Tuesday, August 25, 2015

Runaway bride

A few things guys.

Bruce (my tomato plant) has eight little sproglets. You won't care about this, but for me, it's a reason to get up in the morning.

ALSO

Alan made a serious faux pas recently. If you can't remember him (and why would you), the poor little beige man. He's the newest member of the palace I live in, over zealous about running and evening meals.

'What you eating? What's in that? Sausage? Do I smell sausage? I ran an 8 in 4 which is 0.2 seconds off my personal best. Can't go wrong with a bit of sausage.'

SERIOUSLY.

He's actually alright to live with.

Apart from recently we had a fruit fly epidemic. Thank God I had Bruce to look forward to at work, because my mornings were suddenly full of fly spray and sweeping up tiny bodies.

Ginger traced the source to Alan's cupboard and found a liquidized banana.

I emailed Alan, and surprisingly I was quite nice! I managed to squash down my inner bitch for the entire correspondence!

I refrained from saying, 'Are you fucktarded?' and signed off with a lightly comical, 'Wanted to let you know, in case you were looking forward to a banana!'

Ha ha. Ha ha.

I have a lot of friends that go around managing to be nice most of the time, and I don't get it. I observe and try to imitate, but I just can't pull it off.

SOZ.

My app reminds me that I'm getting married in 11 days. I think if I am going to change my mind, pre the 10 day mark is fine, and anything after that is quite disruptive. With this in mind, I'm going to have a long hard think today about whether or not I actually want to do this.

It's about time I asked myself that question.

Shall we put it to a vote?

Or I could flip a coin?

I should consider getting out of it as lightly as I got into it really.

Ohhh, I could take Ginger on Jeremy Kyle, and let Jeremy decide. But maybe he's fed up with having so many angry Geordies' on his show already.

I'll sleep on it.










Monday, August 17, 2015

Hostess with the mostess

Today is a very special day for me. Very special indeed.

Today, I am going to poke the bear.

Don't turn this into something dirty; I know what you're like.

I'm basically going to approach a bear I don't happen to like very much (like a ninja) and let loose into his face with an AK-47.

I'm not saying I've brought a gun to work.

Let's all calm down.

I'm saying that a grotesque douche bag is going to be taking bullets to the face all day.

HA HA HA HA HA.

I'm so excited, it hurts. The suspense is causing me physical pain.

What a great Monday.

ALSO

I held a dinner party on Saturday, with the intention of hosting a very civilised affair. I am so naive. It didn't help that at the exact moment I was feeling smug, along the lines of 'Look at you Gemma, you've made a salad. And it seems to be such a great salad. Well done.' I opened the fridge and got taken out by a landslide.

Some badly placed items, mostly made from metal, fell onto my face. Smugness destroyed. I messaged the guy I was renting from and he said:

'Oh dear. Hope you are okay.'

Wha?

I COULD HAVE DIED.

What an awful way to go, crushed by kitchen trays and chopping boards. I deserve better than that.

I drank a lot of wine, to train my liver and kidneys for the wedding. Alcohol push ups. We then spent approximately five hours miming to 10 second song slips and videoing it. And they say I've forgotten how to party.

19 DAYS GUYS.

Until the streets are flooded with the tears of men who realise they're no longer in the running.

Gutted.

Two men have recently handed in their notices at work, and we all know why - they can't stand to watch me go through with it. They need to remove themselves.

I get it. Do what you need to.

Ginger Beard also survived his Stag Do on Saturday. I was very surprised when one of them wasn't curled up on the doorstep, and even more so when there wasn't a trail of blood along the hallway. When I located them and asked them what the hell they thought they were playing at, one of his brothers held up his tapped and black hand, and mentioned 4 hours in A&E. Only then could I relax, happy in the knowledge that they had done things properly. They made Ginger vomit in the street. Someone was pushed into a car.

Very nice work indeed.




Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Buzz off

People (or specifically, men) keep dropping loose change at my feet.

Do I look like I offer some kind of service? And judging by the variation in coins, an array of services?

Or maybe, as I've been in flip flops every time, they want to help me buy some real shoes.

"Please put your feet away in shoes!!'

It happened again this morning, in Boots. A fifty pence piece landed on my big toe. I said to the man, 'I would get it, but...' and gestured to all of the £1 chicken mayo sandwiches in my arms.

That's right guys, bulk buying £1 sandwiches, that's where I've ended up in life.

But oh what a bargain!

ALSO,

A man grabbed my bum in Habitat.

Am I just a piece of meat to you guys, huh?

Is it because I wear respectable dresses in the day?

ALSO,

I had a lot of fun at the weekend, a kind of mischievous, addictive fun. James asked me to give him a list of pre-made decorative items that I'd bought for the wedding. It went a little like:

Me: Fifty brass keys, imported from the States.

GingerB: What?

Me: Keys James, American keys.

GingerB: For doors?

Me: *Sigh* For decoration.

GingerB: Where for?

Me: Oh my God, around, on surfaces.

GingerB: What else?

Me: Ten peacock feathers.

James: Fucking hell.

Hours of entertainment. Turns out, he had no idea about what I've been doing. And what I've been doing is spending all of our hard earned cash on overpriced objects that we will really struggle to re-use or re-sell.

What a team.



Recently, I found a bumblebee in my pants. A lot of you know this - you read it on Facebook. But unlike you guys, who can just mildly giggle, then move on with your lives, I can't. And why is that?

Because I found a bumblebee, a BUMBLEBEE, in my pants, IN MY PANTS.

I can't just brush that off. I can't just pretend that everything is normal now. I'm a compulsive pants checker. Just my own pants to clarify. I'm not going to volunteer to start checking your pants too. Check your own.

You really should. Why? Because there might just be a bumblebee chillaxing in them. #couldhavedied.

Think about it.




Friday, July 03, 2015

Inappropriate on so many levels

So, Alan took my shower slot.

It was just one time, but one time too many.

There's a chance I've killed him in my sleep because that was two weeks ago and I've not see him since.

Have you seen him?

He's very subtle. Like a puff of faint smoke.  I can't tell you anything further about him, as I've not taken an interest thus far.

Someone should probably make sure he's alright.

ALSO

I took some photos of these people sleeping because they looked so cute. It's really weird (of me, I mean). I couldn't help it. And I guess it doesn't help that they're of a similar ethnic origin. And I guess it's really offensive of me in general. But they just seem so cosy. I'm particularly fond of the father son combo sleep. Here they are!



ALSO

I only had my flippin' floopin' Hen Do, and it was 'wee yourself in your pants and don't care' good. That's right guys, so good that if your pants were sopping wet with your own wee, you'd still be smiling.

Highlights:

- Ieva drowning but (and this is important), not dying. I mean, her heart probably stopped for a few seconds because the rest of us assumed her head would pop up again at some point, and watched. When it did dawn on me that I was about to lose an office buddy who regularly supplies me with cherry yoghurts and dried apples, I went in for the rescue.

Thankfully, those school experiences in the pool really paid off. You remember the ones - treading water in your PJ's, picking up heavy bricks from the floor. Invaluable. Which is why my panicked brain knew the only possible action was a good ol' bum lift. So I grabbed on to that bum, and pushed up with all my might. Not everyone is good under pressure guys. It's important to know your limits.

- Letting people draw all over my arms in pink permanent marker.
-Drinking these and being hangover free - https://www.faustspotions.com/
-My favourite female ginger nearly capsizing a boat we were in - on land.
-Champagne near the train toilets and telling men off for not putting the seat back down.
-Everyone confessing their dark secrets - the dirty scumbags,


ALSO

Don't appreciate this email from Hobbycraft (sorry Mum).








Wednesday, June 03, 2015

We all make mistakes


This email is difficult for me. Initially I thought I should share it with all of you, because it sounds like such a great offer, and I don't want to be selfish. Then I realised it's a Re: email, which means I probably sent it to 24online.

I'll have to apologise to Ginger Beard. We're getting married in 12 weeks and I need to stop sending things like this out into the world.

I think marriage is about letting some of your flaws go, and trying to be a better person.

But the thing I'm most worried about is that 90% of my day job is checking mistakes in documents, and the grammar in that email header is shocking.

ALSO

I feel quite bad for Alan.

He only lives in the house at the start of the week, and then he goes back to Manchester. But if I see him, I run away, because it's nicer for me if he doesn't exist at all.

It's because he likes to have a conversation and ask how I am and generally, be nice, whereas I want as little interaction with the housemates as possible so that I can believe it's just me and Ginger in a 4 bed, 2 bath flat. Much better.

I've put my ice lollies in his freezer drawer, next to his sad loaf of brown bread. I hope he doesn't mind. I won't see him to ask.

I'm having a cocktail party on Saturday, so I've told everyone that they can't go in the lounge, and that it may get raucous. They're a very obliging lot. Fats and Fats wouldn't have stood for it but luckily I brutally murdered them they have moved out.

In other news, I sang Mr Bombastic by Shaggy at a company Karaoke night with one of the Directors. Familiar with those lyrics? No? Neither was I when I agreed. Some of the highlights:

'With my sexual physique Jah know me well built'

'You are the only young girl that can ring my bell'

Don't you tickle my foot bottom ha ha baby please

I want your loving gal give it like you should

It did get a cheer. I think everyone saw the lengths I'm prepared to go to, to get to the top, and they were impressed.

Apparently I also murdered Taylor Swift. But I don't remember that, because I'd been knocked almost unconscious with shame, humiliation and deep, deep regret.


Thursday, May 28, 2015

Something about Alan

Alan has moved in.

He replaces Fats and Fats (remember the grotesquely rotund New Zealanders I mentioned?)

I went out with an Alan once, in my first few months of University.

He told me he'd been asexual his whole life until he met me, and realised that he like girls. At the time, I just thought he was unusual. Looking back, I think he was really smart.

When I decided to end our brief romance, I told everyone we lived with first (it was a huge, renovated hunting lodge). He found out and decided that I couldn't end it if I couldn't find him.

For three days, whenever I saw him, he ran away.

Finally, I did the deed. He cried, and told me I was his sunshine.

THEN, RIGHT, CHECK THIS OUT:

He went home to Sunderland, slept with a girl from his Asexual Support Group (we'll address this later), got her pregnant, dropped out of our course, and got a job in Boots.

I'll try to find him on Facebook for you so I can give a real time update.

I'm sure that the Alan who has just moved into the Flat and I, will not share a similar story line. It's just made me feel a bit cautious of Alans.

Anyway, back to the asexual support group girl, what the frick happened there?

I like to think that seeing her friend in distress set off her latent sexuality, but I also feel pretty shitty about how my actions  ended up making a girl who doesn't fancy girls or boys have sex and a baby with a guy who doesn't fancy girls or boys.

And that ladies and gents, is more Hollyoaks, than Hollyaoks will ever be.

Wait.

If he liked me, does that mean I'm the perfect amalgamation of male and female OR, that I'm so far away from either, that he was attracted to me?

What do you think?

Tell me the truth.

I bet you're chuffed that I haven't blogged in such a long time, only to spring out from the woodwork and smack you with this beauty.

You're right, I've not slept much.


Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Does size matter?

I didn't think so until I received the email below, and now I feel totes insecure.


To make matters worse, I've got Gwendolyn on my back about my recent struggles:



And a potential date on the horizon:


If I want to impress Katina, I'm going to have to Enlarge It, that much is clear.

ALSO

Someone at my work claimed that they are inviting 33 men to their Stag Do. This prompted myself and my colleague and occasional friend JB, to take a look at what ours would look like if we had to invite 33 people of the same sex. Here are the highlights:

Mine:

I ran out of good friends at 8.

As a bonus, if you are female and want to know if you made it onto my list, and where you are ranked, just ask.

I have started addressing friends as numbers, like, "Hey, number 4, how's it going?" But no one seems to like it, which is weird. I think it's just honest. And if I was in anyone's top ten, I'd be made up, I'd probably celebrate. But I guess that's just the reaction of someone who only has 8 friends.



His:


This is a really fun activity for a rainy day, or just during working hours.

Also, next time you have a social clash on your calendar, you can consult your list, and cancel on the friend who's lower down. Maybe set a reminder to review it monthly in case things change.