I've got a new hobby

I leave notes hidden around my house in places where my housemates will find them, suggesting helpful ways in which they might like to kill themselves.

In the medicine cupboard: Take all of these and die, bitch.

Above the plug socket: Fingers go here.

Inside their socks: Tie together to fashion a makeshift noose.

A trail of chocolate buttons, in the shape of arrows, leading from their bedroom door, outside into the main road. Wait here.


(I don't know what I would do if I didn't have Donna and Zoe to keep me sane.)

the night is cold and delicate and full of angels

I've been re-reading the Dark Materials trilogy recently. Anyone who hasn't read it, isn't going to understand what I'm talking about.

I realised this morning that the way Pullman describes Lyra reading the alethiometer is much the same as the way I read political situations at work. Lyra lets the needles spin and it's the combination of meaningful symbols they point to which tells her what's going on. At work, I read the collection of people gathered around my boss's desk in the same way.

- Martin, the Auctions guy, for sale of third-party licensed manufacturing contracts;
- Helen, Meds supply manager, for big urgent supply matters;
- Andy, the Analgesics buyer, indicates pain relief products;
- Keith, Consumer Healthcare director, suggests something that will impact customers.

Working out what these people might have in common demands a finely honed business sense and a small amount of educated guesswork.

Spreading what you've learned around the team is a job for a simpleton.

Luckily for us, I am multitalented.

as is the practice of elegant females

I haven't slept properly since last Friday night, what with one thing and another. Being tired make me crazy, and cruel.

But last night Zoe bought me some rape honey and we laughed until we wet ourselves.

You know everything will be ok when you can still laugh about violent assault.

I AM TWENTY THREE

and I had a party to prove it. It was awesome! Two years ago I went to London for my birthday and last year I went to Germany so it was lovely but weird to celebrate in my own city, en masse.

My ex-husband Jeff and I merged our birthday parties as our birthdays are next to each other and our combined forces provided a high level of FUN. My attention was cruelly monopolised by one specific person and at 2am we left to pursue our evening separate to everyone else.

When I got in the next day after performing the Walk of Shame I was spared the inquisition, as the presence of a nameless blonde in our-all female household was enough to divert all attention from my out-of-character total lapse in morals. It was established that a) she had terrible extensions and b) she had attached herself to my housemate and our friend and invited herself back for a place to stay. We managed to put her into a taxi post-haste before she got too settled.

The upshot of all of this is that I am ruined through lack of sleep and also I have muscular dystrophy due to over-exertion. This combination means I find it hard to walk and can't see where I'm going when I do.

Things cannot continue this way.

I GOT A VALENTINE'S CARD FROM STEPHEN FRY

Today can't get any better.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone. I hope you all find a love like mine!
x

On biology

Seriously! Nothing is guaranteed to annoy me more than acting as though I am literally not here.

Granted I am currently a destructive force of nature due to unrestrained PMT, but when Boy Who Is A Tosser asks one member of my team to do something simple in my earshot, and said team member is not in a position to comply, and he doesn't then ask me, the only other person in the office, the desire to launch myself across the desk and shake him until he actually looks at me is almost uncontrollable.

I think there is a good case to be made for me having a few days off every month. Boys cannot possibly understand that PMT is like being mentally ill, that one moment you'll be absolutely fine and coasting along and the next thing someone's moved your teabags and oh my god moodswing into the realms of 'axe murderer' and woe betide anyone who asks me for a favour, or the time, or if worst of all if I'm ok. It annoys me when people talk to me but it infuriates me when they don't.

It does make me more efficient at my job though.

small victories

I am so busy all the time at work these days that all I want to do at the weekend is sleep, play with the cat and perform the small domestic duties which make life worthwhile. Tragically I am easily led astray and my house remains unpainted, my gym unvisited and my kitten unfulfilled.

After last Friday's mayhem I swore I was not making plans for this weekend. By Saturday afternoon it was established we were going to go for a quiet drink at the pub round the corner with my housemate, but that I was definitely not going to Sherwood to see our friends, no way. By 9pm on Saturday I was sitting in a pub in Sherwood wondering exactly what I was playing at but adamant that I was definitely not going to town, that I would just get a taxi home.

By 11pm I was sitting in a bar in town, unable to see speak or stand, having spent literally all evening talking to the same guy. Talk emerged regarding going to Stealth, and it was decided (by me) that I definitely wasn't going to that notorious drugs-pit as I hate dance music.

By 4am I'd walked home in protest at the Stealth-notion, in the company of the tallest man in the history of the world. I didn't get a good look at his face until I added him on Facebook this morning.

I did manage to dye my hair this Saturday though which is a small victory, I suppose.

Friday's quiz.

Every week we have cakes and quiz on Friday. This Friday I wrote the quiz!

Friday Night Drinking

So on Friday I left work on time for the first time in six days and dashed into town in my finery to meet a number of friends for a number of drinks. My plan was to drink until 11pm then go home and get a good night's sleep, as I had to get up early to paint my slightly dingy bedroom (described by a recent nighttime exploration into the realms of Skanky Indie Boy as 'sort of shabby boho, yeah?').

I don't remember 11pm coming and going but it must have done, because the next I knew it was 4am and I was heavily involved with 'leaning' in a brave attempt to avoid the floor.

I woke up on Saturday literally feeling like death. I've seen friends on comedowns who weren't gurning and shaking as as much as me. Somehow, whilst asleep, I'd managed to lose my phone and in my 8am stupor I was frantically planning to cancel my phone because I had the IMEI number somewhere and I would have to get t-Mobile to send me a new SIM card because I couldn't cancel the contract but my phone wouldn't be insured because I cancelled that when they were so useless over the Thailand phone, but even though I could buy a cheap shit phone I needed to a SIM card to put in it because I would still be paying for the contract, and then someone phoned me and I realised it had been under my coat the whole time.

The cat avoided me like the plague on Saturday because as Donna enlightened me, once I'd managed to weave my way up the stairs to bed at 4.30am, banging into the wall on either side as I felt it necessary, I'd grabbed the cat (who'd come to investigate) and lain facedown on my bed cuddling (read: crushing) him and telling him I loved him, much to his distaste. She knew I'd been telling him such because she had been able to hear me through four feet of wall.

During the course of the night, I'd also managed to convince myself that the guy with the red tie and shiny red shoes that I'd met in Dogma was actually my soulmate and I was a total tosser to have let him leave without getting his number (even though I hadn't noticed him leaving because I was too busy flirting with the blond science teacher) and that the best ever plan of action would be to put his first name into Facebook and search through them all until I found a Joe who worked in Leeds, had a degree in English and Philosophy, ran a moderately successful small business and was prepared to listen to me slur about riot grrl on his birthday night out.

Luckily by the time I'd sobered up enough to work a computer (about 4pm) the internet was broken and I had time to realise what a genuinely stupid idea that was.

No painting got done. Zoe and I went to Asda for hangover food and I had to sit on the floor halfway round to avoid being overwhelmed by the noise and movement and general sense that I was putting in much more effort than the situation warranted.

Moral of the story: get business cards printed. Hand them out with abandon.