You and me talk freely at night

So, last night I had a dream that my at-work boyfriend had bought a monkey and trained it to attack me. I couldn't get away and am scared of monkeys.

In other news, we (Zoe, Donna, Karen and I, not me and the boy) are having a competition to see who can lose the most weight by Valentine's Day. There'll be a weekly weigh-in and a prize of £40 to the winner.

I'm fairly sure this is how eating disorders start.

This might be the last post of 2007

but it probably won't be.

I've been manning my company's Supply and Merchandising helpdesk since 9am this morning with my new friend Jon. Four stores have called, which is one more than last year. Three stores wanted advice on Salesplan problems, which is actually the remit of the Salesplan helpdesk. We referred these stores on. One store called wanting stock, but it turns out we can't order stock to stores for other business centres. She was told to call back tomorrow.

We are the only two people in the whole building, except for a murderer I think I saw on the way in. We are taking our minds off the boredom and potential murderings by telling jokes, and eating.

Between me and you, there is food all over this office! I just went on a Hub Liberation Hunt and made off with one yoghurt, half a box of mince pies and a packet of sliced cheese. The cheese wasn't good but the yoghurt was tasty!

I'm confident I won't get busted. I don't think there's any CCTV in here and anyway the owners should never have left their delicacies behind over the festive season. Not with the high criminality rate around here today.

Merry Christmas!

Dear all,

I'm well on my way to losing the game (not The Game, although I lost that too this morning) due excessive Cava consumption.

The cat is spending his first Kittenmas with me. It's special! Last night he ate two mince pies and got stuck behind the fridge.

I'm wearing an indiscreet dress to distress and confuse my elderly relatives and have delegated (resigned) Christmas cooking duties to my coked-up younger brother in the absence of my poorly mum.

Christmas rocks!

All my love,

Lucy x

Winners

Yesternight was the Supply Team Christmas Bash. It was for the whole of my company's supply teams, which is about five hundred people. Some of them weren't there, but a lot were.

I met a lot of cool people I didn't know before and had a blast dancing to indie show tunes in my bare feet. I spent a lot of time entertaining and being entertained by a boy who I had previously thought was a tosser, based on zero evidence, and now I realise that it is in fact I who is the tosser. He is the height of cool. He is also more obnoxious with a camera than myself which is a happening so rare that I had ceased to wish for it.

Sadly, he has now seen me at my best (drunk but not legless, swingdancing with joyful wild abandon to Blondie having abandoned my slidey boots) and has no reason to ever talk to me again.

OXFORD

On Friday I had the dullest night out you can ever imagine.

On Saturday I was living the dream.

Productivity report:

I have spent the majority of the afternoon reading about American serial killers on Wikipedia.

It has been most educational.

Sniggers McMockerson strikes again

Everyone in my office worthy of note but whose name we don't know has a nickname. Pointy McBeardface. Baldy McMutterson. Totty McCheeserford. Lollipop Barbiegirl. There's a simple formula and it sums up most people fairly accurately. We don't need to know any more.

Sometimes, temps come to work in my bit of the office. These cause excitement because they are inevitably too far away to talk to, but close enough to spy on. Myself and my two co-conspirators spend many a happy hour on silent IM character assassinations, based on looks and demeanour.

Recently, Pointy McBeardface came to work in Dispensing. I was particularly vicious about this scruffy, indie-looking be-cheekboned character, because I secretly fancied him a bit. But then Joe*, my colleague, broke the rule. Joe knows him, sort of.

Joe is friends with Paul, who is also a temp. Joe told Paul about Pointy's nickname. Paul told Pointy.

Now it seems Pointy has been transferred away to another part of the business which is good timing because there is nothing more embarrassing or difficult than having to dodge one person in an open plan office. He doesn't know anything about me apart from that I am a stranger who had spent time discussing him to another stranger and this puts me in a terrible light.

Also, that we had circulated his underpants-only Facebook profile picture around a select group of OTC types to general amusement.

I hope he doesn't think to Google his name.

I am stupid

I mistype things. I trip, I start stories and get lost in the middle because I can't remember the right word, or the ending, and sometimes I read things and it's as though my brain has skipped a groove. I say stupid things because the concept of 'appropriacy' is hard to grasp. I think I am autistic.

I get preoccupied a lot, too. I spend minutes thinking about alternate universes, created when instead of catching my piece of office toast it falls, unhindered, to the floor, leaving a buttery stain which the cleaner can't remove, causing a violent secret hatred which leads him to team up with his unibrowed mate and silently murder me on my way back to Car Park B one frosty night. Or, when I was doing the washing up this evening, I wondered who would take me to hospital if I had managed to slice through the pad of my thumb instead of just ruining the scourer. Dan can't drive and I get confused when there is a lot of blood around which by rights belongs inside me.

But I am always pleased that these universes are only imagined. (Even still, I know I will probably have nightmares about them. Waking up in the middle of the night unable to remember my doctor's name and convinced my floorlamp is the secondary-school dropout with ambitions beyond mops has become a nightly occurrance because I can't teach my brain about reality.)

(because Christmas comes every year, but my greed is eternal)

SUPER IMPORTANT EDIT:

My number one desire is anything and everything to do with Cambodian and Khmer culture, history, language and - most importantly - cookery.

!) Delicious groceries, the posh kind that aren't just pasta. Definitely some coffee. Maybe even some fruit?

") A book about Polar Explorerers. I like both poles!

£) A 1940s style dress and/or shoes, preferably with some sort of awesome history regarding its provenence (can be limited to 'bought it at Spittlefields')

$) A really cool map, like the ones your mincey pies are currently feasting on.

%) A new makeup bag, not too big and somehow awesome.

^) Other things that I take for granted and now can't buy. Orange juice, occult cakes, knitted tights, a really murderous pair of heels, belts from Topshop, nice shampoo.

&) The Moomin annual.

edit:
*) A Polaroid camera, to capture candid moments.