Olympic Laughter

Normally my Monday's are rubbish and I have to have a mega b*tching session on my blog to feel better, but one of my best mates, B, made me laugh for most of the afternoon. I love this girl like a sister, but she is one of the competitive women I have ever known, and if we don't all agree with her when she says she's good at something, God help us!

She announced during lunch today that she was a gold medalist at the Junior Olympics. Naturally this was greeted with raucous laughter and disbelief, but the scowl and a face like a slapped arse said otherwise. As we probed and questioned in a manner that would have made CSI investigators proud, she got more and more defensive, and we were literally crying with laughter. Seemingly we are supposed to believe that her gold medal for the 200m in her schools make shift Olympics that was sponsored by Uncle Bens Rice (Jaysus, I'm starting to crack up laughing here again) was the official Junior Olympics.

She didn't even flinch when we started to conduct a google search on it (google is our solution to everything) and she went so far as to call her mum (I'm telling mummy) and ask her to post the medals and certificates to her so she can show us all. The fact that she had to explain herself a few times to her mother and that they had to be taken out of the wardrobe (???) didn't seem to dent B's conviction. Surely if you're an Olympic medalist you'd keep the medal on the mantelpiece or make it centre stage in your toilet, not tuck it away in the wardrobe?

She 'pretended' to be in a strop for most of the afternoon but when we brought it up again and started howling with laughter on the way to the tube station, I suspected that we'll be in for a telling off tomorrow or some form of horrid revenge. Keep an eye out for news stories of a group of media sales people being killed by being forcefed Uncle Bens Rice!

I had to restrain myself from telling my bank manager in Dublin to go and f*ck himself today. He's had a telling off from the big boss for the continued mishandling of my student loan account, and the cheeky bugger phoned me up to have a moan about getting into a trouble. What the frig do I look like? Oprah ? Dr Phil ? Trisha? A sympathetic woman that is stupid enough to feel sorry for him? I don't bloody well think so. By the time I was finished with him, he must have regretted phoning me up. How unprofessional! Instead of apologising for being a ponce and messing up continuously, he tried to prove how right he was and justify his actions.

Men, say it with me. "It is okay to admit that we are wrong and even say those famous words which women are comfortable with - 'sorry' ". Your balls will not shrivel up into insignificance. You will not become less of a man. You will not feel as if the world is going to cave in around your head. Your penises will still be there.

Definitely Single, Possibly Too Picky

I am so bloody tired after a weekend of gallivanting that I need another weekend just to get over it. Without consciously thinking of it, I spent my weekend wearing an assortment of denim mini's (not too short) and colourful fishnets. I am accepting that the male species is fascinated by tights/FMB's and anything else that makes their willys rise to attention.

I was so tired from being out on Friday (big girls night out) that I spent all of Saturday in bed so that I could recuperate and go out last night. It was only as I was getting ready to go out last night that I realised that Saturday had gone by in a big blur of sleep.

Approximately 30 seconds after I walked out my front door, a dickhead van driver started honking his horn at me. When he was still doing it after what felt like an eternity, and I can barely hear what B was saying on my phone to me, I ended up shouting at him to F off. Strangely enough the honking stopped. If I was dressed like a hooker touting for business on a street corner, I could understand, but I was wearing a denim skirt a bit above the knee, boots (not even in a FMB style), and a heavy coat which hid the cleavage. Imbecile!

I had a good night out with B and her flatmate, although we were in bed by 1.30 am. There were so many men for us to take the piss out of, we didn't know where to start. As we shook our stuff on the dancefloor, the usual assortment of guys that want to try and get in your pants with minimal effort lurked around. I am amazed that a guy thinks that he has a hope in hell of getting in my knickers by grabbing me, breathing beer fumes in my face and saying, "You love it you do" Er, what?

We laughed even harder as other guys pretended that they were looking for someone and hung around trying to start dancing with us. One guy stood there holding his peck looking moody and mysterious for a while. We tried not to look at him but we couldn't help it because he looked so silly. I then put my hand over my breast and tried to do moody and mysterious and the girls were howling with laughter. I looked up to see a group of guys giving me strange looks and had to quickly remove my hand. Mr Moody realised that we hadn't fallen for him and made a quick exit.

I didn't see any totty when I was out last night and I am starting to become worried that I have become too picky or something. I remember when I used to see totty all the time. Now, they are few and far between. Is this because I had no taste a few years ago or that I have become too picky? Most of my male friends think I'm too picky but I've also said I wouldn't p*ss on most of them if they were on fire. I know them, too well.

I'm realising that I have become the entertaining single friend amongst my more settled friends. They love having me out because I regale them with tales of my boyfriend/dating disasters and they nearly wet themselves laughing and feel comforted by the fact that they are going home to their men and their desperate single days are behind them. A close friend of mine said to me last year, 'It'll happen to you soon. I only hope that you have the chance to have the kind of love that I have with X'. Thanks. I don't think I'm being oversensitive in thinking that her comment was completely insensitive. I have told my friends to take an AK47 and shoot me in the head if I ever become the type of girlfriend/fiance/wife that I struggle to understand. I hope my days aren't numbered..........

Don't forget that 24 starts on Sky One tonight (UK viewers).

Lock & Key Party

I turned up for what I thought was a 'hip' way to meet men, and discovered that it was your average night in the pub, but with a lock around my neck for men to try and open. Because of the big Man U and Chelsea match last night, quite a few blokes didn't turn up, so they roped in guys from God knows where that didn't even have to pay! There were quite a few more women than men, which would have been great if I had lesbian tendencies, but I don't.............

I did get talking to two women that were even more cynical than I am and they kept me thoroughly entertained. I had thought until last night that I may be a bit scary sometimes with guys, but I don't have anything on the two women I met last night. The first guy that sat down (he was actually wearing an anorak bless him) was quite sweet and they barraged him with questions about why he was there. I just kept laughing. Because they were so cheeky to the guys, all of the men I spoke to kept telling me I was sexy, charming and sweet. (hee hee!)

I got chatting away to one guy who I think was already drunk, and out of the corner of my eye I could see two Miami Vice lookalikes watching me like prey. They made it very obvious they were talking about me and kept staring at me and edging in my direction. I dragged out the conversation for as long as I could, but when he left they started to move quickly towards me. As I propelled myself out of my seat to make a run for the toilet, another man appeared and tried to stick his key in my lock. I think the Gods were on my side. The Miami Vice guys got chatting to some other women and I breathed a big fat sigh of relief.

We all got talking to one guy who then homed in on me and fed me such slick lines, I'm surprised I didn't fall off my seat. At first I thought he was funny and charming, but when he had told me I was sexy for the 100th time and kept asking whether I was wearing stockings or tights, I felt the need to escape. I stood up to for someone to try their key and Mr Slick told me that I was very pert. He refused to answer any questions with an answer and wanted me to do lots of guessing work, which just made my period-fried brain turn to mush with boredom after a while.

When another couple of guys made a cheeky comment about the tights (they're just bloody black patterned tights which I wore with my FMB's and skirt), I started to regret my choice of outfit. What's the big deal? They needed to put their tongues back in their mouth's!

Being the natural b*tch that I am, I noticed one quite good looking gentleman, which one of the women had taken the meaning of lock and key to far, and had latched herself on to him. When I attempted to speak to him I was greeted with a dirty look by her, which only made me want to be a bit naughty. As soon as she went to the toilet, I gave him a big wave (moment of madness), invited him over and we chatted away for ages. When she got back from the toilet, she glowered at me, and I gave her a big 1000 watt smile. He asked me for my card at the end of the night, so we'll see if he calls. He was a really nice guy so I certainly wouldn't mind meeting up with him. I had to restrain myself from doing a victory lap around the bar. I don't care if he doesn't call (although it would be nice), but I thoroughly enjoyed putting a big fat scowl on her face.

I did have a laugh last night but mostly because of the women I met. Every woman I spoke to was really disappointed in the evening. I don't have high expectations of this type of thing, but it's not worth £20. If I have any sense, I'll walk into one of my local bars in Soho throw a lock and key around everyones neck and demand £20, and then leave. Job done! I would steer clear of Lock and Keys and do speed-dating instead. Daunting as 20 3 minute dates might sound, it gives the evening a bit of structure and you meet all the guys instead of a few guys monopolising your attention and having to spend half the evening plotting an escape route. I know when those 3 minutes are over in speed-dating,that it's over and done with, like bad sex!

I made a rapid exit after the rubbish raffle and this 'Desperate Singleton' just scraped it home in time for Desperate Housewives.

Blood, Sweat & Tears

It's been a sh*tty day and now I've got to try and gear myself up for this Lock & Key party , when all I want to do is put my PJ's on, eat crap, and watch chav TV. I say this every month but periods and feeling like my womb is trying to make a bid for freedom just don't do it for me. What I despise the most is the effect it has on my sanity and my hormones.

I actually cried at work today which is a reflection of how rubbish I feel and I felt like the biggest d*ck on earth as fat tears rolled down my face. To cut a long story short, my grossly inappropriate ex boss f'd up and dragged me into a horrid scenario with one of his staff and said some really offensive things. Thankfully, I didn't cry in the meeting and gave the full force of my hormonal vengeance instead. He looked very uneasy and so he bloody well should have. I was so angry, I was shaking, and made my feelings very clear. When I sat with my own boss separately, I actually cried tears of frustration and like a true man he told me that he and my old boss were completely at fault and misphrased what they meant to say. Why the hell can't men say what they mean and mean what they say? If I cocked up like that, I'd be called or sorts and labeled a b*tch or something. Sweet baby Jesus and the angels as Peter Kay would say.

My old boss is getting the 'ole blankety blank check book and pen. I can't speak to him as it may be a threat to the future of mankind.

Right, I had better tidy up my desk and fix my face. I have suddenly become very nervous about this speed dating as I am now going on my own. My stomach is lurching but I don't know if it's my period or nerves. Boo hoo! I will hopefully report all later. Don't forget Desperate Housewives !

Hormonal Cock-Ups

I know my hormones are all over the gaff when I feel weepy over silly things on TV. I've been watching Eastender's and when Mr Truman said that Paul was dead, I felt my eyes well up with tears. Oh the joys of being a woman and having her period!

I had a very weird slip of the tongue in a client meeting this morning. I can't remember exactly what I was talking about, but I meant to say, 'People buy X until it's coming out of their ears' and instead I said, 'People buy X until they come out of their ears'. My boss looked at me and gave me a small smirk but fortunately the client didn't even notice. My brain seems to turn to mush every 28 days and all of a sudden my memory goes to pot, I talk sh*t, and mix up my words.

I'm going speed-dating tomorrow night. It's a Lock and Key party and I am feeling nervous about prancing around a bar trying to get my key to fit in some strange guys lock. I had a moment of madness last night and on impulse booked myself in. I think I am managing to drag someone else along with me, but if I do end up going on my own, I actually don't mind. It's all in the name of research! I'll have to plan my outfit well for work tomorrow as if I get changed it'll look like I tried too hard, so I'll have to turn up the sexiness a notch, but without it alerting the boys. I do not want to have to put up with banter all friggin day.

I'm thinking of wearing a skirt as that went down quite well at that last speed-dating, but that was probably because the FMB's seemed to draw guy's eyes to it. Still, it's not like I managed to pull anyone at the last one as they were all 'friend' types, with the exception of the Jude Law lookalike who was snapped up by a woman that he didn't meet at speed dating over the Christmas. He text me a while back to say that he's been thinking about me. What the hell for? He's got himself a bird now, and if he has any sense he'll clip his wings and not be flapping in my direction! Honestly! Talk about being greedy.....

Doctor, Doctor - More Like Doctor Smoctor

So after spending my weekend worrying about the lump in my finger, I left work early and headed off to see my doctor. According to the chest clinic at my hospital, I needed to make an 'urgent' appointment with my doctor. I'm sorry I wasted my time and because I got my period today, I really had to resist the urge to tell the doctor that he could stick his stephascope where the sun don't shine.

Apparently the lump in my finger is not a lump, but it is a lump (er, ok) and the joints in my hand are inflamed. I pointed out to the doctor that my 'illness' is an inflammatory disorder hence surely that is what has caused it. He said yes and that I should take some Neurofen for the inflamed lumps (I thought it wasn't a lump) and did I want a hand x-ray. There was such a temptation to say 'X-ray this' and stick my finger up at him, but I realised that he was just, well being a doctor. He then asked me what my hospital had said (told him about them saying I needed to make an urgent appointment with him, the GP) and he said they were clueless and incompetent. Oh yeah? Is that why he told me that he would 'read up' about my illness and I could visit him on Wednesday morning? Yes, I work for a Mickey Mouse operation that lets me take off time whenever I feel like it, just so that I can prove I have more knowledge than the doctor. Hmmm!

I'm in a strange mood but it's my hormones which is probably why I feel extra sarcastic. I'm going to get into bed with a hot water bottle and dream of a normal life where Colin Farrell waits on me hand and foot, I have a house overflowing with shoes, an amazing wardrobe and a life of bliss. I think my period gives me delusions of grandeur.......

Men certainly know how to do drama too. The guy I 'manage' that hurt his rib last week has suddenly developed a knee injury where the pain was delayed for a week (???). The amateur dramatics that I had to put up with as he grimaced and limped were worthy of the Best Actor Oscar. Funny how something is always wrong with him when we have a big deadline. I think he struggles to perform under pressure (work impotence) but I actually turned to my boss and said, "He is going to stay here all friggin day today even if his leg falls off." We laughed at the ridiculousness of it all, but I noticed that when he realised that I wasn't going to be my usual sympathetic self (I do know how to be nice sometimes), the limping ceased and he got on with his work. I can almost here the crack of my whip.........

Weekend Men

I was lugging a couple of bags of groceries back to the flat yesterday, when I was stopped by an old man. I pulled the earphones out of my ear and balanced my bags to hear him say,

"Have you no husband to carry your bags for you luv?" in a lovely Irish lilt.

"No I don't" I replied feeling for some reason quite embarrassed but at the same time pleased. For some reason I looked around, almost as if I expected a husband to miraculously appear.

"Well you should. A fine looking lass like you shouldn't be carrying her own bags and she should have a husband." (I swear he was looking at me with concern)

"OK. Have a good day!", I said in a sing-songy voice and headed off towards home.

It only occurred to me a few seconds later that there had been another woman carrying her shopping in front of me and he didn't say anything to her. Does this mean that I look like I want a husband? Do I look like I need one more than her/other women? Or did I mistake him for being a charmer, when maybe he was being a perv?

I went out to my friend Ros' birthday last night with B, where we had couple of bottles of wine and got merry. We actually spoke to loads of guys and for some reason I was being quite cheeky and flirty. I know that alcohol probably helped it along, particularly because I don't drink very much with the poxy steroids, but I often don't need it to be my naughty self. However, as flirty as I am, I tend to reserve it for guys I know, or guys I fancy. Last night I was flirting away for the hell of it and I didn't fancy most of them.

I actually caught this guy looking down my top and looked right back at him, and he at least had the good grace to look embarrassed. Apparently my boobs looked great last night and I had a lot of comments on them. My friend Lizzy even gave them a quick touch to emphasise how great they looked and I tried to feel complimented and not self conscious.

Lizzy told me this rancid story about her new years eve. Apparently she snogged a friend of hers and he came back to stay at her house. There was no chance of them having sex because her parents were there and my other friend Ros was also sharing the bed. (In a non-sexual way) My girls fell asleep but it has come to light that he was having a wank in the bed whilst they were sleeping! How revolting! We all giggled about it but more in a nervous way. Ros says she's only just calmed down about it and feels traumatised by the experience. Lizzy and I talked about hunting him down and cutting his nuts off! B and I have shared a bed with John a couple of times and he wouldn't have even let the thought pass his mind about doing something like that, and he has a filthy mind!

I met up with one of aunt's and my twelve year old cousin today as they are in London for the weekend. I got treated to lunch (I love being fussed over) and then we went shopping for some clothes for my cousin. I cannot believe that they have thongs for her age group and all of the clothes are like mini adult clothes. I was very flattered by the fact that she wanted me to be her fashion advisor. I helped her pick out some stuff as I'm good at spending other people's money!

I spent three hours cleaning and tidying like a muther when I got back, and I have realised that having the additional space of the one bed flat means that I have more space to mess up. I did some reorganising and have now finished all of my unpacking except for the sorting of letters and bills. I found that blasted rabbit vibrator which I have forgotten I own, despite going through some right drama's and embarrassment's . With two uses that means that it has a current cost per use of £9. Well, that's a hell of a lot cheaper than hiring a gigolo!

I'm in pretty good form and I'm trying not to worry because it will actually make things worse. I'm going to do some reading up about it again and maybe it's time to start thinking about alternatives to steroids. Unfortunately I can't just come off the steroids otherwise I could keel over or something, but when I'm weaned off them in May, I need to have a Plan B for if the symptoms come racing back.

Staying Upbeat

Despite my strange discovery yesterday, I think I managed to stay in a rather upbeat mood, or at least I thought so. I was accused of being snappy and moody (I do have my bitchy tendencies anyway) and so I apologised, and they looked at me as if I was mainlining crack. I don't know why I bother sometimes.

The guy I 'manage' makes me want to scream sometimes because he never has a sense of urgency, sense of initiative, or the sense that I am very tempted to stick a rocket up his backside to try and galvanise him into action. If I don't verbally crack the whip, he doesn't do jack shit and hovers at 50-70% capacity. I lay down the law and he's at 100-150% capacity. I just don't get it. I'm a doer and this behavior bewilders me. He has even told me that he likes me being on his case. I'm not a friggin dominatrix! Why don't men listen the first time you say something? Why do they make you repeat yourself again, but this time rather tersely, and THEN decide to listen to you? Privately you're called a nag (or sometimes to your face) but they bloody well force you to be!

I decided to stay in last night and chill out as I was feeling quite wrecked and my arms and fingers were in quite a bit of pain. I know I have to stay positive and blah, blah, blah, but I'm really frustrated with this whole sarcoidosis mallarky. I just want to be normal again, although I'm not even sure what the hell that means anymore. I have been invaded and I just want to give the f*ckers what they want, so they will back off and give me my life back. Yes I'm walking around and I'm a hell of a lot luckier than a lot of people out there, but taking steroids everyday and the profound changes to my body and the possible long term effects, mixed in with the fact that I appear to be getting worse not better is beyond frustrating. I used to take it for granted that I was 26 (now 27) so sh*t wasn't supposed to happen to me. Now I have to look at life in a whole new way and I want my rose coloured glasses back, now! (Mentally stamping my feet)

I knew I was more upset than I was letting on because I brought two, yes TWO pairs of boots and some earrings on the way home from work. I know I'm stressed when I impulse buy on the way home from work, particularly when I buy in two's. Ladies, if you have an Oasis get in there for the sales!

Watched complete chav TV last night and thoroughly enjoyed it. I loved the irony of Sally in Corrie giving her husband a custard bun and he was unbelievably pleased and delighted. Bet he would have changed his mind if he knew his wife was giving her boss a good seeing to. I have become a huge Corrie fan over the past year or so, although I have actually watched it on and off since I was a kid. What I will never understand is how the frig does Sally manage to pull all of these blokes? Why do they all fancy her? I want to know her secret. (Yeah, yeah, she's fictional)

I'm gutted that Jeremy Edwards has been evicted from the Celebrity Big Brother House . What a ride! What a ride! (Jaysus, I haven't said the word 'ride' since I was a teenager in Dublin, but it's so apt!) I will miss watching him shower in his white boxers. Yum.....

Right I had better skidaddle. I have tablets to ram down my gob, an appointment at the beauticians, a hair appointment and hopefully not too much spending in the shops.

The Lump

I was in the shower this morning having the usual soap down when I stumbled across a lump in my finger. Thinking I had mistaken a nuckle for a lump, I felt, and refelt until I could do nothing but draw the horrid conclusion that for some reason, my body has decided to enlarge my lymph nodes again, despite being on poxy steroids for the past 7 months. To be honest I felt really bloody pissed off, frustrated, and slightly tearful at the prospect of my condition worsening. I', supposed to be getting better! What's the point in shoving tablets down my throat each day, putting on over a stone, and having a compromised lifestyle if I get worse and not better?

I called one of my best pals and he being his usual sunny self, told me not to worry and that it just means that it will take a bit longer. No sh*t Sherlock! But he meant well, and he did calm me down!

I dragged myself into work and called the hospital, who advised me that I would be called by my doctor between 9.45 and 10am. Due to the wonderful efficiencies of the NHS, I'm still waiting for that call...........

I spent the morning at our company's yearly performance briefing. Very foolishly, we all followed the men who had no clue where they were going, which resulted in a hell of a lot of people being confused and lost. Never, ever get men to map read. We spent an hour and half shivering from the air conditioning and looking at figures and graphs. Whooppee! I did listen, but surrepticiously checked myself for further lumps and found one in my arm, and a smaller one in the side of my face (they are all under the skin so I'm not walking around with a messed up face or something!)

My old boss nominated himself for an award that he eventually didn't win. I actually burst out laughing when I heard his name being called because I just KNEW he had nominated himself. He was gutted and B and I being the true b*tches that we are have now told everyone that he's nominated himself. Hilarious! He is now being even more David Brent-ish than he usually is.

Cheeky Boys

Sometimes, like last week , I wear knickers from hell, but today it was tights from hell. I had to go to a client meeting this morning, so decided to strut out in skirt, shirt, suit jacket, with tights and yet another pair of my FMB's. Everytime I went for a wee today, I had a right bloody nightmare with the things for some reason, because I had to pull the waist of my tights up (the waist/tummy bit of the tights is way too long. How tall do they expect a woman to be? 8ft!?), then the skirt up and hold it above my waist, whilst I pulled the shirt back down so that it was tucked in. Nightmare!

As soon as I got back to the office, I had to go straight to an internal meeting, where all I could think about was the lunch that I had left on my desk. One of my colleagues demonstrated that men really do have poor listening skills. Every time he raised an objection/point, or asked a question, it was something that had just been raised or answered. It was like he only thought about his own agenda as soon as he heard someone else's voice. Another of my male colleagues is a smartarse with a tendency to be abrupt, and when I asked about a section in the magazine he just said 'No' in a rather snappy way. I said, 'Er, O-K then' and gave a knowing look to the rest of the group and they all burst out laughing. This forced him to answer me properly, the cheeky git!

Copies of Mediaweek made their way slightly belatedly around the office, and within what seemed like seconds, my old boss appeared brandishing a copy with the page open at a very well toned, tanned chest, and said, "Look at this. They've only gone and put a picture in of me!". The male ego knows no boundaries.

I'm watching Celebrity Big Brother and resisted the urge to drool whilst Jeremy Edwards showered himself wearing just a pair of white boxers. What a bum! What a man! And he's very funny too. Whoever thinks he's dull is crazy!

I sometimes think that I am lucky to be single. B is pissed off because her man isn't observing the correct relationship ettiquette, and another friend has just discovered that her estranged husband is charging sh*t to her credit card without her permission. And here I am worrying about my annoying tights, and whether I'll be able to stay awake for both episodes of Desperate Housewives . Don't forget to watch it by the way!

Perverts Tuesday

The guy I 'manage' has cracked or broken a rib playing cricket. Because he's always telling stories about his nights with the lay-dee's, I assumed that it was a sexual injury! Apparently I wasn't the only one. He was probably kicking himself when he realised that he had missed an opportunity to embellish a story and make himself out to be a super stud. Doh!

My old boss ( David Brent multiplied by a million) offered me some vouchers as my deal gave his magazine some money. The cheeky git says, "Where do you want them from? Knickerbox?". "Er, where did that come from? Why Knickerbox you perv? I don't even shop there. Get them from HMV ." There is something seriously wrong with him (I say this affectionately) and I enjoy giving him a hard time. Having not learnt his lesson, he came up and joined us at lunch so he could hang out with the young and groovy people, and proceeded to give B a hard time about her £85 FMB's (F*ck Me Boots) telling us all that they've probably bankrupted her because he thinks she's got a spending problem. She hasn't. EVERY woman needs several pairs of boots and a mountain of shoes. He tried to use me as an example and said that B should take a leaf out of my book and do some sale shopping like I did with my FMB's. 'I paid £175 for mine' was my dry reply. 'Oh....', he says.

Well my appraisal went really well and I'm hoping that unlike last years one, that I really will have little refreshers instead of dumping it in the bottom of my draw until next year. I'm feeling quite positive about it and enjoyed my chat with my boss, although I think I probably exhausted his brain! I left my appraisal and found out that a deal I've been working on for a couple of months is coming in, so I'm giving myself lots of pats on the back.

My 26 year old brother came round for a birthday dinner and we had a good catch up, and tried not to hurl the contents of our dinner whilst watching How Clean is Your House . The people that lived in this house in L.A. were the most rancid field dwellers I have ever come across. I actually retched! The toilet was so despicable and there was piss and sh*t all over the house, both human and animal. I couldn't believe it when the presenters Kim and Agie were touching the filth with their bare hands. Uggggh! I could NEVER do their job.

My ex landlord has emailed me a few times about meeting up and I think I am going to meet up for the hell of it. We always got on well, but I don't fancy him. However, it's hardly a big deal to meet for a drink. Us women sometimes make too much out of meeting a guy. I'm not agreeing to marry him! My aunts boyfriend thinks he's a perv and told me to stay away from him. Decisions, decisions!

Why do men always have to make a point?

I got back from Dublin early this afternoon and after dropping my stuff off at the flat, I decided to make the most of the few spare hours and do some errands. Naturally it decided to piss rain on my day off, but I remained in a sunny humour.

My last stop was at Boots (chemist) and I decided to pay with my Advantage Card (rewards card for those that don't know) and I told the sales assistant before he started the transaction. He scanned everything and asked me for the money, and I repeated that I wanted to use my points. He then proceeds to lecture me saying that I should have told him before the transaction started and that they normally only do it then. There was a temptation to point out that I had said it to the smartarse but decided not to go down that route because that doesn't work with any man. Instead I said in rather stern tones, "So does that mean that I can't pay for these goods with my Advantage card?" and he hurriedly told me that of course I could. So why didn't he just get on with it instead of giving me the lowdown on his policy?

I often find that men feel this perpetual need to make a point, as I think it gets the testosterone going and it makes them feel superior and super manly. Well I wasn't having it today!

Right, I'm off! I have my appraisal tomorrow morning and I have a sh*tload of typing to do.

Perfect Wedding - No totty though!

I know it would have been a bit much for my friend to consider how much totty was on the guestlist, but unfortunately I did not meet any men at the wedding. They were 1) attached or 2)relatives. However, she did have a perfect wedding reception with her closest family and friends after marrying in the Bahamas last month.

I admire her for saying 'F*ck it' and enjoying her wedding. She spent huge amounts of time with us and just wanted people to get down and enjoy themselves, and took comfort in knowing that they had only their closest family and friends there so she knew she could have the day she wanted. I thought it was brilliant when she took us up to their amazing bridal suite which was a cross between Victorian and bling, and seriously plush. The husband cracked open a bottle of champagne and we got stuck into it, although the floor took a battering from the booze.

My mum thought that she had filmed all of it on her very super-duper new camcorder, but it turned out that she had just been looking at us through the viewfinder. She was so disappointed but fortunately saw the funny side of it.

I had quite a lot to drink and knew that I had too much when I, 1) bawled my eyes out over the beautiful wedding day photo's and 2) texted B at 1.30am to let her know how drunk I was and that I needed a man. Herself and John were hugely entertained by this and have vowed to sort me out with a man on my return.

One thing I am sure of is that I want a solid, steady relationship like the happy couple. They have triumphed through some really serious stuff over the 6 years that they have have been together, and have always being solid, and it was never a question of not being together. I know that I am right to be single/dating and that I want that type of love. Most of my ex's and I couldn't triumph over an argument about who did the cleaning last!

My mum cracks me up because today she just comes out with, 'Yeah, I'm ok with being nuts'. At least she joined me in the laughter, and I love her comedic timing! I'm heading back to London tomorrow morning and I misguidely thought I would spend some quality time with my brothers but the 19 year old bickered and bitched at my mum and I from the moment we came through the door, and the 15 year old has turned into this 6 foot male, with a bigger iPOD, and what seems a bigger social life.

Note to self: Must try to get back to those raving days and living like a teenager. On second thoughts though.......

Men-First Class, Women-Economy - Snot Right

Today we were discussing John McCririck and his admission that he has flown in first class whilst his wife has sat in economy, and according to some of the lowlife males that I refer to as colleagues and friends, they think that this is completely acceptable. Dogs, the lot of them. They were informed in no uncertain terms that if any man tried to do that to me, he wouldn't live to tell the tale. I don't care if he's 6ft 4 (common excuse from these fools) because why would someone leave their mate to sit in economy, while they kicked back in first class, unless they had very little regard for them. B was livid when she heard her man say that he'd sit in first class, and if he has any sense he'll be kissing arse big style.

Like John McCririck, my male colleagues spend far too much time with their fingers up their nose. How rancid is that? I blow my nose and do not see my fingers as a Kleenex digger. I have watched these buffoons pull all sorts of sh*t out of their nose, examine it and eat it. My stomach is turning as I think about it. Eating your own snot is not cool. Eating it in front of me is a death wish.

And I am disturbed by how often my friend John has to adjust himself. He does it in such an obvious manner that your eyes are drawn to the hand movement. I've asked him again and again if he has thrush, or an STD that makes you want to tug at yourself constantly, but he insists that it's because he is hung like a horse. Er, ok.....

To add even more to my woes, John was actually scratching his arse whilst he was talking to me today. B needs to have a word and put him through boot camp.

The guy I 'manage' is meeting up with a woman that blew him out when he rolled out the red carpet as opposed to shagging her and leaving her. She is missing him and they are probably eating as we speak-dinner that is! For once I advised that he should err on the side of caution and be nice, but do a bit of treat her mean to keep her keen. Some women are on relationship crack and only fancy a man when he treats her like sh*t, fancies someone else, or doesn't even know that she's there. Naturally his predicament caused a massive debate, and all of the guys think that he shouldn't spend too much money on dinner and just shag her. I can't believe that most of these guys are attached and I, and most of my female friends, are single. Oh, but they are bastards, which means that there are plenty of women who'll like them. Oh dear.......

I'm tucked up on the sofa wrapped in blankets and have stuffed my face far too much. I started out well with a nice healthy low cal/low GI meal from M&S, decided to treat myself to just 1 cookie, and ate about 4. I pray I don't bloat because I'm going to this wedding reception tomorrow and need to be looking my best.

I had almost been tempted to go out tonight, but I've got to be up at about 7am as I have to get my flight to Dublin. Which reminds me, I really should pack!

Am I a Bitch? Oh well........

I knew that my first day back to work was going to be alright when I was honked at about 3 seconds after I left my flat. Rather than being my usual moody self I smiled and waved. (I must have smoked some crack in my sleep)

I realised that I was mad to have been fidgety at home because work is full of men talking about cricket scores. And even when I make my escape to another floor, it's football or the fantasy football.

My old boss has been his usual inappropriate self and made some ridiculous snide comment about me being unwell, so I told him that my doctor said he's a bastard and that I should report him to HR. Everyone fell around laughing and he got a bit defensive and retaliated with another crass comment about me needing to be quarantined (what a f*cker), so I told him I was no longer speaking to him. This works with him because underneath his insidious David Brent exterior lurks an insecure man who hates being ignored. He waited a while and asked me if I was really mad at him, to which I replied that he was a prick and a bastard and stormed off in a pretend huff. I was out shopping this evening and he called me to tell me he was sorry and that he hates fighting. I told him that I'll close the HR file for now.......hee hee.

I had a right spree in the sales this evening and ended up buying myself a dress, coat and boots, when I had actually gone to buy a wedding present. I was supposed to be going for a drink but I was so laden down with bags and breakables that I decided to go straight home on the bus. I arrived at the bus stop on Oxford Street and promptly knocked over the bag and broke a piece off the lovely John Rocha candle filled bowl which I had planned to give as one of the gifts. So I've kept it!

I plomped myself down next to this man at the back of the bus with all of my bags and settled into my seat listening to my iPOD. It did occur to me that it would be a bit difficult for the man to get out, but I thought that surely he would give a bit of advance warning. Er, no - This is a man we are talking about. He looked out of the window after about 10 minutes whilst people were disembarking, and it suddenly dawned on him that it was his stop. I may have been a little slow to react, but I managed to pull my bags out of the way as he shouted at the bus driver to stop the bus even though it had pulled away. But it was too late. As he stood at the double doors he gave me the filthiest look, and like I do in every uncomfortable situation that makes me nervous............ I burst into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. Even now I'm starting all over again. It's just seemed so ridiculous and he looked so annoyed and bewildered. Everybody was looking at me and I tried so hard to keep the laughter in, but it made me laugh harder. He got off at the next stop and he must have had a rather long walk back. Hilarious!

Am I a bitch?

I actually howled with laughter during the Celebrity Big Brother nominations, which were without a doubt the funniest I have ever heard. Where do they get these freak excuses for celebrities? Oh, except for Jeremy , who I just want to rip the clothes off. He has been accused of being dull but I actually find him quite funny and he's excellent eye candy. Jackie Stallone called him a 'Beverley Hills gigalo'. Isn't it better than being a cross between the Halloween guy and a f*cked up cat?

Tired of Being Sick

Well I'm quite bored with being off sick now so I think I'll be going to work tomorrow. I've been fortunate that I've had company, and I enjoyed B and Nac fussing over me, but I want to get back to normal now. Why can't I be normal and revel in being off sick?

I've been thinking about this 'mindful wife' mallarky which was unleashed by last weeks Wife Swap , and I am convinced that some women are crazy. I'd loved to say it was all the mans fault, but I can't. I've made some of my ex's the centre of my universe and where the frig did that get me? I know so many other women that have done it and most have nothing to show it and we don't score any brownie points with the men. What benefit is there too literally doing everything for a man and serving him? If being a housewife and serving a mans every need was so great, why did everything change in the 60s, 70s, and 80s? A woman needs to still be an individual in the relationship, and not just become an extension of her 'wonderful' partner. I want a mindful boyfriend/husband. Oh, I don't think that exists!

Nac and I had a good healthy bitching session last night and I realised that I had better enjoy her company while I can, because the bastard is moving back to Hull. She's been having hassles with her flatmates as well, and I realised that I am really bloody lucky that I'm able to rent a one bed flat. I couldn't take all of the agro of having to put up with another flatmate. The next time I live with someone, it'll be a man I'm serious about.

I had a lovely deep bubble bath and soaked myself for 45 minutes whilst I read Heat magazine. They didn't have anything on the break up of Brad and Jen (I'm sure I'm in with a chance now) but they like Desperate Housewives as much as I do. Don't forget that it's on at 10 on Channel 4, followed by the next episode on E4. If you haven't been watching it, then read up and get started!

Smelly Men Make Me Heave

Well I went to the doctors but almost found myself heaving all over myself on the tube, but not because I'm sick but because of the foul smelling men that seemed to be on every tube today. Is is just me that hates it when people smell of the food that was cooking in their homes? Chip fat, burgers, curries. Then I changed tube and found myself sitting next to an old guy had the horrific and very distinct smell of piss. I wanted to cover my nose but was afraid everybody would think I was a bitch, but I gave in after a couple of minutes and got out my seat. My stomach was doing somersaults!

I have a mild ear, nose and chest infection but because of my illness and the steroids I take it's actually making things feel worse than they are. I refused antibiotics because I'm sick of shoving tablets down my gob and they lower your immune system anyway.

I think this guy thought I was eyeing him up on the bus back to the station, but I was actually perturbed by the fact that he was wearing shorts, t-shirt and coat. He needs to buy himself some dress sense.

B called round and we had a nice dinner and she copied a load of stuff from my iTunes onto her iPOD. We had a good old girlie natter and I'm glad I had some company for a while.

Got to run, Nac has just arrived to stay the night which means that we're probably going to have a mega catch up (bitching session!).

Sick Day

I called in sick today because I feel like a bag of shit. (Whatever that feels like but I like saying it) I got out of bed this morning and the world spun so much and I started retching again. I got back in the bed and I felt comforted by the duvet and the fabulous electric blanket. I just can't seem to shake off this flu like feeling. Like PPQ I don't seem to be able to handle genuine sickness, because I spoke to my boss twice and emailed in some work. What the f is wrong with me? I have managed to watch almost 9 episodes of series 2 of 24 . I had tears in my eyes a few times but I'm not sure if that's because I find it truly moving and brilliant, or because I'm a sad hormonal cow that gets overtaken by my hormones far too often!

Right I have to go and get dressed to go to the doctors.

Monday Blues

I felt perfectly fine this morning before I left for work, but as I walked down the road to the bus stop, I felt really ill. I think I have some sort of work related syndrome because when I've been at work this past week, I have felt dire, and even left work early on Friday, but then felt fine throughout the weekend. I have had bubble guts all day and I just wanted to curl into a ball and sleep or watch DVDs! I think I'm going through a rough patch with my illness because I've felt so dodge for a couple of weeks but I think my steroids suppress some of the things, making it a bit up and down. I yearn for the days when I didn't have to take steroids, although hopefully that time is not too far away.

I bumbled my way through work and gritted my teeth through the usual critique of the weekends football and prayed that the day would go fast, but instead each hour stretched out and the urge to thump one of the guys was almost overwhelming. Seriously, how long can the same game of football, who scored or didn't, and how good or sh*t your team played be discussed?

I went to arrange the redirect of my post belatedly and then discovered that I had brought the wrong proof of addresses with me, which means I pissed away 15 minutes of my lunch. I decided to dash over to M&S and this stupid motorcyclist almost ran me down when he appeared out of nowhere. I called him a 'Dumb F*ck' and he just gave me a strange look.

I wore these lovely black trousers which I bought in NYC last summer, which are wide like pantaloons and looked very funky with my boots. Very irritatingly, I spent most of the day pulling the bloody things out of my arse. I became quite self conscious because for some reason the trousers just kept being drawn in. Now I know why some people where big knickers!

Hot Mama

I am so knackered I'm going to have an early night and watch 24 in bed. I went out late last night and got in just before 5am and managed about 6 hours sleep before I went on a cleaning and unpacking bender in the flat. I have a lot of shoes, handbags, knickers........a lot of everything. I admired my underwear collection as I was putting it away and realised that nobody gets to see my foxy stuff except for me. I've always believed that you should dress from the inside out, which means that if I ever get run down they are going to think I'm a hot, saucy, frisky mama that is getting hot action action, when in actual fact, I'm not. The only hot action I'm getting is from my new electric blanket.......

There were absolutely no men that I was interested in when I was out last night, but I got asked to dance quite a bit, but I refused every offer. Sometimes you just want to hang with your girls and have a laugh. It also didn't help that my new shoes hurt like hell and I thought I was going to cry with pain a few times!

Terrible news. My 'ole pal Nac has announced she's moving back to Hull. Fook! I called her a 'bastard' in my best Mel B Bo Selecta voice and wished her well. When she leaves in March it will be the end of an era. She was the best flatmate ever (we lived together 3 years ago) and my partner in crime, bitching and watching endless episodes of Sex and the City when we should have been at uni/work. We've helped each other through man trouble and she always shares my outrage when I'm pissed off. She's such good fun that for therapy we must have said the horrible C word (horrid word but useful) about 50 times in 10 minutes a few weeks back so that I would calm down and stop ranting. I'm really gutted......

I decided to be a bit proactive and text 2 blokes from speed dating, and the Jude Law lookalike has only gone and got himself a girlfriend. Bastard! Just joking! He's very sweet and looking like that he was bound to be snapped up. The other guy who I was only going to be friends with literally phoned and left a message about 20 seconds after I text him. Eager........

I'm going back to Dublin next weekend for a wedding reception as a close friend of mine recently got married in the Bahamas. As a true sign of being single, I'm going with my mum. I'm not bothered though as it's far better than me dragging some guy who I will hate by the end of the weekend. It will probably be hilarious, and my mum will probably try and set me up with every single guy she comes across at the wedding. I'm afraid already.......

Mindful Wife Definition

A few people seem to be finding this page by doing a search for 'mindful wife' which I mentioned when I blogged about Wife Swap the other night.

For those that want to know, a 'mindful wife' is a woman whose husband/partner is the sun, moon, stars and king of the world. He and his happiness is her ONLY priority. She attends to his every need and none of her needs or desires matter because she is thick or mad, depending on which way you choose to look at it.

The silly woman on Wife Swap said that being a 'mindful wife' is about 'treating him as a mix of the prime minister and the divine'.

Rather than regressing, why don't we for the first time ever, try having 'mindful husbands'? That really would be a first........

Desperate Housewives Synopsis

"The hottest new US drama series arrives on Channel 4 and E4! Desperate Housewives is a darkly comical smash hit portraying the reality behind the apparent domestic bliss of a group of wives in upmarket suburbia. Narrated by deceased resident Mary Alice (Brenda Strong), the series uncovers the real secrets behind the closed doors of her neighbours...There’s Susan Mayer (Teri Hatcher), the divorcee and single mum who’ll go to extraordinary lengths for love; Lynette Scavo (Felicity Huffman), the ex-career woman who traded the boardroom for boredom, mixed with moments of sheer panic as the mother of four unmanageable kids; Bree Van De Kamp (Marcia Cross), whose family is about to mutiny; and Gabrielle Solis (Eva Longoria), the ex-model with everything she’s ever wanted - a rich husband, a big house - and a passionate affair with her 17-year-old gardener. From her unique vantage point, Mary Alice sees more now than she ever did alive, and she’s planning to share all the delicious secrets that hide behind every neighbour’s closed door in this seemingly perfect American suburb." - Channel 4 Website

Desperate Housewives

I am hooked and will be watching the repeat on C4, followed by the new episode on E4 every week. Check out the link above for info on the cast. Wednesday nights are booked up until the series finishes!

Desperate Housewives

What a show , what a show! I think I have found something that can hold my attention almost as much as Sex and the City did. I switched straight over to E4 and kept my eyes wide open and decided I was hooked. I quite fancy the teenage gardener in it. He can mow my lawn anytime! All of the guys were moaning that there wasn't enough sex in it and the sex that was in it was lame. Er, I'm sorry! I didn't realise that I was watching a porn. Seemingly Sex and the City has raised peoples expectations of how much sex they should see in a programme. I almost thought that it was a shame they don't do a programme about desperate singletons, but we have been there, done that, worn the t-shirt with that one!

I think my company specialises in airing peoples dirty laundry when they leave, because I actually blushed during somebody's leaving speech today. Her boss said that she had a bedded quite a few colleagues (mortification) and that she had 'consistent' sex with one of my closest friends, which is news to bloody me! There was such uncomfortable laughter followed by a mix of baited silence and anticipation about what skeletons (or should I say cemeteries) were going to come out of the closest next. Lets just say that I hope my friend, the 'consistent' partner NEVER leaves. The speech would be scary.

I'm getting into bed with my new electric blanket to start watching Series 2 of 24. I'm SSSSOOOO excited. I think I need a boyfriend/shag.........

W.I.F.E.

Whilst I swore that I wouldn't be doing all of this new year resolution mallarky, I had thought that it would be a wise idea to cut down on the chocolate and other delightful items that give you a sugar high. It's disappointing then, that I had an Aero bar, plus 5 or 6 Roses chocolates straight after (we were given a big tin of Roses, how could I say no?) I ate some grapes and cherries afterwards as I felt that this would counteract my poor food choices......

B and I went out for lunch with our old bosses, which means that you can add a chilli beef ramen to the list of poor food choices. The lunch was fun and I realised how much I miss the double-act that I used to work for. I also realised that men are in constant competition to talk over each other and assert themselves.

I went for a drink after work (non-alcoholic) and was regaled with more tales of one of the guys conquests. If all was to be believed, he has slept with about 10 women since he started working at the company 7 months ago, and he only started shagging around after he broke up with his ex about 4 months ago. We all think there is a distinct odour of bullsh*t, but maybe that's because we secretly wish that we got more action. Nah! That boy's had more ass than a toilet seat and that is just not my style!

I'm watching Wife Swap and I am cracking up laughing at this woman who is being made to become a 'mindful wife' (ie slave) by attending to his every need. He even asked her to put his coat on for him and she told him to F off. Hilarious! I would have no objection to doing things around the house for my future man, but I have no intentions of becoming a slave to my man. This guy is a Class A Dick. She is a lazy cow though because on the opposite end of the scale she does sweet F all at home, a does it with her tits out. Why can't people be a little more......normal?

Oh holy God! The genuine mindful wife has just come down the stairs with her temporary husband, dressed as if she is working street corners. Oh that's right - she's impersonating the lazy cow! I love chav TV!

Don't forget that Desperate Housewives starts tonight. I am so excited. This could be my new favorite programme by the sound of it. Do you know that the acronym for wife is 'washing. Ironing. fucking. Etc'? I think it should be 'Worshipped. Invested In. F*cked Well Regularly. Etc'.... Just joking....I swear.

Slippery Little Suckers

I hate the first day back to work after being off for an extended period, and it didn't start well because as I strutted down the road to the tube station, I slipped in those bloody heeled ballerina shoes that keep trying to break my neck. I have now given in and refuse to wear them until I get them reheeled or they learn to behave. I do not like screaming 'F************CK' very loud first thing in the morning. Passerby's thought I was nuts although a sympathetic woman in equally unsuitable shoes asked me if I was ok.

Work was as abysmal as I expected it to be. Lots of men blabbering on about various football results, leagues and cricket until I thought that I would scream in frustration. I'm not anti-sport, but trust me, if I went on and on about something I was interested in, that they weren't, I would not hear the end of it.

I listened to the guy I 'manage' boasting to the guys about how some girl had worn him out so much that he could barely keep his eyes open in work. Sometimes I wonder if he is bullsh*tting, in fact, sometimes when I hear guys telling stories about their conquests, I wonder if they are either 1) fantasising, or 2) exaggerating, and it's more than likely the latter. I think men are inclined to always want to prove their manlihood, and what better way than to make out that you've got the fastest, most in demand penis in town. (yawn, yawn)

This flat is not as warm as my last place. I think I will be an electric blanket to make my bed toasty. It will make a good substitute for the boyfriend that doesn't exist yet!

Wife Practice/Hello 2005

I am livid because I typed todays post, pressed publish post and there was a bloody server error and the bloody thing has vanished. Anyway......... I was a great hostess and stuffed my mum, brother and friends with shepherds pie, and roast chicken with rice and brussel sprouts. I was congratulated lots of times as they then proceeded to get completely drunk. The guys, especially my brother, mentioned that Abi Titmuss more times than I care to remember. What is it with men and women that get their tits out for a living? Myself, B and my mum just looked at them in bewilderment and eventually tuned out.

My mum was brilliant fun and she managed to do one of her getting her words mixed up scenarios when she told us that some guy tried to 'pump and grind' her on new years eve. Everybody cracked up laughing and so did she when she realised that she meant to say 'bump and grind'. I think her mistake conjured up all sorts of dubious images!

I felt a bit worse for wear when I met up with my mum and brother for lunch today because I allowed myself a good few glasses of wine. We browsed around the shops and then I bade them farewell and went shopping for my flat. I brought quite a few things in the Habitat sale including some lovely brushed stainless steel cutlery reduced from £7o to £35. Result! I plan to be doing lots of entertaining!

I nearly shat my pants when I realised that I will be 28 in 7 months and I'm 2.5 years away from 30. F-*-c-k-i-n-g hell! I can't be bothered making resolutions that I will probably forget before the end of the evening but I do have some plans for 2005. I want to get on the housing ladder, earn more money, do lots more with this blog and do some other web projects, and get off my steroids in May hopefully. And of course, I plan to date a lot more. Not only are the hopeless dates good fodder for my blog, but I do think that I should date more just for the hell of it.

I'd better have an early night as I am shattered and I know it is going to kill me to get out of bed tomorrow morning.

Happy New Year

It's 2005 already and one of my first scary thoughts today was, 'Fucking hell! I'm going to be 28 this year!' This was rapidly followed by, 'Shit, my head hurts!'.

I've been a bit quiet on the blog as I flew back to London yesterday with the mother in tow, so I have been rather busy. My mum is so hyper I'm convinced she's on crack or something. She has turned into a tourist and I'm just letting her run loose. We almost had a row before the plane had even left Dublin because Ryanair were being the bastards that they have become so good at being by being really obtuse about my weight and charging me for excess luggage. I personally had less in my case than I did when I came over, but Ryanair decided that because they have such cheap fares (not!) and that they had generously allowed people to take their presents home before Christmas without charging for excess, they decided to charge people on the way back by way of thanking us for our custom......... Only for the fact that we repacked there and then, I would have had to pay 5o euro instead of 14 euro. My mum wanted to have a go at the silly cow behind the desk and she didn't like it when I told her to pipe down, but I just didn't see the point because these gimps don't have a clue and she was hellbent on charging people for being even 1 kilo overweight.

Anyway I saw the New Year in at Infernos in Clapham and I kissed quite a few men but it was all on the cheek. I started the New Year well by being nice and chatty to every guy that chatted to me and I enjoyed it. I must say I enjoyed it even more when my mum got chatted up by a guy and when she told him she was my mum, he nearly died!

Having a few people over to the flat for dinner tomorrow so I must go and get my beauty sleep so that I can be a hot hostess!

Happy new year to everyone. Thank you to everybody who read my blog in 2004 (I can't believe I've been going for almost 6 months!) and please keep reading in 2005.