Tuesday, February 09, 2016

Congratulations, it's two boys!

New Housemates!

I couldn't be more excited. I've taken a photo of my face so you can see how I felt when I got the news.

My photography skills are really coming along.




And yes, you are correct with all of your thoughts:

1) My eyes are very small. This has been worrying me recently because I'm not sure that eye enlargement surgery is very safe, but I can see (ha ha) that I'm definitely going to need it.

2)I'm crying blood. That's what my eyes did in reaction to the news.

3) I did spent the majority of my lunch break on this picture.

4) The tears get bigger at the bottom before forming a rather unrealistic puddle of blood that really does suggest medical attention is required. I didn't seek any, because I am from Nottingham, and we get shot there all that time, so blood is no big deal.

My favourite housemate is Hugo. Apparently he moved in on Friday, but I haven't seen him, heard him, or smelt him, which is why, thus far, I really like him.

When he does finally show up, I already know that I will hate him.

When I'm not crying blood, I'm working on the second draft of my novel. Apparently a novel is approx 80,000 words, and I now have 6367 which is almost 8% there. And this is why I hate maths.

I have finally sourced a writing group that I like after a frankly weak on off search since I was 21. And the great thing (or the painful thing, depending on you perspective), is that they meet about five minutes from my house. I've lived there for three years. Guys, I could have been sharing my sub-par, indulgent prose with a room full of tortured strangers for three wonderful years.

Nevermind, I need to make up for lost time. I've volunteered to read next week, and I will read (unbeknowst to them) the last three years of my work, because I feel that it is only fair.

The reason these people are my people:

-One of them is a proper London bloke who writes politically incorrect short stories
-One of them is an old Irish man who writes about Leprechauns.
-There's an American girl who agrees with my opinions. This has never happened before.
-At the end, a guy shook my hand and said, 'See you next time Emily.'

I'm onto a winner people. I've sourced my flock. It's a bit weird, but it's not too weird, and that is what I like to think I'm all about.

Disclaimer: Sometimes I am way too weird, but if you look at my behaviour and utterances across say, my whole life, then I really do believe I balance out, and can be classified as 'A bit weird'.

One more picture of me crying blood is probably going to damage that.







Friday, January 29, 2016

Do the right thing

I've completely given up on receiving a free coffee from Pret.

Just before Christmas I realised that they only give them out to minorities, after hearing that my ginger friend Jen got one. Well, natural brunettes with an alarming amount of white hair need coffee too.

But they are not, evidently, going to be getting it free from Pret anytime soon.

I've instead been building up the courage to offer one of the array of Big Issue sellers outside of the place, a drink.

I know it sounds ridiculous, but although most people only require for courage for one or a mixture of the following ventures:

-Saying hard things
-Tough times
-Climbing a mountain

I need to summon courage for the little things. After building up to this act for months, I finally thought, 'Here we are, today is the day!'

And so I did what any other reasonable, commuting woman would do, with charity in her heart and an occasionally acknowledged anxiety disorder, I approached him from behind.

That's right, coffee and a heart attack, I am too kind.

I then essentially yelled at his back, 'I'm just going to get myself a hot drink, would you like one?'

And he said, 'No, I've just had one thank you.'

WHICH COMPLETELY THREW ME.

I mean he might as well have spoken in Latin (that's right people, a dead language).

The thing with me is that I tend to think over, in intricate detail, a range of likely scenarios. And if someone dares to stray from the script, which they've never seen, then I am, in a word, FLUMMOXED

I said, 'Are you sure?'

He said, 'Yes, thank you though.'

I stood there for a bit, silently.

Should I have offered food? I'm not sure. It's bothering me. What if he was waiting for me to offer a ham and cheese twist, and I failed him?

Ginger has a great story, where he offered a homeless man a falafel kebab, straight out of the shop. The guy looked inside the wrapping, made a face, threw the thing in the bin and lit a cigarette.

I think it comes down this horrible feeling we have of, finally, I'm doing something good, it's a small thing, but I'm giving back, being met with, in essence, rejection.

Elation that gets smacked down.

There's nothing mean about what these two men did. It's just sometimes we can forget that they have a right, just as we do, to say no, to have preferences, to not be, as we assume, desperate for anything they can get.

Wow, that was deep. I went deep, and it felt weird.

Let's get shallow; you look pretty.

Better




Monday, November 30, 2015

The tiny fridge demon

It wasn't by the way...that is, a tiny fridge demon. That was my first thought when I heard the screaming. Turns out it was a mouse getting caught in a trap behind the fridge.

A very disconcerting soundtrack when you're in a towel eating your Crunchy Nut cornflakes.

I immediately told Ginger, assuming that he would do a man thing.

He did not have any man things at his disposal. I have definitely married the wrong Geordie. Perhaps my mistake was to draw a husband from the Geordie pool full stop.

Google says, put it in a sandwich bag, seal it, and hit the mouse on the head with a hammer.

I AM STRUGGLING WITH THIS PRE 9AM.

Does anyone want to come round and sort this out? I ordered a frankly bizarre quantity of a rice in the week shop, and I'd be happy to give you a bag in exchange for a quick death (for the mouse, not me, though, if I think about it I am definitely at a point in London where if I can't escape soon I will request to be euthanised).

ALSO

I am getting very close indeed to my free Pret coffee. By which I mean that after I'd paid for a coffee and was waiting for it to be made, a different man asked me if I needed anything, and there was free coffee in his eyes.

SERIOUSLY. I could see it in them, all tantalizing and easy. I bet the next bitch in the line really got some.

SORRY. But I have a headache because the fridge demon thing really shit me up.

In other news, I ventured out into the world on Saturday night, by choice. This had a lot to do with the fact that on my last outing, I met two Irish brothers called Steven and Semen (pronounced Se-men, not See-men). Maybe it was a joke. I don't care, I had a STUPENDOUS time.

However on Saturday, this is the time I had:

After spilling his drink on me, man says: I'm not going to apologise.

Me: Why not?

Man: Because I'm a c**t.

I've left the asterix in for my mum.

I wasn't sure if it should be asterixis, but then I googled it - Asterixis (also called the flapping tremor, or liver flap) is a tremor of the hand when the wrist is extended, sometimes said to resemble a bird flapping its wings.

Me and Google are really not getting along today. BAD GOOGLE.

I can't read the words 'liver flap', I'm trying to drink a cappuccino here, ffs.

ALSO, I finished my novel, and early as well, which is probably a reflection of the low quality of my life throughout November. Bravo.

About three words were good. And I'm going to take those three words, and make a new novel out of them. Because I went to an editing masterclass last week and they basically said, re-write the shit, and re-write the shit, and re-write the shit, until you can see a slight glimmer of gold in it. Then you have a novel, and this takes approx four years.

The problem is that I need to have a published one before I'm thirty, because I really need to achieve something. I already have a failed marriage on my hands guys. That gives me two years to sort myself out.

Wish me luck.



Thursday, November 12, 2015

Dear London

It just might help if I compose
A list of my main London woes
It's worth a try I guess, here goes:

What is this black stuff in my nose?

Fine yes, the city never sleeps
But roars awake with glass and beeps

Dawn chorus you are mighty shrill
Through my single glazed and sill

And lest we not forget the trains
Bright hearses for our spent remains

Grab me, grope me, push me hard
I'll pay you with my Oyster card

We have sunk in your dark belly
Sleepless nights and box set telly

On we march, persistent herd
'Privacy' a term absurd

Competition rough and rife
Dreaming of the country life

Thought it would be wondrous - Psych!
Drink your way through
And poor as you like

Tuesday, November 10, 2015

Pay up

I'm determined to get a free coffee from Pret - because nothing tastes better than free.

I'm trying out different personas to see if I can crack them.

This morning I was a nice person, like a seriously lovely person. I gave them my best smile (that's right my BEST one - I don't even whack this bad boy out for close family), and I was impeccably mannered. My eyes said, 'I see your value, you delightful coffee bringing person.' And behind my brief words, like 'Yes, please,' and 'Thank you,' I was saying, 'I do charity work, and am kind to children, the perfect candidate for one of your free coffees.'

BUT I DIDN'T GET ONE.

Last week I tried down and out. But there's a thin line between that, and grumpy. Luckily I once played Emmeline Pankhurst in a school play, and so acting is kind of my thing.

I tried to express that I was riddled with undeserved bad luck, in need of a caffeine fuelled break. I was like, 'look guys, life's shitting on me right now, and I'm not sure why. I'll probably kill myself. That is unless someone showed me a small gesture of kindness. Then I think I'd be just swell again.'


BUT I DIDN'T GET ONE.

I'm running out of personas, and fast.

There's nothing left do to but Google.

'Clive Schlee, chief executive of the coffee giant, revealed he has given his staff the power to hand out a coffee on the house to people they like or fancy.'


Shit the bed. That's where I've been going wrong - getting served by women, who are statistically unlikely to be both:

-Gay

AND

-Attracted to sour faced administrators.

GOD DAMN IT.

Conflicting advice:

''Don't try to flirt a freebie off a barista or try to make them feel sorry for you - it's all about radiating happiness, a wide smile, and spreading the joy.

Any advice for people who can't feel joy? Nope, not one bit,

I can do a lot of things - nice, sure, put upon, sure, BUT HAPPY? FUCKING HAPPY?

It's an absolute joke, and only one thing is clear to me; I will never get a free coffee from Pret.

Thursday, November 05, 2015

The big yawn

Guys, I am stooopid.

I'm 5 days in to another NaNoWriMo - another November trying to have a life (oh alright, not much of one) and shove out 50,000 words of novelly goodness at the same time.

It hurts already. I think I'm sick.

What's that? You want to help? Well you can, by taking a look at the teeny business Ginger and I have just launched!

https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/OtherWonders

I definitely think that will aid me in my journey. ALSO I previously asked all of you directly for money, and now I'm giving you a product in return, which is a little thing I like to call, progress.

Today, I watched a smartly dresses business man step into the only puddle for MILES. And the water came up above his sock. And it gave me a spring in my step.

Probably the same tosser who loudly announced, 'Oh alright, whack another half mil on, to sweeten the deal,' as he passed me last night.

Luckily, the BBC have come up with a very discreet way of culling morons. Granted, a niche breed of morons - they type that need putting out of their misery - but morons all the same.

I think it's called Weather Watch - and the idea is that you send in notes on the weather, exactly where you are.

If you're interested, sign up here - http://www.bbc.co.uk/weatherwatchers

I'm going to hack into the database, and find where they live, and publish the addresses, and let the non-moronic public hunt them down. Think about it - the roads will be quieter. Lovely.

I'm not even shitting you, this is on the homepage -

Join the nation's favourite conversation.

God help us all. 
Frequent, maybe. I'll give them that - the nation's most frequent conversation. But FAVOURITE? FAVOURITE?
Who are these people?
Nevertheless, I'm intrigued. I read on.
There's a picture of a twister in the background. I guess it's important to know about a twister.ONE POINT TO YOU WEATHER FUCKERS.

I'm so angry. I think it's because I'm tired. I'M SO TIRED.

Love you all.






Wednesday, October 21, 2015

The Pret Threat

Just received the most aggressively fashioned, 'Take care,' of my life, and from a lady in Pret.

She was perfectly normal until the very last segment of our exchange, where she held my coffee back, tilted her chin forward, and deeply boomed those words. Everything around us slowed, as our eyes locked, and the warning soaked in.

So two things really:

1) If something awful happens to me today (which seems kind of inevitable now, ever since she delivered my fate over my crayfish salad), you'll know what the catalyst was.

And 2) Pret don't seem to give out free coffees to people they like (as I'd been misinformed) - they only give out free threats.

There was only one logical reaction; I took numerous forks. That's right, approaching the array of plastic cutlery, feeling hard done by, concerned, and having paid for my coffee, I took a chunky handful of forks.

UP YOURS PRET.

God, I really know how to stick it to the man.

My next novel (yeah, like I have a first) - 'Don't get angry, get even.'

Speaking of novels, it's that glorious time of year again where Nanowrimo is peeking up like some unwanted, ugly meerkat.

For those of you who haven't ingested my whinging in previous years, it's a national challenge to write 50,000 words in a month.

What's in it for me?

If successful, I get to print my own certificate, AND if I attend a write-in, the chances of attaining NaNo related stickers are high.

What's in it for you?

I go insane (Yes, that's right. It gets even worse than it is already).

For the first time ever, I also have a buddy, who I've managed to deceive into thinking it will be fun. Good for me. Want to go crazy too? http://nanowrimo.org/

Unlike last year, where I essentially gave someone Gollum from Lord of the Rings, as a sidekick, I'm going to do my very best to have ideas that I haven't stolen.

I even have my first line ready and waiting, 'My mum decided to die in my favorite place.'

Alright, so it's not exactly uplifting, but then you've very much come to the wrong blog if that's what you're after. And yes, my Mum will take it rather badly, and assume it's some kind of wish fulfillment on my part, but the life of a writer is a hard one my friends.

I must boldly go where...oh wait..I'm plagiarizing again.

Better quit while I'm ahead.