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.





Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Can't everyone just be friends?

I've got to be honest with you.

The only thing I really care about is the arrival of my deer head shaped hole punch from Berlin. It sits at the very heart of every wedding craft project I have devised.

So, if I come across as indifferent to you, and that I don't care, it's not like that, it's just because I've re-ordered my priorities, and decided you're not as important as a piece of expertly shaped metal.

I'M SORRY.

Every day I try to be a better person, but it's not working. I think it's time to admit that I'm not perfect (though I've been holding onto the assertion that I am, for some time).

If it helps, all of my colleagues want to kill me, because every time the office door bell rings I scream 'DEER PUNCH!' in a kind of boring, and pointless version of bingo.

But seriously, does anyone know where my fucking deer punch is? It's incredibly integral. I'm struggling to sleep.

Ginger was like, "Surely we can just go out to a shop and buy it."

But he is a bit stoopid and I had to tell him, "NO stoopid, it's really rare, and very intricate compared to others on the market. What's wrong with you?"

Please, don't feel sorry for me - we all have tough times.

In other news I made a new friend. He's called Rick, and he's in his late 60's and it's not weird.

We travelled on the tube together after I helped him sort his Oyster card out and covered the below topics. I'll leave you to decide who brought them up.

-Reasons why Cliff Richard is definitely not a 'poofter'
-Tips for gatecrashing private events
-How youth is wasted on the young.

This also happened (un-related)

Me: Oh look, one to add to your celebrity spot list - Sue Baker! (Shouted at Claire Balding).
Ginger: What? That's Claire Balding.
Me: Yeah, but they both look the same.
Ginger: No, they don't (Leads me away mortified).
Me: They do. They both have short hair.

And, I have these emails:


I think the emoticon Elane has used is really cute - nice touch. Elane and Sher are much more discreet pimps than Sexy Naughty Wives. I imagine that Elane and Sher have a multitude of legit businesses (like bakeries and letting agencies) and this is just something they do for fun on the side. Whereas Sexy Naughty Wives is really committed, and wants people to have no qualms about what's on offer.

I'm trying to think about what I've signed up for recently to warrant these offers. I've registered to vote - WOULDN'T BE SURPRISED IF THE TORIES WERE JUST SENDING ME THEIR USUAL SHIT.

I'M JOKING.

A bit.



Wednesday, April 01, 2015

All you can eat

Tres excited to find this in my inbox:



It's always nice to have some reassurance. Thanks Veronica.

After trying and failing to sleep to the sweet lullaby of a car alarm, I feel super duper great.

Did the wine help?

Probs not.

On the plus side, have discovered a great new game - take Ginger to extortionately priced afternoon tea, and watch him constantly calculate and try to eat his money's worth.

Me: How much now?

Ginger: I reckon about £30. How much is this again?

Me: £70.

Ginger: Waiter, can I please have some more?

Waiter: Of what sir?

Ginger: Everything.

He is still very upset with me. He never did figure out how to drink £70 worth of tea.

Gutted.

I've signed up to a writer's group tonight, but I don't have any paper, or a pen. Do you think that will reflect badly on me? One hour of the session is 'Free writing'. If I have to borrow the basic tools of my craft, the others might think I'm not a real writer, and just some big, phony, wannabe writer who actually works in admin.

I do however, have a stack of a post it notes, and I'm pretty sure that there's a famous poet who used to be a Dentist and write on his prescription pads.

Just done some research and looks like he was a Doctor. I guess I've never had a written prescription from the Dentist - just a verbal shake down. These days, Doctor's would have to resort to writing on the backs of their Google print outs, and would have all the space in the world, and could branch out into prose. Because that's all they give you, alongside the generic diagnosis, "I don't know what it is, but try some Ibuprofen."

William Carlos Williams had to write tiny poems. I was about to ridicule his name, but then I remembered that my middle name is my brother's first name, and realised that I have no ground whatsoever to stand on. My ground is completely gone. We have a lot in common - writing restrictions and spesh parents.

Nice.