Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Full of beans

Day five of no coffee. It's not pretty folks.

The view from my window is Starbucks.I've had my fingers pried from stroking the glass twice, alright, three times.

But you don't know what it's like!

It's like I'm in a prison, a prison that doesn't serve coffee!!

Unfortunately, coffee was having this mild side affect, whereby if I hadn't consumed any by 10:30am, I felt nauseous, and got a headache and my whole body went floppy. Apparently (according to a few friends) this was a bad sign.

But I liiiiikkkee it, I likea the coffee. I guess it's like that advert, where that woman's putting on mascara, and her eyes are bleeding, and they're all 'Would you ignore this?'

Yes, Yes I would, for a very long time.

But no more! I am not a slave to my addiction!

I went cold turkey over the bank holiday, and you know, I felt like complete shit.

Yesterday, I cheated, because I found this chocolate with coffee in, and I totally consumed it.

But mostly, I'm on the road to recovery. With every passing day, I feel a little bit less horrendous. Which is nice.

ALSO

Some complete tard-face vandalised my bus stop. They smashed the glass and stole the giant time table. Download it! You ASBO chump. It would be nice to think a proportion of my taxes could be funnelled into the repairs, but probably not, because it's too busy funding the FUCKING OLYMPICS.

(Mum, again, I'm really sorry about my vulgarity. To be honest, I think this is a direct result of my troubled upbringing. I was never really encouraged to express myself in the home, and bottled up my feelings. As an adult, this represents itself in bad language, and violent outbursts. I know what you're thinking, but I don't want you to blame yourself. It's really not your fault. I'm so glad we can have these talks).

ALSO

Ginger Beard has run away to Newcastle. Now, I wasn't that fussed at first. It was rather nice to eat chicken, and leave my clothes everywhere, and watch The Bachelor without judgement. But then I had a moment, it's one of those life changing moments, where you realise you really do love someone, very much. And their separation from you, is like a serrated knife, plunged into your....pancreas.......

I was hungover, practically dying, mentally sharing out my possessions, dry retching my way to recovery, when it hit me - I need ice lollies. I need them bad.

For the first time in five years, if I wanted something from the shop, I was going to have to go to the shop myself.

And that's when I realised, that I missed him.

It's modern romance people! Disney is so out of date. Aladdin shouldn't take her on a magic carpet ride and show her the world, he should hold her hair when the alchopops are coming back. We don't need Simba (Yes, I know he's a cat), to (what did Simba ever do that was romantic?) walk around to an Elton John song looking at that other lion. We need him to make lasagne when we've had a shitty day at work.

I digress.

The point is, I don't have any coffee and I really want some coffee, and I looked on the internet to find
caffeine withdrawal is totes and completely explains why I can't:

1. Stay asleep
2: Keep my head up
3. Say anything remotely intelligent.
4. Tolerate anyone.

CHEERS.



Thursday, August 16, 2012

Whoops

Writer At Lunch, learning about life so you don't have to................

It turns out that you can't separate frozen chipolata sausages with a glass pepper grinder and a knife. Which is shocking really. Because I thought it looked quite reasonable at the time.

Approach:

Leave sausages in plastic tray. Place on chopping board. Apply tip of large knife between first two sausages. Turn pepper grinder upside down. Smash base repetitively down on knife handle.

Voila!

Glass all over your sausages and a kitchen floor of peppercorns. You really should try this at home.

I'm sure you know what it's like - you really want some fucking sausages, and you'll employ any means necessary to get them. We've all been there.Thanks for understanding.

ALSO,

I walked into this man. He was a pretty normal man in a nice grey suit. Potentially, it could've been quite romantic. We both would've laughed, faux brushed one another down, and looking deep into my dull blue eyes, he would've exclaimed, 'Why, I do believe I'm in love' (because he's quite posh). Sadly though, a girl walked immediately into me, and you know what they say, three's a crowd. It's all because another girl, had decided to abruptly stop, and tousle her hair using a a police van window. She was so into it, she didn't even glance at our human pile up.

You know what though, it was totes worth it: her hair looked great. CHEERS.

And then there was this construction man, talking to this other construction man, and I was walking past with my headphones in, and he suddenly turned to me and said something.

So I stopped.

And I said, 'Sorry?'

And he said, 'What?'

And I said, 'You just shouted at me.'

And he said, 'I would never should at anyone.' And turned to his friend, who nodded, supporting this.

So I said, 'I had my music on, so I couldn't hear. But you said something.'

So he said, 'I didn't'.

And then we just stood there for a bit. Which was really uncomfortable, and then I left. The moral of the story is, if you think someone's trying to get your attention, ignore them, because you might just end up extending your work commute by four minutes, having no choice, but to avoid the Leeds Trinity Shopping centre, until they've finished it.

I'm completely plagued by social awkwardness at the moment. I don't like leaving the flat.

Oh! I really wanted to talk to you about Fifty Shades, but I can't be bothered now,  because I'm so effing tired, so..........

Here's my new favourite video instead. I watch it when life gets too painful.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YCiY1y3uJ3o&feature=g-all-u





Friday, August 10, 2012

Throw the dice

Times are desperate. I've started gambling.

For the first time ever, in my life, I'm playing the lottery.

It started with a work syndicate in Leeds. And believe it or not, we won. I almost handed in my notice, but decided instead (after counsel from close friends) to invest it. It was £2.80 between five of us.

The Manchester office also has a syndicate. I cheated on my syndicate. I couldn't help it! The possibility that they would hit the jackpot, and my whole life would suddenly snag on the small moment that I'd said, 'No,' was too painful.

I think I've finally acknowledged that I'm not likely to get rich via this blog, via being spotted in the street by a model scout, or via marrying a rich, vulnerable old man (though I'm not sure whether or not Ginger can be considered in this category if we're looking five years ahead).

ALSO

The bus is becoming my new playground for odd experience. The train's still mighty cack, don't get me wrong. But the bus has opened up a whole new world of possibility. Take yesterday for example. I'm looking out the window, at some poor bastard's crippled bike. He's locked it up in front of a church, and someone, under the watchful eyes of God, has stolen a tyre. My soundtrack, is one man, informing another, that he often feels like he's almost shitting his intestines. Then, a skinny fella, in tight pants, forces his crotch into my arm. I say forces, because I've never had a clearer impression of the shape of someone's penis against my shoulder. I felt so dirty, I had to confess to Ginger Beard that I'd cheated on him.

 (Mum- I'm really sorry about writing the word 'penis', but it did happen, and it's very therapeutic for me to share. Also Mum, do you remember the days when you would comfort me, over say, a cut knee, or tonsillitis, and now, strange men on buses are assaulting me with their genitalia. I bet you feel helpless. It's okay, that's normal. We can't protect our children forever.)

ALSO

I got on a train to Manchester with this blonde woman, and then, she was sat next to me on the way back too. Wow! I felt like we were friends! I wanted to ask her if she'd had a nice day. I wanted to be all like, 'Hey! What are the chances?! And what kind of job lets you wear flip flops to work?'  Then she phoned her boyfriend to tell him exactly how she wanted her eggs cooked, and I wanted to shout, 'Hey! I actually prefer my eggs scrambled.' But I realise many of my inclinations are, in the main, inappropriate.

It's kind of like when you see a group of strangers everyday at the bus stop, and you start to believe that you know them. Is that just me? SHUT UP.

Bye.