ID intervention

This is such a lame premise for a blog entry but I don't care. I had my work ID photo taken today and it bites. The big one.

Why, why, why do I always come out with evil looking red eyes, and why, why, why does my hair always look dirty or flat or just plain weird?? I swear I thought I'd have these personal grooming kinks worked out by now. It's so not fair!!

When I was in grade 3 it was cute, when I was in grade 7 it was understandable, when I was in grade 11 it was regrettable - but at age 25, it's just unacceptable. Honestly, I swear I'm one more bad ID shot away from signing myself up to one of these extreme makeover shows. Plastic surgery risks be damned - I'm not emotionally equipped to handle any more cow lick crisis's!

green toes

It only occurred to me on Sunday, that the garden (now our garden for a whole year) is MY GARDEN! Hurrah! Spent 4 gloriously sweaty hours pruning leggy roses, shaping unruly hedges and removing shoes from the undergrowth. Yes, shoes… amongst other random items, including: full beer cans, a mouldy shirt, a fork, insulated electrical wire and numerous stolen ashtrays & pint glasses. Not a bad haul for a patch of garden no bigger than 10sq m.

The whole ‘hose pipe ban’ slightly bemuses me though. Drought? This country has no idea what a drought looks like. I look outside, I see green – we’re all good. Call me back with your crazy water restriction talk when every last blade of grass in your back garden has turned brown and died. Still, I suppose it’s a good idea they start pulling up their socks sooner rather than later. It's not really going to get much better from here on in, is it. Possibly a side effect of where I was raised, but running out of fresh water comes second only to being buried alive, as my biggest fear.

Damn it all, El Nino is pooping all over my dream of my very own English cottage-garden! Grrrr.

one lucky sob

I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet. I dodged a bullet!!

get this monkey off my back

It seems I have a problem. I don't want to be happy and this brutal disposition is preventing me from take chances that might lead to happiness. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

Yes, BPP got roundly told off by a spurned suitor last night – outside a hip-hop karaoke bar in Soho. (anyone else ever marvel at the sentences you find yourself uttering at times??)

What is with this new breed of loser that doesn't just gracefully bow out when we give them the polite, well established f-off lines? Are they sadists? Do they actually want us to say what's on our mind - which is generally something to the effect of "You look like a monkey and it'll be a cold day in Madagascar before I'd play with your banana". I just don't bloody understand why there has to be this big conversation where I have to provide REASONS for why I find them unattractive. There's no spark, kick, connection – WHATEVER. Doesn’t it all simply boil down to the fact that something chemical in me doesn't like something chemical in you? I can't help it... at least I don't think I can. I guess you can't really discount all the psycho-somatic, f-ed baggage... Ahhhh! What am I doing?! Monkey boy is NOT going to make me freak out! (I don’t say this to be cruel people, the parallels between him and our primate cousins are disturbing)

At least the big scene is finally over. I’d been putting it & him off for far too long (hang on, shouldn’t THAT in itself been a bit of a CLUE for the muppet!) but absurd as it may seem, I’m not entirely comfortable the idea of monkey boy hating me. It really, really didn't end well - storming off scene and everything. (that would be him btw – bloody hysterical woman-monkey)

Oh yeah, and Vish is staging some stupid school boy intrigue at the moment as well. Soooo can't be ar$$ed even writing about it – after his whole numbchuck/nunchaku diatribe that boy will NEVER see me naked.

Very, very, very, tired of it all.

she shoots, she scores

The Offside Rule (as stolen from The Times)

Imagine yourself out shopping - you find some shoes you really want and you are desperate to buy them. There's a catch: in order to buy them you must place yourself at exactly the right place in the queue - with one person between you and the sales assistant making the transaction. Think of the person in front of you as a defender from the other team and the sales assistant as the goalie. If you can pay for your shoes over the head of or around the side of the customer in front of you - you can have the shoes/score the goal. If you get to the front of the queue without managing this, you cannot buy those shoes/your goal is disallowed in spite of the fact that the shoes are on the counter/in the goal.

Apparently, being in an offside position is not an offence in itself, but then come to think of it, neither is buying shoes.

SOCCEROOS THROUGH TO THE 1ST ROUND - IT'S A WORLD GONE (PLEASANTLY) MAD!!!

so you wanna be a rock star?

Ohhh, I’m so crushing on the lead singer from The Stokes today. And after I had decided so resolvedly to hate him (his bio reads like a 'poor little rich boy' telemovie) Such a hottie… well such a hottie from a distance of around 150m. Hard to tell when you’re being painfully sandwiched between an army of annoyingly chic Spanish teenagers, dangerously baked larger louts and one particularly vomit inducing couple who seemed intent on staging, if not the world’s most public sex act, then certainly the world’s most manhandled. God I sound old. God I am old – only survived 4 songs in the pit before I had to push my way out like a big sissy. It’s all downhill from here I tell you.

Two big concerts in Hyde Park in less than a week though – not too bad for a granny.

being bpp

I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil. I’m watching a pot boil.

smug-a-lug

Trying to find a way to avoid smugness… feeling the smugness creeping in… highly suspicious of the smugness… smugness cometh before fall.

For the 1st time this year, things seem to be miraculously falling into place, all over the place. Job: CHECK, Finances: semi-check (damn shoes), House: check, Social life: check (x2), Love life: well you can’t have everything can you?

The big high is the job. Seriously, in my most pie-in-the-sky fantasies I never imagined I’d be working for this company. When people used to ask me what I was going to do with a degree in art history and another in business management, to shut them up, I would blather something about fine art auctioneering; specifically naming my current employer. I’m still absolutely gob smacked - I guess the joke’s on me!

It’s a damn site more sexy than saying I work in non-conforming loans too. No one at the pub ever got excited when I mentioned 3 year fixed self cert mortgages. Recounting conversations with Mick Jagger’s brother or discussing the latest Francis Bacon to come up for sale, on the other hand, commands respect.

Despite the actual job description though, the guys I used to work with were a super lovely bunch – so incomprehensively patient with my bumbling ways & good for a bit o’ banter ;-). I was only there for 3 months and when I left they sorted me out with £60 worth of food vouchers because they thought I’d starve working in the arts… what did I tell you – funny! Unfortunately after last Friday night, I can never return.

It’s just too clichéd to bear. I was invited back for the launch off of the project I was helping out on… and there was an open bar… and I was wearing my new pumps… and well… one of my colleagues… technically my supervisor… omg.

That’s enough for today I think.

long time, no blog

Right, well that 'wee break' was a little longer than originally planned. Won't bore with yawn-worthy details (one's saga is really only infinity interesting to oneself) but let's just say life got complicated, life got chaotic, life got good.

But now I'm back to my little pursuit, I find I'm looking at the project again with fresh eyes. Maybe instead of a random collection of antecdotal jiberish, I could come up with a cohesive theme. Maybe art, or more specifically, the art market. Or would that be too boring?

Hmmm, probably. Plus I'd more than likely innocently blab some insignificant yet confidential tid-bit and Bob's your uncle - my little blog pops up in some random Google key word search, I'm being quoted in the Daily Mail and my boss wants me to hand in my swipe card. Methinks I'm over-thinking this. Let's just return to regular scheduled programming.