Burning issues (shoulders)

New datee continues to set off alarm bells left right and centre! Now I think he might be a murderer in the style of American Psycho.

1. Ex girlfriend, not his fault (maybe?), still don't want to hear it. Do I talk about exes? No!
2. Made me watch Ichi The Killer, cartoon version. Cartoons; creepy. Cartoons about maschocism; wrong.
3. Constant reference to sex becomes increasingly wearing.

Watched American Psycho and The Dark Knight this weekend though, so it's increasingly clear to me that as Stephen Fry will never be mine, Christian Bale would make a fair second.

Story so far

I've got really veiny hands today. I think it's due to my glandular fever (pending).

I found two jobs I want to apply for. I'm now debating whether it's immoral to print my CV off at work (my printer is out of paper).

If I get one more 31 yr old man, resident of Birmingham or dirty-looking Scruffy McFacebeard befriending me on me & my housemate's Joint Dating Site, I am giving up in disgust and accepting that I am either a hideous waste of space or so disgustingly picky that I am going to be alone forever.

Already my new datee's one in-context mention of his ex-girlfriend has set off the alarm bells. Boys: do not talk about exes to prospective new girlfriends. It is like signal city. The signal is: BAGGAGE.

events and promotions

Friday night was Date Night. I fixed the fingernail sitution with some convincingly french-manicured fakes and put on my glad rags to go dancing. It was good! I didn't get a lot of sleep and didn't actually part company with said date until 5pm on Saturday, when I drove home to get ready to go out AGAIN with my housemates and friends.

8pm in the Malt Cross led to to 7am houseparty at Christina's and a 72-hour no-sleep stint. I came home to my curtainless bedroom and slept like the dead until eleven, when I could sleep no more and got up to sit on the couch with Zoe, eating popcorn and praying for death.

Every muscle in my entire body, including those in my face, hurts. Badly.

Now my sleep schedule is all out of whack. I feel like I've flown longhaul inside a gas canister.

update

1. Worked in Emma's cafe, really miss Rach and Em on a daily basis, wish I was a waitress again

2. Stupidly busy at work, coping with the workload of three plus training two new people

3. Went to Bolton Abbey, old lady sang choral music in the antehall, I nearly cried because it was so beautiful

4. Zoe's boyfriend sent me an email on our joint dating site, he's no longer her boyfriend.

5. Landlords sent me a letter informing me I owed £1888 backrent, turned out to be factually inaccurate in the highest degree

6. Got a date on Friday night, so nervous I've chewed off all my fingernails

this is how we roll

In other news, I'm driving an untaxed vehicle.

Please don't call the fuzz.

turnoffs: long hair, power.

Today Andy asked me if there was anything I didn't find irritating. I couldn't think of anything.

More importantly, Baldymort stood next to me at the printer for an extended period of time, causing shaky-legs syndrome and the desire to start talking about something; anything!; to garner and nuture his attention. Luckily I am a grown up now so he had to make do with a sultry glance.

I hope he didn't notice that I've got fake-tan stains on the inside of my fingers.

she puts the weights into my little heart

On Saturday night I got a text message which underlined my innate, unthinking callousness. I do things all the time which affect other people but I never really evaluate the effects of my actions on said others. Sometimes this means badly for them; sometimes for me. More often for me but sometimes it has repercussions for all concerned.

This text referenced an email I had promised to send, but never did. I promised to send it whilst in full possession of the knowledge that I never ever would. The reasons for this course of behaviour are manifold and none of them reflect well on me. Suffice to say that I frequently come across as 'sweet' to new people, when in fact what they are seeing is just a temporary repression of my natural vitriol; and while I can fling words around like the best of them and come up with something wildly hilarious and yet touchingly personal at the same time, I resent feeling like I am obliged to provide this service.

Coming across as sweet is nice, because this is what I would desperately like to be, as I outlined to my equally drunk and effusive colleague on Friday night. However this facade leads to heartache because it's false and underneath the surface tension I am cruel and amusing and good to my friends, but never sweet. When meeting new people I am constantly on tenterhooks because I know that the first impression is wrong and eventually they're either going to be disappointed or relieved. My best friends are the ones who are relieved.

I think part of the problem is that, somehow, I sound incredibly, incredibly posh. I don't have an accent anymore, I just sound rich. This, as we all know, is very far from the case. Having grown up in what could generously be classed as a 'ghetto', my stupid poncy voice is as much a mystery to me as everyone else but it does seem to lead some people into false assumptions regarding my regal bearing and excellent breeding.

Anyone who witnessed me dealing with my Xtreme nausea on Friday night, which lasted about nine hours and involved two bathrooms and a bin, knows that any blue blood in my veins is due to alcohol poisoning and not lineage.

this cake is moist and lesbian

There's a work night out on Friday.

We haven't had one for a while.

My two best friends have moved to other parts of the business and in their place are two eager graduates. I feel like Yossarian.

I invited the new boy who sits down the office because he hasn't got any friends, and I felt sorry for him. Now I'm worried that soon it will be me who doesn't have any friends and needs a pity-invite because I suddenly hate everyone at work. I won't need to hand my notice in, my boss is going to fire me for my sarcastic and negligent attitude.

My hands are healing OK though.