I seriously need some fucking sleep. This is getting out of hand. 

J'étais niqué

Oh my God I feel like I've been kicked in the face by Hitler.  

My bedroom is also falling apart. I was unceremoniously woken this morning by not so much as a crash, more of a whimper. My wardrobe has broken. All my clothes are all over the floor. I'm fairly stroppy as it is in the morning but this was not a good start to Sunday. To add insult to injury I wandered downstairs to attempt to have some coffee and maybe have some sort of brainstorming session as to what I should do about all my clothes to find my father, glowing. Seriously, if I didn't know better you'd think he was pregnant. He also looked very pleased with himself. I'm suspicious of him when he greets me with a big smile so I got to the point, 

"What? What hilarious thing have you done?

Ahh nuttin, nuttin. But I'll tell you someting, dat Channel stuff is great stuff isn't it? Lovely.

What Channel stuff?

In da bathroom. Channel. 

You mean Chanel. It's French. And it's for my ravaged face

French? JAYSUS you came back from dare years ago. Doesn't it last?"

This conversation was clearly going nowhere quickly. I do love my Dad but sometimes I wish he wasn't quite the metrosexual. It's mainly at my expense and the most irritating thing is that he looked radiant. I was sickened. 

Having spent the whole weekend completely sleep deprived productivity hasn't been high. About 5 hours have been spent wondering whether I should buy tickets for Meltdown tomorrow. I've come down on no. But I think that might change by 10pm tonight. Sometimes I'm so fucking indecisive. I've also had to admit defeat and not dl any new Flying Lotus. The one torrent I could find only works in µtorrent. Why? Why would someone do this to me? A client that only works on windows. What is the fucking craic with that? Someone needs to be told about this. I am Flying Lotus-less until this sorted. It doesn't help that all my friends that are in to all this internet malarkey all have macs too so I shall remain music-less. And no, I am not going to install boot camp. On the upside I found a Modeselektor mix on my travels so that's quite nice. And I got the new Jamie Lidell a few weeks ago so I've been pretty smug. I wonder who the support'll be on Tuesday. That's quite exciting. 

The other piece of exciting news is that I start my new job tomorrow. Hopefully I won't hate it but it is becoming abundantly clear that I'd probably be more suited to some sort of part time job which involves being great. Oh well. At least there's the bank holiday coming up - something that occurred to me yesterday which means I've not got anything planned. No matter. The last May bank holiday will be spent in Brighton one night of which will be passed at my very first hen party. Luckily the girl in question isn't a total idiot so there won't be any L plates or other nastiness. I was the one that introduced her to her soon to be husband as well. I assumed it'd be a one night thing. My God I'm romantic sometimes. 

One cannot really be a Catholic and grown up

So. I did it. I went out and managed to survive a night with the OldSchoolFriendWhoIsActuallyReallyInappropriate. I also managed to only get a little bit wreckheaded. Something I am immensely proud of as it would have been too easy to get absolutely slaughtered and be cutting and sardonic the whole evening. Obviously her clear distaste at not being the centre of attention the whole evening and unnecessary questioning regarding my sexual habits (Newsflash: I'm not 15 anymore. I don't want the whole world to know what I get up to and with whom) grated slightly but on the whole I walked away feeling more than a little sorry for her. 

The conversation somehow got round to the subject of cheating where she declared that she had been cheated on and so she deliberately went out and cheated to get back at him. It was such an odd declaration from someone that pretends to be a feminist and have self respect and, more importantly, be in love with her boyfriend. Her proclamation led me to thinking about the time I (correctly) guessed an ex had cheated on me. Even though I had my suspicions to have them confirmed and watch the whole sorry episode unfold in front of me was physically painful. I brought my knees to my chin and wrapped my arms around my legs and didn't say a word for forty five minutes as he scrabbled around trying to give me a reason, then cried because he didn't want to lose me and said it wouldn't happen again and every other cliché I imagine happens in these situations. 

And I took him back. I took him back because, at the time, I loved him. And cheating on him did not even enter my contemplation. I think it would have been an easy thing to do. But I didn't even think about it. Why? Because I loved him so much that I would never have wanted to inflict the same agony on him that he inflicted on me. Seeing as I'm officially the Spinster of this Parish I imagine she would disregard my point of view with the same blatant disregard she had for her relationship that I think she so clearly had when she went out and cheated. Who knows. 

I do know that I then came home and dug around for my 'Box of Special Things' (If you don't know what I'm talking about then you really are dead on the inside, you know, train tickets, gig tickets, birthday cards, stuff you pick up from exhibitions that hold particular sentimental value for you. No? Oh. Right. Yeah. You're dead) and got out this which I cut out because I don't think something had ever resonated so deeply with me at the time, 

"My first boyfriend broke my heart so hard and so violently that he altered the way in which I lived my relationships ever after. For him, sex was an appetite that needed to be slaked; it was something distinct from love. Despite my loving him, he was easy prey for all the nubile flesh that offered itself up to him. He'd swear his sexual sojourns meant nothing and beg me to stay. Each time, I stayed. And now, as an adult, I understand why. It's much harder to walk away from a person you are still sexually in love with than end a relationship where the physical side has already broken down. When I eventually left him it was because I no longer desired him"

Pardon?

Some questions:

Save the world from what?

How much do you really think you'll get done in 4 minutes?

If I'm grabbing a boy and he's grabbing a girl and he gets done in 4 minutes it doesn't really say much for him does it?

Seeing as you're shitting money don't you think you should have made the continuity in your video slightly better with regards to the extremely large clock counting down from 4:00 when you're prancing about like a brazen trollop?

Do you think when Lourdes and Rocco go to school the other kids shout, "I've seen your ma's minge"? Maybe you should think about that. (That isn't a question. That's a statement.)

Isn't my wallpaper pretty? I took that I did.

Travail

Things you should know:

• Demonoid is back up
• There is a torrent for Wristcutters: A Love Story
• My last week is turning out to be the worst week ever. I'm training a nincombpoop. I was so annoyed yesterday I went to the gym. The. Gym. I forced the girls to come swimming where I thrashed up and down the pool for a solid half an hour, heaved myself out and barked, "Steam room. Now." They trotted after me because they know better than to question me when I look like I'm going to stab someone. Today is not going any better.

Il souvient!

Bunnyboy remembers!

Coquart

So, the black eye is gone. I'd like to say I'm going to miss it but I'd be lying. I've had enough of walking around looking at the ground hoping that I've somehow rendered myself invisible because I'm not looking anyone in the eye. Although on the way back from Brighton I decided I couldn't be fucked to wear purple eyeshadow (God bless purple eyeshadow by the way) or trowel on the make up so I just got on the train with my black eye on show. For all to see. It was so weird. It got more and more ram up the closer we got to London and no one, I mean no one, wanted to sit with me. I had four whole seats to myself which was lovely but slightly disconcerting when people are sitting on each others heads because there is no room. It reminded me so much of Fight Club when the Narrator goes on a booner about people not wanting to look at you when you're totally mashed up. I imagine they thought that I'd blow the train up with soap or something.

However, I have swapped one very visible bruise for about 100 not quite as visible ones. I went pole dancing yesterday and I've ended up with a massive fuck off bruise on my thigh. I don't think I've had one quite so impressive since the Summer. I also have four teeny, tiny bruises on my feet. I don't mind them so much. I think they're quite sweet. The one on my thigh just makes me look like I came off rather badly in a cage fight. 

Pole dancing is ace though. It's really fun and totally easy to pick up (which may end up being a bad thing. I can see myself swinging from lampposts when I'm reallyfuckingdrunk). It also gives me the opportunity for conversations like,

Random: How do you manage to get yourself so far up the pole?

Me: I've had a lot of practice at sliding up and down big poles

and so on and so forth. It keeps me amused. Obviously I did wake up this morning feeling like I'd gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson because I clearly used muscles that I didn't even know I had. Nice. 

I wasn't quite so sure how well this'd go down with the parental units though. Irish, Catholic, God fearing etc. I told my longsuffering Mum and she sighed in a sort of 'I'm resigned to her ridiculousness by now' manner and said, "Can't you just go to aerobics like a normal person? Actually, don't answer that". I left the job of telling my Dad to her. I don't think it's really an image you want to associate with your eldest daughter. Also, she may end up turning her back on her £20k+ education that you paid for to work in Spearmint Rhino accepting cars as trinkets from old men who are old enough to know better. He has, in his infinite battiness, taken the whole thing in his stride and finds it the most hilarious thing he has ever heard. He has even gone so far as ringing practically ALL the relatives in the Motherland. I can only hear one side of the conversation but it goes something like, 

"How'reya? Ah well, you'll never guess what she's done now. What? No, no I don't tink so. Hang on I'll ask.....Shuv, are you in da family way?......No, no she's not up the pole no. Gwan, guess. Gwan! You'll never guess. Gwan. No. No. NO! Alright den, pole dancing! I know. Tis gas altogether! In da nude? I don't tink so. Hang on.....Hi, HI SHIV. IS IT IN DA NUDE?.....No, not in da nude tis in da rigout she has on now. She looks awful tin in dat rigout dough. I don't know how she has da strength to get herself up da pole at all at all. Anyway. Dats all our news. Is dare anyone dying or getting married?"

For those of you who have never had the pleasure of meeting my Dad or a person with an obscenely strong Irish accent a dictionary:

Gas - funny

Rigout - outfit

Tin - thin

Luckily he refrained from ringing my Nana. I think the shock would probably push her over the edge and in to praying 23 hours of the day as opposed to her current 19. 

I've also taken the momentous decision of buying a new ipod. I'm not going to mug myself off and get an ipod touch. I reckon it'll be 80 gig black classic. I'll probably shed a tear when I put my current one in to retirement. She's had a good run though. Even if she is as heavy as a slightly overweight rabbit. I thought about getting something engraved on it. Because I can. I was going to get, "This is an outrage" or "Two minutes in Heaven is better than one minute in Heaven". However, the most cultured lady I know has suggested, "I'm a bloody genius". I think this is because she is always calling me a genius. I'm not really. She just doesn't know how to use an external hard drive. She can't help it. Anyway, any other suggestions are most welcome. However, any that are along the lines of, "I'm a massive cunt", will render the suggester devoid of any contact with me for the next 6 months. I'm looking at you here Bunnyboy. 

Reve

So I had this weird dream last night. I was walking around and it was really dry and it seemed like I was in a really hot country. There were loads of us walking around (people I've not seen in years), thirsty and there were randoms on the side of the road trying to get us to buy their wares as they needed money for their families because there was a drought. However, none of us had any money either. In all, it was pretty grim. Then we hear this dripping noise and we all go bananas because obviously dripping is associated with water. There's this massive fence to the right hand side of us and one of the blokes we were with pulled himself up to look over the fence. Behind the fence was the deepest valley ever, filled with water. Turns out there is a conspiracy masterminded by the rich to kill all the poor people on the planet and once they're all dead they'll release all the water and the Earth will only be inhabited by rich people and things like debt will be eradicated and everyone will be as happy as Larry. Then I woke up.

Because I believe massively that dreams are an illustration of where your heads at the first thing I did when I got to work was look it up. Apparently,

To see a dam in your dream, signifies repressed emotions or feelings that needs to be released.

According to my friends at work this seems quite accurate. Clearly they know something about me I don't. I know I'm currently repressing just how much I can't be bothered with work all day every day (I'm writing this as I should be doing Attachment of Earnings for 'non performing, non homeowners'. Non performing, homeowners, non homeowners, performing, charging orders. Life is rubbish when you owe The Man lots of money).

I'm also addicted to this girl's blog that is linked from Bunnyboy. She's a marine biologist and she is currently in the Phillipines. She updates her blog and her Flickr constantly with crazy fish and the bluest skies I've ever seen in my life. It depresses me to be sat at my desk looking at the most metaphorically grey people I've ever met. I got told today that my attire could be described as "4th of July". So I'm wearing red tights and a star print dress. I'm keeping it real for the Americas. Big Dog in the house and all that. (Although it's ironic that I was just discussing the US with my Dad last night and how they've totally fucked Iraq. Did you know that this time around in Iraq they've not bothered to keep a head count of all the Iraqi civilians who have died. Why? Because last time they did and it was a PR disaster. How many civilians died? Oh millions. Fuck. This time if we don't count we can just say, "Don't know", which is a whole lot better. Bollocks.)

To recap, I have wanderlust. And I really need a holiday.

Club de Bagarre

What happened in Brighton stays in Brighton. But I did manage to smash my face up and give myself a black eye. I'm a fucking idiot.

Also, my best mate's fiancée was totally cool and didn't bat an eyelid as I chucked up everything I'd ingested over the last week in to her toilet in nothing more than a small t shirt telling everyone to come to the Cayman Islands and a pair of frilly knickers whilst the man she is going to marry rubbed my back saying, "Awwww." Give the girl some sort of medal.

I have also earned myself the following names owing to my behaviour in Brighton:

Fuckhead Hero

Trooper

Retard

I can't say which one I'm most proud of. Anyway, blah blah blah I can't really be bothered to write much more. It's just far too epic. All of it. Maybe one day, I'll tell the story that can never be told. In very small bits and pieces. But I probably won't.

Anniversaire

So, I had my people talk to my boss' people and basically things totally came together for this weekend. I have legitimately managed to get Monday and Tuesday off of work and I therefore plan to spend from Friday to Tuesday in Bright Town. Subject to further negotiatons this may even be extended to a half day on Friday. This is good for many reasons a few of which are, 

• It is Spaffy Giff's birthday and he is gonna play some tunes on the music box at his fortnightly night to mark the occasion
• All of Team Wreckhead (a phrase I can not take any credit for) will be out on the prowl 
• There will be some serious getting mashed off our tits on breakfast
• The lady I count as my sister from another mother (it doesn't quite work as well in the feminine does it?) is on Easter holidays so we're gonna plan Boozy Sunday and go see Holy Fuck on Monday. 

To summarise, I'm gonna get totally fucktarded to the point of no return. I've ordered a shiny new 2 gig memory stick for my camera for the occasion. Fingers crossed it comes on time or I'll screw. My little weather widget is saying there is gonna be sun (some showers. But we'll pretend that isn't there) to the point of 16 degrees. Maxi dress weather WOOOOO.

I'm currently loving the recent crop of Talk to Frank adverts. Perhaps because back in the day when Sleazy was around we were constantly telling him to talk to Frank. A joke that never wore thin. How things change. Now he goes to bed early because he thinks he is going to have a "heart attack". I imagine it does worry my parents that I laugh at them as opposed to seriously consider what I'd say to a group of youths who offered me pills on the bus. Obviously I've considered the matter in private and I think a decent answer would be something along the lines of, "Nah. You're alright mate. I got some MDMA in the school toilets yesterday."

I am also a pub quiz champion. It's official. By half a point. Alas I won't be around next Monday to help defend the crown but that's probably for the best. Surprisingly the more alcohol I consumed the more risqué the answers I wrote. For example,

"Which country is currently having a controversial election? Not the USA"

And I wrote, 

"Zimbabwe (Rhodesia - Boo hoo ya)"

I'm guessing the humour and irony will be lost on you if you haven't seen Blood Diamond and you probably assume that I am a horrible person. And you would be correct.