Tuesday, November 18, 2008

PS Je t'aime mais tu ne me manque pas

First of all I would like to apologise profusely for the interruption in services. I could make up some sort of elaborate excuse about how I went to Leeds twice in one week and was pretty much a woman on the edge but the bottom line is I just couldn't be arsed.

I overheard the best chat up line. Ever. The weekend before last weekend I was minding my own business 'helping at the bar' when the greasiest, nastiest waster strutted past. He stopped behind a young lady who happened to be stood beside me and very smugly tapped her on the shoulder. Around she turned and he opened with....wait for it....."Excuse me, you sold me some underpants today." I shit you not. To put it in to context, he looked like he'd been dragged through a copse backwards (which is rich coming from me but I do settle for just bush. HAHAHAHAHA. Sorry. That's childish. I'm still sniggering though) and what clearly went unsaid was, "And I bet you were fucking wet when you did it. Bitch." Did I mention he looked like he'd not think twice about sleeping outside Game for the new World of Warcraft. Mmm. Hot. Her reply was pretty much all one could do in the circumstances, "Er. Really?" I mean. It wasn't all she could do. It was the polite thing to do but it wasn't the only thing really was it? I think I would have replied with, "Get fucked" or "It was clearly such a traumatic experience I have wiped it from my brain so please get out of my face you mentalist", etc etc. As opposed to doing the decent thing and leaving the bar to go in search of his dignity he remained. And went in to great detail about the sort of pants he'd bought. By this time I was in hysterics and actually bent over crying. For the record they were covered in pacmen. Which is fairly cute I guess but I won't be able to look at a pacman for a while now without collapsing in to giggles. When he'd finally finished the girl just looked blankly at him. He then loped off like he had such a large penis that he'd had to tape it to his left leg (don't even PRETEND you don't know the sort of walk I'm talking about. ESPECIALLY if you're a bloke). She then turned to her friend and the only thing she said about the whole experience was, "Well that was weird". Understatement of the year.

The next day I took myself in to town for a wander when I ended up stood in front of a massive rack of tights. Two girls were stood beside me, one of whom worked in the shop but was chatting shit at what was clearly her friend. They were sizing up the tights when non shop girl said that she quite liked the bright pink tights and could her mate get them discount for her. Shop girl's reply went something along the lines of why would she want those crazy pink tights and who would wear such crazy clothing. If this was a film this would be where the camera cuts away from the two girls in coversation and pans backwards really slowly until I come in to shot. Wearing the offensive article in question. Luckily I saw the funny side although I'm unsure of whether Shop Girl meant to be rude or not. No matter. She won't wear coloured tights. Like her opinion counts for anything. And I really do mean anything.

Saw the Boosh on Thursday and spent the weekend in Bright Town. Boosh was surprisingly funny. Probably not worth £30 but it was a pleasant evening all the same. And it gave us some dance tips to bust out on Friday night in the pub. On our own. Here's a tip. Don't do moves Bob Fossil has taught you. It'll end in tears.

It has since come to my attention that my interpretation of the Rhianna song might be a bit wrong. Well quite wrong. My sister has come home and informed me that she is actually singing Disturbia. Not dirty love. And has mocked me relentlessly ever since. In my defence I say the following,
  • Is Disturbia even a fucking word?
  • Why has no one told me this before?
  • I only overheard it in the supermarket ONCE. Why would I assume that she is saying a MADE UP word as opposed to dirty love? As I explained to my sister - I thought it was like a dirty protest. For love.
I'm still going to say it's dirty love. It sounds better.

This week Miss B has been trying to get this and this out of her head. To no avail.

To try and get her mind off of the above she has been salivating over Phillipe Starck's new venture. And thinking about Paris in the Spring.

She has also been alarmed by the fact that this has grown on her to such an extent that she is almost tempted to buy it. Maybe in the January sale. Ouch.

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