and nothing else. I feel now is a good time to introduce my father. He is a mentalist. Imagine the most Irish person you know (so Irish you can't actually understand what he is saying unless you are lip reading) with the look of a mad professor (curly hair that is sticking up at different angles all over his head because he can't be bothered to have it cut. His words, "I like it. I think it makes me look a bit eccentric") with the personality of someone who can only be high on drugs. All the time.

Anyway, to get you in to the feel of what it is like having to put up with such a father I'll give you a Dad Highlight.

Picture the scene. You've just got off the plane from France with your best mate from uni, we'll call her Mrs Hoppy. Dad has picked us up from the airport and she is in the back (think back to that thick Irish accent that you can't understand unless you're lip reading. Its VERY important). He is asking us how our little holiday went,

Dad: Mrs Hoppy, did you enjoy yourself?
Mrs Hoppy: Yeah (sounding slightly unsure of herself. Clearly plumping for yeah hoping that it would be an adequate answer to whatever Dad was saying)
Dad: Did you do a lot?
Mrs Hoppy: Yeah (still unsure)
Dad: What was the weather like?
Mrs Hoppy: Yeah

At this point Dad turns to me and says: Miss Bladder, I think Mrs Hoppy thinks I'm a bit of a you Mrs Hoppy?
Mrs Hoppy: Yeah.

How we laughed.....although Mrs Hoppy didn't even realise what she had said until about a year ago when I recounted the story to her.

Anyway, today we were driving past this house that my dad has bought to renovate (he gets bored and it keeps him out of our hair). He is terribly proud of what I call the Death House. Its almost like the daughter he didn't have who will never let him down or rebel. Recently he has had a wall built outside it so he went the long way around so we could fully admire the wall in the pissing rain and bollock freezing cold and he turns around to me and says, 

"I'll tell you what. That wall is fucking rude."

Now, I don't know WHO he has been hanging around with but he is a 50 year old man. That is something I would expect MY friends to say (indeed, they do). And for the record, it is used in the context of, "That girl is pretty rude", meaning that girl is pretty fit. So to recap. My dad fancies a wall. Great.

Once we'd managed to leave the wall alone and stop sexualising it my dad asked me how my Saturday night had gone (look what I'm about to do here. Its genius.)

WELL, I hooked up with an old school friend who is okay in small doses but when I say small doses I mean like, 10 minute intervals. We went to a restaurant in Soho that I like quite a lot. Obviously she pissed and moaned about it the whole time we were there. The wine was flowing (it has to be, its the only way I manage to not stab people around me) and we managed to get on to the subject of the Seduced (google it) exhibition and she invited me to come along and see it next Thursday with her, her (37 year old) boyfriend, her "feminist" (completely mental, hacked in to her ex's FB account because she thought he was cheating....which he was but STILL. What would Germaine Greer do?) friend, a man she is setting her friend up with who is an ex-army out of work actor (I KNOW, HILARIOUS) and a load of her uni friends. So to summarise, come and look at pictures of cocks with a bunch of cocks. However, I was too quick for her. I came up with the best excuse ever....

"Sorry, I can't, I'm going to Birmingham that Saturday."

Don't congratulate me. It is clearly the BEST excuse in the whole wide world ever. Totally  unrelated to Thursday. I know. I fucking rule. And the best thing? She was totally understanding. 

Moving swiftly on. We then went to Farringdon to hook up with the most cultural woman I know and her man friend. The bar was quite loud and so my school friend decided it would be a good time to ask me what my sexual preferences are as she is so 'liberated' and 'out there'. Yes. I was a bit knocked sideways too. Is it the done thing to discuss these things 
  • with a person who winds you up beyond all belief 
  • in a crowded bar
I decided not and tried to sidestep the question as successfully as I'd sidestepped going to Seduced. I went to the toilet to ring National Rail Enquiries. 

On my travels around the internet whilst at work I came across this:

It is possibly one the most pant-wettingly-funny things I have read in AGES. 

I also highly recommend

Mark Ronson feat Lily Allen - Oh My God
Highlight: The photo that they got all the visual analysts in for

Natasha Bedingfield - I want to have your babies

Take That - Patience
Highlight: So identikit, in fact, that I now can't tell Howard Donald and Jason Orange apart, so will have to refer to them collectively as Jawar Dorange. (Mark Owen, meanwhile, is still 12)

Sugababes v Girls Aloud - Walk This Way

Sunday, November 11, 2007

Newcastle, je t'aime

I've just come back from a most splendid weekend in the Northeast. Frankly, as soon as I pulled in to Newcastle station on Friday evening I basically shat myself with excitement. I always have lots of fun when I go up North and this weekend was even better as I hung out with a lot of people that I went to uni with. I was especially pleased to see my friend who has just got engaged. She holds a special place in my heart as she came round to my house when we were at uni and she laughed so hard at something she puked out of her nose. Now tell me, who doesn't want to marry a woman like that?

I think my favourite part (and I think all who were present will agree) was the most drawn out and protracted fireworks display in the whole wide world ever. I was having a whale of a time. I love fireworks. The highlight of the whole 'show' was the bush going on fire though. You can't beat a bit of impromptu drama. I think my enjoyment must have been obvious as the Birthday Girl and basically everyone else present cowered behind me. Clearly I'm a human firework shield. The display was followed by an upbeat chat about ghosts and breaking in to the attic in your mate's house to find a wedding dress hung up on the wall with a chair beside it with a wedding ring and an axe on it. I half expected Derek Acorah to come in from the back garden.

I know you'll be shocked to read that I managed to get completely wasted on the Saturday night and I thought that I had behaved in a fairly reserved way and didn't manage to make too much of a holy show of myself. That was until we were dissecting the night over breakfast this morning. Turns out I'm more of a strumpet than I thought I was.....I just can't remember in the morning.

I also went to see The Crack (Shibboleth) last week. I mainly wanted to go as I'd been scoffing at the simplicity of the piece. Cracks in society, crack in the floor, yeah yeah whatever. Racism and imperalism. Yawn. I had even come up with a theory that they said they'd bung her an extra £100k if she came up with a new piece but she forgot all about the commission until about 2 days before the opening and she just got to work with a kanga hammer hoping for the best. I even went so far as to come up with my own piece. It was going to be called, "The Futility of Trying to Fit in". Basically, I'd scribble all over a piece of paper and then draw a very small stick woman in the middle and blu tac it to a pillar in the Turbine Hall. I know. Its fucking inspired. (And if any of you skank the idea I'll kick you in the balls).

I went with one of the most cultured women I know who, it turns out, did History of Art as an A Level and a supplementary subject at uni. I'm sorry to report that it did actually provoke discussion about the ramifications of war and the fall of the British Empire and how these things have shaped the society we live in today. Then we got over ourselves and went and dropped some serious cash in Selfridges. Corporate machines - nice.

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

Quand je fais l'amour avec toi je pense a lui

When I want to drop someone off the edge I do what I consider the Done Thing. Completely ignore their texts/emails. It works for me. I don't have to have that awful conversation where I come across like a complete bitch that is dead on the inside and I say horrible clich├ęs like, "Its not me, its you" (LIE), and "I've just come out of a really long relationship and don't feel ready to make a commitment at the moment" (again, LIE). It also means that the person who you're ignoring retains at least a shred of dignity as they're not told outright that you're totally not interested and you'd prefer if they never contacted you again or you'll get a restraining order. Or something.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not so deluded that I think that I'm the fucking shit and that no one has ever ignored my texts because they're just not interested. However, I have the good sense and the dignity to take that non reply to my text etc and realise what it means - I'm a drunken lush.

Anyway, it seems one person has completely disregarded his pride, self respect, whatever and is not taking the hint. After several Facebook messages (unread, not replied to), text messages (read, not replied to) and emails (unread, not replied to) I got a bit of The Fear. This could turn in to a stalker scenario. Having discussed correct etiquette with my friends it was decided that I should reply to the last text (Oi. Where have you gone too?xxxxx) and be brutally honest.

This evening I did what I consider a cardinal sin. I attempted to chuck (can someone you've only had sex with and not really gone out with be chucked?) him by text. I say attempted because I think I've failed. Miserably.

My reply: "I've not gone anywhere. I'm avoiding you because you have a small penis and you don't know how to use it"

Which is semi true. It was of an adequate size.

I crossed my fingers hoping that this would be harsh enough for him to either stop texting me or send him in to such a rage that I would receive a volly of abuse that is totally deserved and would also mean that I would then forever be referred to by him and his circle of friends as, "That lying bitch who doesn't know what she missed out on".

I should have crossed everything. Almost IMMEDIATELY he replied with, "I know you think that you told *** (his best friend starred for anonymity purposes) when you were drunk. When do I get my date? xxx"

Firstly, what the fucking fuck fuck fuck?? Secondly, I don't remember telling his best friend that when I was drunk but it definitely sounds like something I would do. Thirdly, did I mention the last time I had sex with this person was TWO YEARS AGO?