Uppers & Downers

I left work early today as I had a whopper of a headache and it felt like my head was going to cave in. I've had a headache almost every day for two weeks but I attribute it like most things to either the illness or the steroids I take for it, oh and maybe throw in some emotional stress with it. Two weeks of feeling rough as a badgers arse with this whole illness and I'm fit to scream. It hurts like hell to walk up stairs and between the jabbing pains and feeling heavish, this is not the greatest time for me. Keeping a smile plastered on my face and pretending that I'm not feeling as bad as I do, is a bit of a struggle when I throw in the emotional sh*t too.

It's difficult to gauge exactly how I felt today. One minute I'm cracking up laughing at someone's jokes, the next moment I feel inexplicably sad. Naturally I found that staying busy helped, because every time I wasn't thinking about work, this bloody headache, or keeping up with a conversation, the awful feeling of sadness would creep in. In a strange way though, it's not as bad as it could be because I've had so much time to prepare for it. This is a culmination of months and months of emotional wrangling, and the current situation is just unavoidable. It's not as if it's happened without there being attempts at being normal. It's just not happening. I think that space and time will enable us eventually to be relatively normal and regain the friendship, but until then it's going to hurt. I think the inexplicable sadness comes from it all being real.

Time seems to be the name of the game at the moment, because I'm having an extended break from my family in an attempt to inject some peace and tranquility into my life. There are scenarios in life where nothing that you say will make a blind bit of difference. You can agree, you can tell them they're the best thing since slice bread, you can disagree, but it all gets the same reaction out of them.

There are people that exist who seem to only be happy when you're down in the dumps, and on your case when you're happy trying to bring you to the dumps.Try to surround yourself with people that are 'uppers' rather than 'downers'.

I'm going to try and chill out this evening and not think too much. Losing myself in mindless TV for the evening, or if I'm fortunate, a good book, should keep me occupied. Thanks for everyone's very kind words and the hugs that have come rolling in. You're all definitely in the 'uppers' group!

Emotions

One of the things that you need to remember in life is that you can't please all of the people all of the time. There are people that you have in your life that you hold close to your heart, yet they can disappoint, hurt, and make you feel as if you're not good enough. Even when you feel like you're having a good time, underneath there can be pain brewing. It's rare that I do emotions, but at the moment it's unavoidable.

I've reached a point in my life where I have finally realised that I have to have great love and belief in myself. I don't mean egotistical love where I think I'm hot sh*t, but where I recognise that I have to put myself first. As a result, this means that situations that I would have allowed to continue in the past, can't, and that even when it hurts like hell, I have to distance myself.

What most people don't know is that I've loved and lost over the past few months. Not a shortlived crush or anything like that. For the longest time I loved my best friend. He is the only guy that ever understood me, got me, and didn't want to (for the most part) change me into something that I wasn't (shy and retiring). We shared a lot of the same childhood experiences and where we didn't, we empathised and understood. He's kind, generous, quiet but firm and won't take any sh*t. He used to make me feel like I was brilliant. He can make me laugh till tears roll down my face, but he couldn't be with me. He was with someone else and it was (and is) 'complicated' so that never changed and my heart got tired of holding on. He wanted to stay close whereas I wanted to set my heart free to explore other possibilities. For months now I have been putting distance between us to enable me to move on, but he has tried to keep me close. I misguidedly thought that we could still continue to be best friends, but after months of trying to make it work, it's proved too difficult and now we're giving each other 'space'. I'm gutted because I've lost my playmate that makes me laugh till my sides hurt and the best friend I ever had. I wish my heart had kept it friendly and not confused the issue because I've put myself through all this heartache, lost my friend, and hurt my soul.

So I'm not feeling too dandy at the moment and putting it into words and admitting that I'm hurt has made it ever so real. This isn't a life, warts and all blog, where all of my intimate secrets are known, and it has been a snapshot of my life and my little rants. Despite the fact that I keep a blog, I like to retain some privacy and I didn't want to make certain people in my life uncomfortable. I'm also not great at spilling my guts and being all emotional. I tend to do bravado. I was cautious of talking about this scenario because I didn't even know where to start and I didn't (and don't) want this blog to be the 'me and my best friend, will they, won't they show). Friends from home and abroad read this too, and no doubt some will be choking on their tea, pints, whatever when they read this.

To add to my woes, I have family troubles at the moment, and there is such a temptation to hide under the duvet and not come out till summer time when everything feels a thousand times better. I feel incredibly fustrated at the moment because I am expected to play the role of perfect daughter, sister, step-daughter, friend, best friend, colleague, confidante, whilst some people around me aren't playing such perfect roles themselves. I have to ask why some people seem to be allowed to do as they please, with no regard for my feelings and the impact on me, whilst I can't fart in the wrong direction without feeling the world come down on my shoulders. I am human and make mistakes. I don't profess to be perfect, but when I f*ck up, I readily admit it, without reserve. I always have to be forgiving of peoples actions, and forget about the past, whilst some people in my life never forgive, never forget, but spend their time ramming their version of life and love down my throat.

I feel tired and worn down, and whilst at times like this there is the option of sinking or swimming, I will naturally opt to swim. This can be perceived by some as cold or unfeeling, but it's not. I just don't see why I should sit around, looking raggedy, crying my eyes out and apologising for being me and being alive. It doesn't do my illness any good, and I have to put me first. I am never going to get better if my emotions are being dragged to horrid depths. Part of me fighting against whatever is attacking my body is staying positive. I could take months off work, or take time off sick all the time, but how much good would that do me? I could also allow all the sh*t that's going on to bring me down, but I can't. I'll cry, I'll rant and rave, but I'm not going to sink into a depression to make some people think that I am good enough or human enough.

I've kept myself uber busy this weekend as I have had a friend over from Dublin, so I haven't had lots of time to think. It helps! I'm off to put my feet up now, read the Sunday Times followed by the News of the World (dose of intelligience and current affairs followed by the tawdry affairs of celebrities).

Black Friday

For some strange reason, the last week of February signals a bad time for me, and everything goes tits up. It's happened three years in a row and I am having a low few days. Whilst this is not a warts and all, life under the microscope blog, I think I will make an attempt tomorrow to talk about what is transpiring. Between family sh*t and trying to keep everyone happy, it's just not bleedin happening at the moment. Lets just say that there's nothing like being shat on from a height....... (and I still have enough humour left in me to say, I obviously don't mean that I'm being shat on literally!)

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Men Apologise! There is a God!

I checked my email today and the man who called me self-obsessive has emailed me and shown me that there are a few men out there that do apologise!

Hi

You are right and I am wrong. OK. I know it does usually have to be the man who apologises (because you can hold the silent treatment up for weeks!) but this time (and only this time, mind) you are justified. I was, am and am now ashamed and embarrassed to be a complete arse. What can I say? I was having a bad day and I am sorry. Hope you can forgive me (your letter has a nice tone and you don't sound TOO annoyed or affected by my idiotic behaviour). Keep it up, its not for me or anyone else to say what is valid and what is not. As you rightly say there is freedom of choice and that can only be a good thing. Sincere apologies and eating of words.

Best Wishes

Now it wouldn't be me if I didn't have a few things to say about this email that are inherrently wrong, but I do accept his apology.

1) Surely he must be taking the piss when he says that it usually has to be the man that apologises? Has he lost his f*cking mind? What planet is he living on where men apologise first?
2) Women giving the silent treatment for weeks! Don't make me laugh. It's a rare woman that can do silence for weeks. If he said she was withholding sex for a few weeks, I might have agreed........
3) I think he is making a weird attempt to make me supremely grateful for his apology, but I think he is being humourous, so I'll let him off!

I'm glad he realises that I don't take myself really seriously and that I'm not so self-obsessed that I would get upset over his comments. Instead, I showed his comments to you all, but we won't dwell on that now........

Non-logical male was not using his logic today. We have a deadline yet I'm wasn't seeing many signs of life and the telephone isn't getting much heat.

Conversation held at around 10.30am:

NML: What are you doing? Don't you think you should be getting this issue closed?

Non-logical Male: I'm trying to get through to a couple of people. They're not there at the moment, so I'm waiting.

NML: Riiiigggghht. Well don't forget that I want this issue finished by 12.

Non-logical Male: It will be, it will be. Stop Fussing.

I vowed to not say anything else and see how much he would take the piss.

Conversation held at 2.33pm:

Non-logical male: Can you give me another 45 minutes?
NML: Are you trying to do my head in today? Fine. You have until 3.18. (Yeah, I know I'm a bitch)

Conversation held at 3pm
NML: Seriously, for someone who is supposed to be on deadline, I haven't seen much action out of you. What is going on?
Non-logical male: I'm waiting to get through to people. There's two or three people that I'm chasing.
NML: Let me get this right. You have pissed away three quarters of the day waiting to get through to 2 or 3 people that probably won't even book? Are you serious? Do you really think that this is the most effective use of your time? Help me out here. Please explain.
Non-logical male is silent for a while.
NML: Er, hello. Didn't you hear me?
Non-logical male: I did, I did. I can't explain because you're right. That's the most annoying thing, you're right. I feel like a dick now but I'll remember this for next time.

Do you see what I have to contend with?

Non-Logical Male

I've often heard men wisecrack about women not thinking logically, but yet I often see men not being so uber logical themselves.

Take the scenario that played out this morning: Male colleague has an appointment at 8.30 at the physio. He phones boss who is off sick to let him know he won't be in. Boss fails to mention that he's not even at work in the first place. 10am and I leave two messages on male colleagues phone wondering where the hell he is. Male colleague phones at 11.15.

NML: Er, where are you?
Non-logical male: So sorry. Didn't realise that the boss wasn't in.
NML: Yeah, but where the hell are you? (Could he just try to answer the friggin question?)
Non-logical male: I was supposed to have a physio appointment at 8.30, but it got moved to 11am, and now it's been moved to 2pm.
NML: So where are you now?
Non-logical male: I've just popped home to get something to eat.

At this point, if it was a television programme there would be lots of bleeps, and they may even cut to a break.
Lets just say that I told him to get his arse into work pronto. I actually had to put him on hold and count to ten and then back down to zero to calm myself. Has he lost his f*cking mind? Has he no sense of awareness?

Logic if he had any, would have told him that it was inappropriate to spend the day fannying around over an appointment that may or may not happen, and has every probability of being moved to an even later time. A sense of awareness and a concern for his job and the deadline he should be working on, should have made him get him get himself into work as soon as he realised that the appointment was farcical.

I gave him a piece of my mind when he came in and then looked like a right bloody dipstick, when I tried to walk away with my held high for effect, and my lower back was seized with the jabbing pains which have now become second nature, and I ended up limping back to my desk clutching my back.

Thank you to everyone who has shown their lovely concern for me. Evidently, I am alive and well! I do feel rough as sh*t but the show must go on. I don't see the point in calling in sick to work because I'd never be in if I called in everytime I felt like poo. I've had some awful pains throughout the day but I just tried to rise above it and get on with things. F*ck it! Back tomorrow, early night beckoning!

National Express Parking Rage

I was a victim of 'parking rage' on Friday night. My aunt's boyfriend dropped me to the station and we were chatting in the car, when I was startled by a wild eyed National Express (like Greyhound buses) coach driver rapping on the window with his chav signet ring. Without us uttering a word he started screaming at us to move the car and that he wanted to park his effing coach. When I coldly informed him that his agressive manner was completely unneccessary and to calm down, he actually roared at me even louder that he wasn't shouting at me as he jumped up and down, with his arms flailing all over the place. I told him he was a maniac and to back off and he stormed off in a huff back to his poxy coach. My heart was actually beating a little bit faster because the bastard had actually managed to scare me, and then I felt angry. As I walked off towards the station doors a few minutes later, I veered in the direction of the coach as I planned to give him a good piece of my mind, and then I heard my aunt's boyfriend calling my name. He knows me far too well and had decided to walk me into the station, which means I didndn't get to tell the sh*thead coach driver exactly what I thought of him. Damn!

So the weekend is over and I have been one of the laziest people in existence. Every once in a while I decide to have a weekend where I just play it by ear and make no plans. I've been feeling rough as sh*t for a few days with this whole sarcoidosis thing, so I thought some quality me time would help me feel better. Parts of my body are sore to touch (in a non-sexual way for anyone who has got the wrong idea), my joints are killing me, and I've had horrible jabbing pains periodically throughout the weekend. I'm hoping that it's a rough few days, but this whole illness is a 'rough few days'.

I've felt a bit sad a few times because I feel like it's invasion of the body snatchers and I'm bored with feeling sh*t. Nac has been here for most of the day and we've stuffed our faces and cackled our way through the day. I think she believes I'm losing the plot because I keep humming along to the ads. Couple this with the fact that I went a bit delerious or something after we finished a carb laden meal of pasta, chicken and a load of bolognaise sauce, and she now thinks I'm off my rocker. Actually, I'm wearing big knickers today, which could be a sign that I am losing the plot. I am wearing a light blue hoodie, 3/4 length white terry track bottoms (Gap Kids bargain) and green UGG type boots. Yes, when I got out the shower today I put on an 'assortment' of items. I'm going to walk Nac to the station now in a coat that covers my VPL (visible panty line), but knowing my luck, today will be the day that I bump into the man of my dreams looking like a bag of sh*t. AAAAAAah!

Blogging self-obsessive? Pooh pooh to that!

This was emailed to me yesterday:

Subject: 'What I can't Stand about the internet'
Is people who clog it up with uninteresting, self-obsessive nonsense.
Nice site though-shame about the content.

Now being in the current mood that I am, this actually lifted my spirits, and of course I just had to reply!


Hi (name omitted to protect his feelings, I mean privacy),

It's difficult to know how to reply to an email like this, but er thanks. I'm troubled that you went to the trouble of emailing me to let me know your disdain. Unfortunately by the very nature of what a personal blog is, they are a touch self obsessive, but I guess that's my perogative. No-one's holding a gun to your head and forcing you to read my blog (I hope!) although I would be rather flattered. Joking! ;-)
I hope that your future journeys on the internet inspire nicer feelings in you. You are only the second person to say something negative to me in the entire time I have blogged, so I think I'm doing alright. (Ooh,I think that last line is self-obsessive! Damn!)

Take care and good luck (less self-obssesive maybe?)

Best regards
NML

Does it mean that because I have published this that I am even more self-obsessive? Oh f*ck this for a game of soldiers! I can't be arsed trying to figure it out!

Can You Feel It?

It’s a quick visit as I have a team night out which involves bowling and in the next few minutes, sitting in a smoky, sh*thole Soho bar. Yes, I’m still in a poxy mood, although I have small periods of brightness. I’ve decided it’s PMS, so I no longer feel guilty for being a bitch.

I think what is getting to me at the moment is that people have a tendency to think that they know best, even when they don’t have a clue. If I say I can’t drink, they say I can. If I say I’m in pain and I feel like sh*t, they tell me that I don’t. It’s just friggin annoying and tedious. It’s not up to me to tell people how they’re feeling, so what the f*ck makes people think they can tell me how I’m feeling? After my bender at the weekend, I’ve really paid for it as I have felt worn out all week and I had jabbing pains throughout my body for a couple of days. Between that, the migraines, and then my muscles starting to feel like I’d sprained my ankles and my wrists this morning (I haven’t, but the steroids can give you muscle weakness), I’m in a real pisser of a mood. I know it’s my own fault for being a bit over zealous with the vodka’s at the weekend, but I’m a grown woman, why do I sometimes feel like I have to be explaining myself to people?

And before anyone asks why I haven't told them to f*ck off, it's because I can't be arsed! I hate having to repeat myself and I have definitely made my feelings known before!

Okay, I’ve had a rant now and feel marginally better. If my mood doesn’t improve, I can always chuck a bowling ball at someone’s head (joke!).

Why Can't Men Apologise? Just say sorry Ken!

As I watch the media furor of Mayor Ken Livingston's anti-Semitic c*ck up , I take the opportunity to point out that this is a prime example of male pride and a man's inability to say sorry and move on. Even our own prime minister, Tony Blair has asked Ken to apologise and move on. Admittedly Tony never did actually apologise to us for the weapons of mass destruction launched in 60 seconds debacle, but we won't dwell on that now.........

The Mayor of London is in trouble for likening a Jewish journalist to a "German war criminal". Apparently after the journalist pointed out that he was Jewish and found his remarks offensive, our lovely Mayor said "Well you might be, but actually you are just like a concentration camp guard - you are just doing it because you are paid to, aren't you?"

Despite outrage from the press who are just loving this story and every Jewish group and representative in the land hounding the Mayor for his expected apology, the Mayor has refused to withdraw his remarks.

There are a number of things which further highlight the trials and tribulations of dealing with men and their bloody male pride:

1) When two men or more are together there is an automatic need for most males to reassert their authority and to demonstrate who is better. This always results in unnecessary things being said which if the male pride just simmered a bit, could easily have been avoided. Men don't do conversation like women and this is how they end up saying stupid sh*t.

2) When a man is backed into a corner and realises that he has f*cked up, he actually f*cks up even more and digs himself a bigger hole because he just can't help himself and male prides voice is telling him to keep going and to ride that pony till it collapses. Hence why Ken, after the initial faux pas where we can give him the benefit of the doubt for possibly not knowing the journalist was Jewish, dug himself an almighty grave by then saying something even more offensive.

3) Why can't men apologise without having to be practically beaten into it? It doesn't cost anything to apologise and can often call an end to an unpleasant situation if the apology is meant. I have never known a man to apologise straight off the bat without being bullied, cajoled, threatened, ostrasized, or met with a cold front when he gets into bed. They always make the situation so much worse and what's even more frightening is that they defend their actions even more. What dear 'ole Ken needs to remember is no matter what way he intended for that comment to be meant, and lets be fair, it was never going to be in a good way, it's all about the person who is on the receiving end. This journalist is offended regardless of what Ken's intentions and Ken should apologise unless he wants to find himself on the sharp end of a Jewish backlash in London Town.

Ken, it will not make you less of a man if you apologise. Your balls will not shrink to the size of walnuts, people will actually have a higher respect for you, and you may be able to go to sleep at night without everybody's outrage ringing in your ears. Just say sorry!

In other breaking news, I have been in a sh*t mood all day. I'd like to blame it on PMT, but I'm not sure if I can get away with that. All of a sudden, work is sh*t, lovelife is sh*t (no change there!), and the boots I wore today caused me to cut my toe before the clock had even struck nine this morning. Today was also a day for the great unwashed to get the tube and I honestly thought I would faint with the smell of a man's breath in my face this morning. It was so awful, I would have almost rather he'd pooed himself. On the way home, a man smelt of stale booze and possible stale vomit, which made me want to vomit. Can't they include some top-looking single blokes on my carriage as part of the price of travelcard?

Ooh, Feeling A Bit Bitchy?

Some women can be so b*tchy, including myself! When I got on the bus this morning, I had to stand at the bottom of the stairs because there were no seats on the top deck. Now it was blatantly obvious to anyone with half a brain that the reason why so many people were standing up was because there were no seats, yet this rosy cheeked, frazzle haired cow actually said excuse me and shoved me at the same time. Had she not been such a cheeky cow in the first place, I might have spared her the hassle of going upstairs and then nearly breaking her neck trying to come back down, but instead I thought 'F*ck it' and left her to it.

A female colleague (always reminded me of Worzel Gummidge) from a different department who I did not get on with had her leaving speech today. Fortunately I was not around for it, but when I returned to the office I was given a piece of her leaving cake. I delighted in wolfing down every piece and when I couldn't finish anymore the guy I 'manage' scoffed the rest. It was our way of celebrating. Ding dong the witch is gone!

Now I was supposed to be meeting the property manager of my old flat for a friendly drink, or so I thought. Now I did say last night that I sent him a text saying that I was enjoying my valentine's, just so that he'd know that it was just a friendly drink. You see, I could have asked him if it was just a friendly drink when this whole friggin saga started, but I was afraid of looking egotistical, despite repeated warnings from male friends that he was probably trying to get in my knickers. How much of a dick would I have looked if I had said that I have a boyfriend and he had turned around and said that he just wanted to be mates? I'd have been mortified!

Well, I've seen the true length and breadth of him now (metaphorically speaking, not physically!). The f*cker went and cancelled claiming that he had a headache. I thought it was women that cry off with headaches? I knocked out all chances of getting into my knickers, and suddenly he's unwell.

Anyway I think I've been blessed. I'm done with being on 'dates' where I don't fancy the guy, and the last thing I want to happen is that I inadvertently end up on a 'date' like this with someone who I think, but isn't actually trying to be friendly.

Valentine's Oh Valentine's

Today I purchased a vibrator, but it wasn't for me, it was on behalf of a male colleague that was buying it for his girlfriend. Seemingly I am the fountain of friggin knowledge as he called me for advice and then came down to my desk and asked me to order it for him. Well, what the hell did he think would happen if he ordered it himself? The monitor would start vibrating? He would inadvertently order himself an anal probe or whatever it is that men order for themselves?

Depending on what mood I am in, I could take his need for me in one of two ways:

1) He thinks that because I am a sad single person (I say this dripping with sarcasm) that I must know everything about vibrators and not mind having to order one in the vicinity of my colleagues
2) He thinks I am super knowledgeable and wordly wise about sex and trusts my opinion.

He's got me in a good mood............

Most of my office were dashing around buying their valentine's day gear, because evidently my colleagues are all very lastminute.com. It's their partners I feel sorry for with the hastily brought gifts and sh*t cards! If this is such a special day, how come it's all been left until the actual day for people to get their fingers out?

Felt sorry for poor B who couldn't have her Valentine's evening because she started chucking up after lunch today. She had to go home sick and that spelt the end of her Valentine's day. For some reason I developed a headache a few hours ago, which also signals my time for me to go to bed and watch fannytastic TV!

I almost forgot. I am going for a drink with the property manager of my old flat tomorrow evening. We do get on well but purely as incidental friends. I hope he doesn't think he's on a date because he'll be very bloody sadly mistaken! He reminds me of a younger version of Poirot minus the dodge moustach and a bit more hair, and an over-zealous use of the sunbeds! He's been chasing me about meeting up for almost 3 months and I ran out of steam and excuses. So I've covered my tracks and made out that I'm out for a Valentine's date this evening, which now sends the signal that I have a man. Amazing eh? You hope to get a boyfriend and then lie to me and tell them you have one. Women!

Drunk & Disorderly

I was very naughty and had far too many double vodka's and cokes last night. It was never my intention to get drunk, never mind completely wasted! I have not been that drunk in a long time although thankfully, whilst I feel a bit iffy, I am not suffering too much at all. I wonder if it's the steroids?

I danced my little heart out all evening as if I had just been freed from prison. I have a vague recollection of sitting on the back of a sofa and it tipping backwards and John and B having to help me up. I was very wobbly towards the end but that didn't stop me from marching out of the club and insisting that I was more than capable of going home on my own. Fortunately, my friends who did allow me to get ridiculously drunk, did have the good sense to realise that I was talking out of my arsehole and came home with me. Apparently I gave the taxi driver stick all the way home and for some reason I thought it was really funny to thump my neighbours car with my handbag. I think I may have briefly danced around to Michael Jackson's Number 1's CD, but I felt so dodge that I left John and B to it, collapsed into bed and passed out.

Do you know who I spent last Valentine's weekend with? John and B. We also got really drunk although that time we all shared a bed together. It wasn't a threesome before anyone jumps to conclusions, but B didn't want to leave me on my own as I was off my face. I felt rough as a badgers arse the following day and B made me feel even worse by waking up early, fidgeting and bouncing around like a naughty puppy.

John claims I was the drunkest (is that a word?) person in the club last night but I think that is just his male tendency to exaggerate the proportion of everything. I was sh*tfaced though........

B and I went around to my brothers for a fabulous dinner of bangers and mash. It seems to have put me right and with a good nights sleep, I will be feeling fantastic for Valentine's day. Yippee! I hope you all realise I'm being sarcastic.

Big Sloppy Text

I received this text on my work mobile last night:

'Dear Kate, thank you so much for my presents, they're lovely. Big sloppy kisses from Skye xxx'

If I was a paranoid person, which thankfully I'm not, I would suspect that someone was trying to mess with my mind, knowing that I am not feeling all things romantic and slushy at the moment. Whoever this bozo is that has mistakenly text me instead of what I assume is his girlfriend has certainly got a way with words. (Tempting to put fingers in throat and make retching noises) His text does beg the question though: If the presents were so bloody great, why the hell couldn't he pick up the damn telephone and tell her?

My friend Dating Dummy sent me a Valentine's card in response to my post last night. It would be so tempting to give him a paper cut where the sun don't shine, but 1) it's an e-card which makes it just slightly difficult, 2) he lives in the U.S., 3) I know he was being humorous.

Happy Birthday to my friend Lizzy Whiz. I'm out for her birthday this evening and John and B are accompanying me. I haven't decided if I will drink yet and even if I do, I won't be able to get drunk. Oh, the joy of being on steroids!

I Hate Valentine's Day.

I don't think that I have made it a secret about my loathing of Valentine's day. It's not because I'm anti-couples or anti-love, and it's certainly not because I'm pathologically single. Truthfully, I think that Valentine's day is a cheesy load of sh*t which benefits the retailer but puts single people and people that are in relationships under a ridiculous pressure. There are 365 days in the year and I find it hard to believe that people get their knickers in their twist over displaying their love on just one of those days.

I have been watching people going lula over Valentine's since I was a kid. I remember the immense pressure we were all under at five years bloody old to have a Valentine's card and how kids that didn't get one would get teased. When it got to my teens it was just ridiculous. Girls in a depression or getting all hysterical because they haven't had a card. Worse still was the smug b*tch that had to tell everyone that she's had ten cards (she'd probably written them all to herself).

As an adult I have found that Valentine's in a relationship is stressful. Seeking out a present for a partner on Valentine's is stressful because I feel under pressure to come up with something sentimental, that epitomises the Valentine's day feeling, but everything in the shops just appears to be cheesy sh*t churned out for mugs like me. Guys aren't even into Valentine's day. They're not widely ecstatic about getting Valentine's gifts because they're a bit bewildered by what the big friggin deal is in the first place. They've probably been reminded fifty times by their partner and there has been ominous threats of the relationship coming to an abrupt end if it's forgotten.

When I think back to all of the Valentine's gifts that I have given or received, most have been consigned to the bottom draw - dodgy underwear, fluffy handcuffs, love cheques, teddy bears, shot glasses with love messages.

And now for the second year in a row, I am single on Valentine's day and if one more person asks me what I'm doing for this poxy day, I'll have to take a really romantic card and give them a paper cut where the sun don't shine. Why do attached people have this overwhelming desire to badger single people about their arrangements for this day? I'm not talking about complete strangers, I'm talking about friends, work colleagues, people that know you. What do they expect? Do they want me to magic a man out of my arse?

So do you know what I say? F*ck Valentine's day. You won't find me feeding the slushy mushy hallmark retailers this weekend. In fact, I'm going to buy myself something nice and not because Valentine's is on Monday, but because I bloody well feel like it. Ha!

Don't Make Me Repeat Myself

Very occasionally, particularly with clients, I forget that I am still essentially dealing with a man. Yes, I do take my eye off the ball sometimes! Misguidedly I occasionally forget that the same sh*t that governs men in the day to day stuff like relationships, friendships, and just living and breathing, isn't applicable to a male client. Oh, soooooooooooo wrong.

To cut a long story short, there is a big saga between a client and editorial which I really don't want to get involved with, and my editorial definitely don't want me to get involved with, as I am 'commercially minded' which means that I'm foolishly regarded as having as much truth and integrity in me as Bush.

The client phoned me just as I was getting ready to leave and proceeded to bend the ear off me and go over and over the whole sorry saga with me. I told him that I could not be involved and that he needed to take it up with the editor about ten times, yet he still proceeded to rant and rave at me as I tried not to clock watch and yawn.

I despise having to repeat myself at the best of times and today was no exception and it suddenly occurred to me that the reason why my client couldn't stop going on was because he wanted to be right. Furthermore, he wants me to tell him he's right so that his ego can be served and his genetic tendencies put to rights. He obviously has no idea who he's dealing with!

After a good twenty minutes and my hearing just about intact, I finally managed to get off the phone. My final repetition left him in no doubt that much as I would love to be of help, for the 20th and last time, please call the editor because I am no use. When he said goodbye, I sensed in his tone that he knew he'd pushed his luck a bit and that he probably came across as a bit of a twat.

Everybody has gone Valentine's mad at my office and they're making me want to puke. It's not because I'm jealous, it's because I can't believe they all gone a bit lula because flipping Hallmark has told them to buy a card and some presents and tell their partners they love them. What the frig do they do for the other 364 days of the year? Yes it would be nice for me to have a man to take me out on Monday and tell me I'm hot sh*t, but he can take me out on any night (as long as it doesn't conflict with something I want to watch! Joke ;-). I know women who will be a bit weepy and stroppy if they don't get the card and the big bonanza on Monday. Please, shoot me in the head if I ever lose my marbles and get like this.

A Gay 'Ole Time

I have been out for a lovely evening with a friend hence the lateness of me posting today, but I thought I would pop in very quickly. Whilst I was at dinner this evening we were talking about someone who annoys the sh*t out of me and is very inappropriate and my friend said that he sounded like a c*ck, and I just couldn't leave it there could I? I said slightly too loudly, 'Yeah, a big fat c*ck is more like it' and the two gay guys at the table beside us nearly choked on their food. Great icebreaker though.........

Interestingly the two gay guys met in a bar tonight for the first time, got chatting and then decided to go to dinner. That NEVER happens to me. In fact, I don't know of any women that has happened to. One of them said that it was better for me not be out with a twit and stroked and held my hand as if to comfort me. As we all chatted away for a while, I could see two women out of the corner of my eye watching me with amusement, and I bet they thought that I was one of those single women who surrounds myself with platonic male friends or gay friends. Well they can shag off because I had a great time!

Must go as I'm feeling sleepy now.......

Caught Out

Remember when I went to a lock and key party recently and it was a bag of sh*te in terms of meeting men? I completely forgot that there was a TV crew there filming for GMTV . At first I was reluctant to be filmed but as I was wisecracking and maybe flirting away for the hell of it with the cameramen, I found myself saying that it was ok for them to film me.

I received a phonecall from a friend asking me why I had been to a lock and key party and not said anything. I was thinking that people must have nothing better to do than talk about my love life or lack of it (I quickly remembered that I keep a blog, which makes that thought a bit unfair), when she told me that she had seen me on Lorraine Kelly or something. Sweet baby Jesus and the Angels as Peter Kay would say. I must have been on crack when I had the made idea of allowing myself to be filmed.

I really hope that nobody that I know back in Dublin saw it because they'll think I'm a right saddo. Ah, screw 'em anyway. It's a cold, cruel world and you have to try out some funny sh*t these days just to meet a man.

Oh frigs sake! I just popped into the kitchen to see if the oven is heated for my Marks & Spencer meal for one and I've had the bloody top oven heating. (To be truthful, I'm not sure what the hell a top oven does except for that I'll be chewing the fingers off myself if the bloody oven doesn't heat up pronto) And before any smartarse asks why I'm not using the microwave it's because it's decided to break.

I had a really strange conversation with the lads and B at lunch about why women need to wipe from front to back. For all of those that don't know, it's unhygienic to mix bacteria from the front bottom with the back bottom as it can cause cystitis. Must admit that the lads looked horrified and I thoroughly enjoyed their discomfort.

We then got into discussion about people that cheat and someone actually thinks that kissing doesn't count. Jesus, next thing it will that as long as it was oral sex and not full sex, that it doesn't count! Someone else suggested that if you cheat with the same person more than once, only then it's cheating. I work with reprobates and of course, far too many men! All of this ridiculousness reminds me of that line from Eddie Murphy Raw , when he says, 'I f*ck her. I make love to you.' Oh dear........

Bastard Syndrome

At this time of year there's the usual flu epidemic, and here in the UK we've got an epidemic of the 'ole mumps hitting the 16-24 age group. There is an illness however, that is more prevalent all year around - Bastard Syndrome. I don't know if it's a funny time of year or something, but right now I know an awful lot of women suffering from the syndrome.

This is when a woman persistently and willfully involves herself with a man who is not only completely self-centered but has little or no respect for her. The typical bastard is an inconsiderate mofo. He lives by the hard and fast rule of treat her mean and keep her keen and he's not changing his ways anytime soon. He plays mind games with the woman to ensure that she ends up so fucked up that she either stays with him because she's become stupified, or continues to seek out further bastards when the relationship is over because she no longer has a great sense of self-worth and has become a bastard junkie.

I beg the women I know and the ones I don't to get your Bastard Syndrome inoculation and immunise yourselves. For once I get to wrap myself in the glow of being single, safe in the knowledge that for now, I am safe. Fortunately I get to immunise myself on this blog every day and would like to think I can spot an asshole from fifty paces, or at least have the good sense to run the opposite direction if I get in a tangle.

I'm not into 'bad boys' myself. There is no attraction for me in a man that wants to hump me and dump me, or spread himself thin over me and multiple women. I don't need a man that looks in the mirror more than me, and I certainly don't need a man that wants to go forth and multiply and turn me into another lady on his child payment list. The role of 'babymama' is unappealing and I have no aspiration to have strained conversations with women who he claims that he doesn't know, but they say they're his girlfriends. I don't want to be way down in a list of a mans priorities and I don't want any man to think that he can get away with pulling any of his bastard stuff with me.

I guess this rules out a lot of guys, but I feel confident in the fact that there must be men out there that aspire to be more than these 'bad boys'. I may have to wait a while and my love life may not be that exciting, but somehow I think I'll take my chances.

Rant over.....

For all those who have been sweet enough to ask, I am feeling a bit better. I had a few iffy moments today but I think I may have overdone it on tea with milk, and when you throw in those horrible ovulating pains that besiege women every month, my tummy has not had the greatest of days.

Let myself down slightly today, when after speaking to a client about free calls on the net and hearing his suggestion of a 3-way conference call, I slightly over-excitedly said, 'Yes, let's have a 3-way!' Sometimes I could shoot myself!

Miserable Singletons, Again

It's at times like this when I consider myself lucky to be single. I may have the occasional moan about the lack of man in my life or in my bed, but I would take my own company any day over a guy that is playing havoc with my brain.

I must stress. I'm not a man hater. I love men and want to The Ideal Man™ (I got that habit from Kat ) but experience has taught me that men are an exhausting species. I'm not saying that women are perfect, they're not, but we just don't have the same idiosyncrasies as men. It's taken me a long time to learn that spending my time in the company of men that don't know my worth is a waste of my precious time. I've been with the butcher, the baker, the candlestick friggin maker (not literally but you get the point) and if there is one thing I'm certain of, I will not allow myself to not ask enough of myself. Some of my friends, especially John, say I'm picky. I don't think that there is anything wrong with me extending a little quality control to a prospective partner and if that makes me picky, then I'm picky.

As I listened to my friend talk about her ex last night and another friend talk about her ex today, I realised that I should be luxuriating in my singleness. In fact, every single person should be. Our time will come and we'll sometimes wish we were bloody single. We shouldn't waste our precious time now wondering about this man/woman that doesn't exist yet and when he/she will appear in our lives and whisk us away on a white horse.

My friends are moaning about ex-boyfriends that are still lurking in their present and I keep telling them that they are wasting precious energy getting upset over them. One of my friend's ex called her up and they rowed for about an hour. She was all upset and spitting with rage down the phone to me. I had to break it to her and tell her that the lowlife that she has spent so many years with wasn't sitting at home moping over someone else. That knowing him and his dodgy track record he was probably out with the boys, or screwing his new woman, but the point I was trying to make is that he wasn't sitting at home dissecting their conversation. She agreed with me but still ended up moping. Women!

I still feel a bit dodge but I will be going to work tomorrow. Whatever I eat makes my stomach hurt either soon after, or hours later so I'm feeling like pooh. I've decided to eat as normal otherwise I wouldn't eat a thing. The pain is bloody horrible and I do not like feeling like I'm going to pass out and heave all over myself. This whole sickness thing is boring. I don't think I remember what it's like to be normal and not in pain. I popped around to see my great uncle with my aunt today and for about half an hour I could barely move my right arm and my fingers became really swollen. Despite only being awake for a few hours, I felt overwhelming tired whilst I was there, although that could because my great uncle, bless him, was waffling on like there was no tomorrow. Thankfully my aunt has made my dinner for me so I have been spared the act of cooking for one. Again.

I'm watching the American Idol auditions and I feel sick again, but this time because these people have the most woeful bloody voices. Oh dear.....

Miserable Singletons

I'm feeling a bit better than I did last night after my dodgy tummy episode. I was fast asleep by 10.30 and it was blissful. I spoke to my aunt before I fell asleep and she asked me what I was doing in on a Friday night. Oh, the expectations of family. If my ma knew, she'd tell me that you don't meet men staying indoors. Well at least I'm protected from meeting a dickhead when I'm safe and tucked in my bed. As it stands, I actually love staying in at the weekend but that's probably because I don't get to do it very often. I like some quality me-time.

I met up with a friend this afternoon and she's talking about giving up on men. She loves a good deep bubble bath, a good book or a good film. Secretly, I know she wants a good shag but she's tired of men (excuse the pun). I realised that my life is full of interactions with various women and that each and every one of them has something to say about the lack of love life or the annoying man in their life. A few of my friends are very happy, although most of them live in Ireland strangely enough. Most of my female friends in London are bloody miserable when it comes to men. I often feel like I'm becoming an agony aunt as I think my sarcasm about the male species cheers my female friends up. Recently I've heard myself saying:

"Every man is the same with each of the same irritating characteristics. The one that is ideal is the one that has the shit characteristics to the lesser extent."

"Do not confuse great sex, an orgasm or a big willy with love. They're not. That's lust. A big willy might make you scream the house down but it's not going to treat you right, share a mortgage and take you down the aisle."

"He does NOT want to be your friend. He's trying to f*ck you!" (I was right, not that I'm trying to score points)

"Boo-hoo to big willies. When he's left you with a nasty bout of cystitis, what are you going to do then? You'd better hope he's got some conversational skills!"

"He's a man. Need I say more?"

"He's a man. This is what they do. Trying to beat it out of him would be like trying to revolutionise the wheel."

Oh dear.......

Eye of The Tiger

I have been put through an endurance test today and all because my mouth loosened up under the influence of alcohol and I finally admitted to my friend John that I have this blog. Does anyone have any idea what it is like to walk out of your office to meet your so-called mates and they make buzzing sounds because I own a friggin rabbit vibrator that I have used twice????? They read the blog and the things they focus on are the vibrator, the FMB's and anything John related. John and Nice (well Nice hasn't been so Nice today) are lucky I don't ram that rabbit right up their bums! I did what I do best when I'm p*ssed off and stomped off in a huff and crossed the street until they shut up. They actually managed to leave me alone for most of the afternoon although John had ideas about reading my blog throughout lunch but I demanded a break. I never thought that me being the topic of conversation would get so irritating!

Oh and John wants a new name, so now B wants a new name. Prima-bloody-donna's! I am pleased that they know though. Surely today is the worst it will be?

Trying to fight them was futile so I took the p*ss out of my old boss instead who being his usual eager beaver David Brent self and wanted to be 'in' on the joke. I told him that he's not allowed in the circle of trust and drew a diagram on the white board which left him way out in the cold, but included the cleaner in the circle with the rest of us. He was not happy at all as he doesn't do insecurity. He does ridiculously annoying instead.

I was supposed to be going out tonight but it's no longer looking hopeful. I think I'm having one these temporary intolerance things again because I've been feeling a bit iffy all day (thought it was the wine last night) but shortly after I got home I found myself doubled up in agony with the tell tale intolerance pains. It was so horrible I found myself on my knees clutching my stomach and trying to fight the waves of nausea. It has settled a bit, but I'm not going anywhere this evening. Boo bloody hoo!

Looks like night of reading, TV/DVD's is beckoning. I LOVE being single! (Note the sarcasm) Mind you, whilst it would be nice to have a man to give me some sympathy and fuss over me, a shag on this occasion wouldn't make me feel better!

The Game is Up

This is a flying visit as alcohol has rendered me a touch incapable and I think it would be wise for me to sleep asap. I went to see Meet The Fockers with the gang (John, B, and the closest male friend who I have agreed to call Big K, and Nice). Thoroughly enjoyed the film but Meet The Parents is still, by far the funniest. This sequel didn't make my sides ache with laughter, and whilst it's given me a few lines for me to annoy people with, it doesn't have a patch on the the first film.

We went for a few drinks afterwards and I'm not even sure how, but the thing I have dreaded most about this blog - telling John - well, it's finally done. I don't think I have ever been as redfaced in my life and he claims that he plans to read it and is asking whether I've libeled him. ie Have I told everyone he has a tiny d*ck instead of a big whopper? There goes John again, flying the flag for the male species.

I'm pretty sure my friend who doesn't know how to say a horrible thing will be on here tomorrow aswell. I'm calling him Nice, because he is in danger of being the nicest man in media, which is pretty damn scary. Still, it's people like him that keep b*tches like B and I on the straight and narrow.

Got to go now as sleep is beckoning, but I will do a proper post tomorrow. I really need to stop having glasses of wine and behave myself. I apologise if my spelling is shite.

I'm Oh So Tired

I am wrecked from being in meeting after meeting since 10am. I actually felt like nodding off during the last one and struggled to keep my attention focused. The thought of being b*tch slapped by one of my bosses meant that I just about kept it together.

I had an agency meeting with one of the office vultures today and I took the p*ss out of him all the way there and back as he has such an enormous ego, it demands that I be a b*tch. This guy is in no danger of appearing in GQ, nevermind the Beano, yet to hear all of his accounts, he is super stud extraordinaire. The more disturbing thing is that there are women that will fall for his BS and believe his hype. Not me though! We went for a quick drink after to rehash the meeting and he told me that one of the things he loves about me is that I am witty and sharp tongued and he asked me not to change. Well as long as there are vultures like him circling the skies, I don't think I'm in any danger of having a change of character.

My bed is calling me. I am unbelievably tired, so much so that I won't be watching the E4 episode of Desperate Housewives . I'm going to get into bed where unfortunately I will have to do some reading for two more friggin presentations tomorrow. I'm yawning already at the thought.

T&A Plus A Brain. Wow!

I spent most of the day out on a client meeting and thinking about food. My colleague and I cannot believe that we spent 3 hours with our client from 1pm and all we had was a dubious cup of water. No biscuits. No sandwiches. Not even food out of the snack machine. By the time we left, our heads were starting to hurt and we had to buy crap out of the shop before we got on the train back to London. Jaysus, when they come and visit us, I'll be sure to starve them and ram loads of sales spiel down their throats instead.

One of the things I am always amazed by is when that certain type of man mistakes you for being an empty vessel with tits, face and an ass, and then discovers that you have a brain and actually have a lot to offer. They look at you as if it's a dream and they've time traveled back to the 1920s and beyond. Yes, it is possible to have breasts, a vagina and a brain that works. Fortunately I enjoy catching them off guard. It keeps them on their toes.

I spoke to a male colleague on the way back to London and as we arranged our meeting tomorrow, he asked me if I was going to be wearing my S&M boots. "Get it right. They're FMB's if you have to give them an acronym, and I'll wear what I want." Cheeky git! I should have asked him if he'd be wearing a wig to cover his bald patch.........