Mum: Ohh, 'War of the Worlds' is on
David: I've been through the Boeing 747 Jet crash set in Universal Studios on a tram!
Mum: No, that was in Coronoation Street.
All of Us: ??????????
It's ok. She understands the world in a slightly different way from the rest of us. She's quite content.
xXx
Thursday 30 December 2010
Dad, I can't talk- J-Park 3 is on
*Phone Rings. It's Pandy*
Me: Hey Dad.
Dad: Hey, can you just ask... wait, what's that?
Me: What's what?
Dad: In the backround. What's all that screaming?
Me: Oh, yeah, Billy's parachute got stuck, and now the pterodactyls are all up in his grill.
Dad:... What?
Me: yeah, no, he was trying to save Eric, but Eric was in their nest and now, well... Bitches. Be. Trippin'. Sam Neill's doing the best he can, but-
Dad: OHH, you're watching a Jurassic Park film!
Me:...You sound surprised.
xXx
Me: Hey Dad.
Dad: Hey, can you just ask... wait, what's that?
Me: What's what?
Dad: In the backround. What's all that screaming?
Me: Oh, yeah, Billy's parachute got stuck, and now the pterodactyls are all up in his grill.
Dad:... What?
Me: yeah, no, he was trying to save Eric, but Eric was in their nest and now, well... Bitches. Be. Trippin'. Sam Neill's doing the best he can, but-
Dad: OHH, you're watching a Jurassic Park film!
Me:...You sound surprised.
xXx
Tuesday 28 December 2010
Pretty Boy
I just wrote this about 10 minutes ago, after a sudden urge to write something, anything down. It's a first draft, so feedback is welcome :)
Are you scared, Pretty Boy?
Sing a song, roll the words from your tongue,
Pretty Boy; Lay low
Feel the ground, inch by inch
less than the the sky that surrounds,
breathe deep, Pretty Boy
Granite slips on rubber souls
Are you scared Pretty Boy?
The thread will move the way you make it,
come loose or tighten either way
Lay Low, Pretty Boy
The Motion ends the pulse begins
the timing's off, hold still
Pretty Boy.
They'll not be found.
Manic, stricken, panic, lust
feel it catch in your throat, catch,
as it flies from your feet
cored as a whole
Are you scared, Pretty Boy?
Lay Low.
xXx
Sunday 19 December 2010
Piggy Bath Narration
Thought process of this piglet;
00:09 seconds
SH*T ME, it's cold. Seriously, what the F**K has a piglet gotta do to get a little warmth over here? Jeez, what, look cute? I couldn't BE more cute if I tried!! PFFT. f**ck you lot.
00:19
Your moustache is amazing, Mr farmer. What's with the bucket of water though? That's kinda weird.
00:22
WOAH, WOAH WOAH WHAT THE F**K ARE YOU DOIN'? WHAT TH- SERIOUSLY, WHAT THE F- lemme go, LEMME GOOO-
00:25
Oh. Well...this, this is wonderful!!
00:30
AHHHHHHH MAAAAN THIS FEELS GOOOOOOOOOOD
00:33
Sucks to be you lot, eh? HUH? HOW YOU LIKE ME NOW, BWOIIII???
00:42
This. Is. The. Tits.
00:44
*SMILE*
xXx
Saturday 18 December 2010
Bus People
My second short story for the term. Enjoy.
I leave work and as my breath becomes mist, momentarily blinding me, I discover winter has truly arrived. I scrabble for the cigarette I've been counting down the hours to. I go to light it, but am stopped when I walk face first into what feels like a wall but is actually the broad chest of a man I don't really recognise. Although maybe I do know him? He seems a little familiar...
“You shouldn't smoke you know,” I hear what he's saying but I'm still trying to work out where I know him fr- “It affects everything, not just your lungs,” -om. This is so weird, can you get De Ja Vu for people? 'Cos it feels like- “It affects your hair, your skin, your breath. Your sex drive...”- De Ja Vu, but I don't know if you can...wait, did he just mention my sex drive? I look up, and his quizzical brow and leering demeanour confirms that yes he did just mention my sex drive.
“My...My what?”
“And let's face it”- he leans in a little and I blanch from the mustyness coming from his hot mouth- “we wouldn't want that now, would we?”
In this moment, two things suddenly occur to me: 1) I'm standing in front of a strange man I don't know, who's making lewd remarks about my sex drive and 2) I'm standing in front of a strange man I don't know, who's making lewd remarks about my sex drive and I'm alone. I toss my eyes around to double check and yep; definitely no one else is around. This is not a good place for a young woman of five foot three, who knows as much about self-defence as a nun does the Kama Sutra, to be.
I pull my phone out to give Lindsay a call- she's most definitely with Rob, her new boyfriend; I can't stand him. Linds argues my issues with him stem from the fact that his mate stood me up on the blind date they'd organised, but I argue it's because he's a twat and a massive control freak. But he is just that- massive. Currently, this guy has the height advantage but with Rob in tow it could even the odds a little. Dammit, I've got no signal. Stupid unreliable network.
“Samantha,” the sound of my name is foreign, snapping me back to the moment, “you're looking at me like you don't know me!” he laughs, his eyebrows arching so high they sit on his fringe, as it dawns on me why it sounded so weird to hear him say my name- he shouldn't know it.
“Er,” I take a few steps back and begin to sidle along the wall of the building that although five minutes ago I'd been desperate to leave I now sought the sanctuary of. “Well, that's probably something to do with the fact that I don't really know you!” I try giving him my best 'Hey, it could happen to anyone!' look, whilst simultaneously hiding my 'Oh god I'm going to be killed, who the hell is going to take care of my cat when I'm dead?!' look.
“Sammy,” he steps forward, following my terrified footfalls and falling into the shadow of the pillar behind him, so that all I can see is the outline of his dense figure and his words forming clouds in the cold night air, “Sam...we see each other everyday!” It sounds like he's smiling but I can't see his face. I'm reminded of these clowns that my Dad once hired for my eleventh birthday. They turned up and left half an hour later, once I'd stopped crying loud enough for one of them to make me a balloon animal. My dad had complained for days afterwards that it was £40 he'd never see again, but I'd hated those stupid clowns because I couldn't see their faces and it scared me. You don't really know what a person is thinking unless you can see their expression, you can only interpret how they say something and the way this hulk in front of me was talking caused a tickle along my hairline as I stood in fear.
I know I have to say something to him, but I want to sound as cavalier as I can, “When? When, I've- I've never-” I can't say that I've never seen him before because that's not true, I know him from somewhere, I just can't think-
“The bus, Sammy? I'm Ben from the bus?”
What does he mean, Ben from the- Oh. Shit.
It started when they put the new bus route in about four weeks ago; I'd been ecstatic. Being the lazy bitch that I am, finding out the bus, the 22A, went not only right by my road but ended up outside where I worked? It was like a fat kid's wet dream. No more rushing about to get ready, no more getting up at 06:30 every morning so that I could shower, eat, have a cup of tea, mentally prepare myself for going into work and facing the general public. Like, that guy who comes in twice a week to buy the same 12 pack of socks. Or the thirty-something who always brings his mum when he shops for underwear. You need time to brace yourself for these elusive mentalists. Oh God bless the 22A and all who sail in ye! The fact is, I don't actually mind my job at all; I'm the regional sales manager for a big store in the middle of the city. The problem is it's a hefty forty-five minute walk away from my house, and it's imperative I get there on time. It became so monotonous I began dreading going to sleep only to be woken up by what must be Satan's answer to an alarm clock. REE-REE-REE-REE-REE- searing through my sleeping ears and filling every pore with hate and despair- REE REE REE. If I heard a similar noise during the day I would feel ill, and very dark thoughts would drift to the fore of my mind. But when they introduced the 22A, I felt like my prayers had been answered. I began waking up at 07:30 instead, which seems like nothing but means the world when you're as lazy as I am. People even noticed the difference in me at work. Well they didn't say anything but I heard less whispers of 'Uppity Bitch' as I walked past them, and didn't find my-self tripping over the accidentally-on-purpose extended legs of my colleagues half as much as I used to.
I didn't notice Ben until about the fifth day of bus based fun. When I did, it was because the only seat left on the bus was beside him, and I remember thinking 'At least the spare seat's next to a normal'. As I sat down he smiled, and although he wasn't my type- I kinda go for the weedy, often bespectacled, musicians and this guy was all about the burly rugby player look- I noticed that he was easy on the eye and has a good sense of style- I recognised his jacket as one we had sold last month, very classy and well cut. My friends had pointed out to me before, though, that this was the case with me almost constantly, and that if I actually did hook up with every guy I said was cute I would probably have in the region of 134 children and counting. We never spoke, but a week later I noticed him on the bus again; this time because he was talking so loudly on the phone that it had annoyed me. I didn't recognise him as being the guy I'd sat next to though, until the very next day when I saw him on the 22A again- I figured he must have work to go to much like I do, and there were plenty of other people on the bus I'd begun to recognise; Hairy Lady, who's top lip was as fur-lined as a politically incorrect coat; Intense Asian Guy, who always looked like he was about to cry and would jump every time someone sat next to him, and that school kid that looked like a corporate owl. They were all there, and this guy just fell into the category of 'Bus People' that I never thought about.
But, evidently I didn't fall so much into that category in his mind; if his mind actually categorised things. Right now I'm thinking if his mind does categorise things, the piles are labelled 'crazy things I could do today' and 'Girls I stalk from the bus'. Damn, I haven't said anything to him whilst I was remembering all this, I should probably say something.
“Ok, but... I don't actually ever remember telling you my name so...” word yourself carefully Sammy-Girl, don't be blunt with the guy; he looks like he could break you, “How is it that you know what...I'm called?” 'What I'm called'? I'm making myself sound like a pet. He considers this for a minute, whilst I gently rock back and forth on my heels trying to work out whether A) I could outrun him, which is highly unlikely considering how much I now depend on the bus that ironically led me to be in this scenario and B) Whether or not it was worth calling for help. My Mum once told me that if I ever do get into a situation where I'm in dire need of help that I'm supposed to yell 'fire!', because it taps into that part of the human mind that needs drama and excitement and so people will respond to it; but if you yell 'rape!' or 'help!' no one gives a shit or comes to your assistance. I was always really saddened by this fact, and the amount of human nature that human nature seemed to lack. Then I decided I should make a game of it and try and shout something really obscure to freak out my attacker. I'm trying to think of a word obscure enough to scare off this heifer, when Ben grabs me by my arm. I freeze, like a person who's been caught out for not listening to a conversation, and try to pull away; the sense of how unreal this situation is becoming is taking me by surprise. His grip only tightens. He pulls me out of the shadow of the building and into the bleak moonlight and unnatural warmth of the street lamps. I tug once more, so hard a sound of effort escapes my mouth that's now clenched in fear. When my arm fails to even budge from his hands my thoughts turn to how much this will ruin my parents. To hear that their beautiful- in their eyes, I'd always argued, not in the world's- daughter had been raped and killed in a vicious attack minutes away from a bustling high street. How she had called for, not only 'help' but for some reason 'parsnips', and still no one had come. I imagined my mother tearfully saying 'I told her to shout fire, the stupid girl'. You always here about women being attacked- usually on some dodgy Channel Four documentary called 'Danger on your doorstep'- but I never thought I'd become another statistic. Having said that, it's been a while since any man has even touched me, so it'll probably so me some good. You know you're desperate to find someone when you begin considering rape a plus. But my parents, they'd fall apart. Well screw this; I'm not going down without a fight! I should leave him with some horrific scar so that the police might discover him more easily and arrest him for life. Thinking about it though, my bag holds quite simply; a used lipstick; empty packets of chewing gum; a five week old lottery ticket that has £10 on it and my keys. Not exactly an arsenal. I could used my keys-
“Oh Samantha, I'm so glad I found you-” cooed Ben from the bus as he took hold of my waist, yeah, I could definitely use my keys and just jab them into his face quickly -”I'm so glad I found you-”
I don't understand why he keeps saying that, it's really annoying, “But...you didn't find me. You followed me”
Ben from the bus lets go of my waist and looks confused, “What?” Ooh, time to pull away from him a little, “I followed you?”
“Yeah, you followed me. That's just...there's no effort in that. At all. That's like saying to a pirate-”
“A pirate?”
“-'Oh man, well done finding the treasure on the map someone else drew out for you”, I'm dimly aware of the fact I'm talking about pirates, because in his confusion Ben from the bus has let go of my wrist, too “and you know, that's just not kosher.”
“Sam, what? Are you aware that you're no making any sense?”
Hypocritical bastard!! “Chhyeah, says the guy who waits outside my work, then grabs me, insisting he knows me when he doesn't!!” I'm really pissed off now, and I can see on his face that my new confidence has left him baffled, “You come swanning over, picking on the first innocent girl you-”
He scoffs, interrupting my Joan of Arc style rant, “Ha, innocent? You?”. His tone is too friendly and his smirk too familiar. I turn to run, not wanting to find out what happens next, but he predicts my movements and I end up with a face full of burly chest once more.
I feel my throat tense, and try to force the words out in a cool command, “Seriously, you have to leave me alone. Now. I don't know why you followed me-”
“Ok, what? I didn't follow you, what is wrong with you? Sam, it's me!” His earnest expression halts the scathing comeback I've got prepared and I notice we're a lot closer to the high street that I thought. In fact, there's a homeless guy about 30 feet, probably less, from where we're stood, and this area is so well lit, you'd think it was dusk rather than late evening.
“You... you didn't follow m-”
“No. Why would I follow you?”
“But then, how did you know to wait outside-”
“I honestly didn't know you worked here. I just came in to buy a new jacket”, he motions towards me as if I'm supposed to know what he's talking about, “this afternoon and I saw you on the shop floor, so rather than-”
“A new jacket?”
“Yeah to replace the one I left at yours last week. I figured we wouldn't...”
His explanation becomes a drone as my memory sparks back to life.
There was a club. There was definitely alcohol. Too much alcohol. It was my friends Sarah's 27th birthday, and being the wannabe teens that we are we played drinking games. None of us knew the rules to any of these games, so we just drank constantly. We made our way to the club, but I have no recollection of the journey there or back, only some of the actual club itself. Ben had approached me first, asking if he could buy me a drink; apparently, on the first day of the new bus route, the distraction of my beautiful face had caused him to accidentally sit on the lap of Intense Asian-Guy, rather than the empty seat next to him. By the way, this memory comes partially courtesy of Lindsay; once again, she'd been instructed by Rob not to drink because he 'didn't want to have to deal with it later'. Bastard made a living out of spoiling her fun. But, she was able to fill the, many, gaps in my memory. She told me that I had taken the drink, kissed Ben on the cheek and then run away shrieking as soon as I'd heard the first few everlasting chords of Haddaway's 'What is love?' When Lindsay had approached me about Ben I had slurred into her ear “He'sss like, twice the sssizeofme, Lindz. I think he'd sssnap me in two. Isss it bad that that's turningmeon?” Lindsay, despite being disgusted with me, had helped me find him once again. When we did, it was because we walked straight past him and he'd grabbed hold of my hand, and I remember now that at the time I'd been struck with the force with which he'd gripped me, so much so I had yelled out and pulled away. He had pulled me towards him, apologising, telling me that he 'didn't know his own strength most of the time'. Thinking on my reaction minutes ago, I can only cringe at what my reaction had been then; to throw my arms around his neck and declare in my sexiest (read drunken) voice “Well, maaybe it'sss about time we found out, eeeh?” Lindsay said we had left straight after that and no one heard from me until around 3 in the afternoon the next day. By heard from me I mean received a text begging them to bring me paracetamol and McDonalds.
I should probably start listening to Ben now, he's still talking. I feel ridiculous for my previous reaction, and looking at him again now I can see why I was first attracted to him. I mean, he's a good guy, right? He must've taken care of me that night. He came to meet me outside of work, and he didn't wanna bug me about that jacket, so maybe this means he likes me? We kind of have a cute story we could tell the grandchildren; 'Well, Nana met Grandad at a club when she was off her face. They hooked up, but Nana forgot that, then the next time she thought Grandad was a rapist, but it turns out he was the love of her life!' Well, maybe not the Grandchildren. But this could be the one I've been waiting fo-
“-and you see, the things is, after you threw up on me, then on my jacket, then on my shoes I just figured you wouldn't wanna see me again because you'd be too embarrassed. So I decided rather than ask you about the jacket I thought I'd come in today and buy a new one. You kept insisting on cleaning it, and you even tried to wash it there and then, but when you started walking towards the washing machine with your cat in one hand and washing powder tablets in the other, I realised it was probably time you went to bed.”
Ok, so it's not a Jane Austen classic but you know...it's a start.
xXx
Bus People
I leave work and as my breath becomes mist, momentarily blinding me, I discover winter has truly arrived. I scrabble for the cigarette I've been counting down the hours to. I go to light it, but am stopped when I walk face first into what feels like a wall but is actually the broad chest of a man I don't really recognise. Although maybe I do know him? He seems a little familiar...
“You shouldn't smoke you know,” I hear what he's saying but I'm still trying to work out where I know him fr- “It affects everything, not just your lungs,” -om. This is so weird, can you get De Ja Vu for people? 'Cos it feels like- “It affects your hair, your skin, your breath. Your sex drive...”- De Ja Vu, but I don't know if you can...wait, did he just mention my sex drive? I look up, and his quizzical brow and leering demeanour confirms that yes he did just mention my sex drive.
“My...My what?”
“And let's face it”- he leans in a little and I blanch from the mustyness coming from his hot mouth- “we wouldn't want that now, would we?”
In this moment, two things suddenly occur to me: 1) I'm standing in front of a strange man I don't know, who's making lewd remarks about my sex drive and 2) I'm standing in front of a strange man I don't know, who's making lewd remarks about my sex drive and I'm alone. I toss my eyes around to double check and yep; definitely no one else is around. This is not a good place for a young woman of five foot three, who knows as much about self-defence as a nun does the Kama Sutra, to be.
I pull my phone out to give Lindsay a call- she's most definitely with Rob, her new boyfriend; I can't stand him. Linds argues my issues with him stem from the fact that his mate stood me up on the blind date they'd organised, but I argue it's because he's a twat and a massive control freak. But he is just that- massive. Currently, this guy has the height advantage but with Rob in tow it could even the odds a little. Dammit, I've got no signal. Stupid unreliable network.
“Samantha,” the sound of my name is foreign, snapping me back to the moment, “you're looking at me like you don't know me!” he laughs, his eyebrows arching so high they sit on his fringe, as it dawns on me why it sounded so weird to hear him say my name- he shouldn't know it.
“Er,” I take a few steps back and begin to sidle along the wall of the building that although five minutes ago I'd been desperate to leave I now sought the sanctuary of. “Well, that's probably something to do with the fact that I don't really know you!” I try giving him my best 'Hey, it could happen to anyone!' look, whilst simultaneously hiding my 'Oh god I'm going to be killed, who the hell is going to take care of my cat when I'm dead?!' look.
“Sammy,” he steps forward, following my terrified footfalls and falling into the shadow of the pillar behind him, so that all I can see is the outline of his dense figure and his words forming clouds in the cold night air, “Sam...we see each other everyday!” It sounds like he's smiling but I can't see his face. I'm reminded of these clowns that my Dad once hired for my eleventh birthday. They turned up and left half an hour later, once I'd stopped crying loud enough for one of them to make me a balloon animal. My dad had complained for days afterwards that it was £40 he'd never see again, but I'd hated those stupid clowns because I couldn't see their faces and it scared me. You don't really know what a person is thinking unless you can see their expression, you can only interpret how they say something and the way this hulk in front of me was talking caused a tickle along my hairline as I stood in fear.
I know I have to say something to him, but I want to sound as cavalier as I can, “When? When, I've- I've never-” I can't say that I've never seen him before because that's not true, I know him from somewhere, I just can't think-
“The bus, Sammy? I'm Ben from the bus?”
What does he mean, Ben from the- Oh. Shit.
It started when they put the new bus route in about four weeks ago; I'd been ecstatic. Being the lazy bitch that I am, finding out the bus, the 22A, went not only right by my road but ended up outside where I worked? It was like a fat kid's wet dream. No more rushing about to get ready, no more getting up at 06:30 every morning so that I could shower, eat, have a cup of tea, mentally prepare myself for going into work and facing the general public. Like, that guy who comes in twice a week to buy the same 12 pack of socks. Or the thirty-something who always brings his mum when he shops for underwear. You need time to brace yourself for these elusive mentalists. Oh God bless the 22A and all who sail in ye! The fact is, I don't actually mind my job at all; I'm the regional sales manager for a big store in the middle of the city. The problem is it's a hefty forty-five minute walk away from my house, and it's imperative I get there on time. It became so monotonous I began dreading going to sleep only to be woken up by what must be Satan's answer to an alarm clock. REE-REE-REE-REE-REE- searing through my sleeping ears and filling every pore with hate and despair- REE REE REE. If I heard a similar noise during the day I would feel ill, and very dark thoughts would drift to the fore of my mind. But when they introduced the 22A, I felt like my prayers had been answered. I began waking up at 07:30 instead, which seems like nothing but means the world when you're as lazy as I am. People even noticed the difference in me at work. Well they didn't say anything but I heard less whispers of 'Uppity Bitch' as I walked past them, and didn't find my-self tripping over the accidentally-on-purpose extended legs of my colleagues half as much as I used to.
I didn't notice Ben until about the fifth day of bus based fun. When I did, it was because the only seat left on the bus was beside him, and I remember thinking 'At least the spare seat's next to a normal'. As I sat down he smiled, and although he wasn't my type- I kinda go for the weedy, often bespectacled, musicians and this guy was all about the burly rugby player look- I noticed that he was easy on the eye and has a good sense of style- I recognised his jacket as one we had sold last month, very classy and well cut. My friends had pointed out to me before, though, that this was the case with me almost constantly, and that if I actually did hook up with every guy I said was cute I would probably have in the region of 134 children and counting. We never spoke, but a week later I noticed him on the bus again; this time because he was talking so loudly on the phone that it had annoyed me. I didn't recognise him as being the guy I'd sat next to though, until the very next day when I saw him on the 22A again- I figured he must have work to go to much like I do, and there were plenty of other people on the bus I'd begun to recognise; Hairy Lady, who's top lip was as fur-lined as a politically incorrect coat; Intense Asian Guy, who always looked like he was about to cry and would jump every time someone sat next to him, and that school kid that looked like a corporate owl. They were all there, and this guy just fell into the category of 'Bus People' that I never thought about.
But, evidently I didn't fall so much into that category in his mind; if his mind actually categorised things. Right now I'm thinking if his mind does categorise things, the piles are labelled 'crazy things I could do today' and 'Girls I stalk from the bus'. Damn, I haven't said anything to him whilst I was remembering all this, I should probably say something.
“Ok, but... I don't actually ever remember telling you my name so...” word yourself carefully Sammy-Girl, don't be blunt with the guy; he looks like he could break you, “How is it that you know what...I'm called?” 'What I'm called'? I'm making myself sound like a pet. He considers this for a minute, whilst I gently rock back and forth on my heels trying to work out whether A) I could outrun him, which is highly unlikely considering how much I now depend on the bus that ironically led me to be in this scenario and B) Whether or not it was worth calling for help. My Mum once told me that if I ever do get into a situation where I'm in dire need of help that I'm supposed to yell 'fire!', because it taps into that part of the human mind that needs drama and excitement and so people will respond to it; but if you yell 'rape!' or 'help!' no one gives a shit or comes to your assistance. I was always really saddened by this fact, and the amount of human nature that human nature seemed to lack. Then I decided I should make a game of it and try and shout something really obscure to freak out my attacker. I'm trying to think of a word obscure enough to scare off this heifer, when Ben grabs me by my arm. I freeze, like a person who's been caught out for not listening to a conversation, and try to pull away; the sense of how unreal this situation is becoming is taking me by surprise. His grip only tightens. He pulls me out of the shadow of the building and into the bleak moonlight and unnatural warmth of the street lamps. I tug once more, so hard a sound of effort escapes my mouth that's now clenched in fear. When my arm fails to even budge from his hands my thoughts turn to how much this will ruin my parents. To hear that their beautiful- in their eyes, I'd always argued, not in the world's- daughter had been raped and killed in a vicious attack minutes away from a bustling high street. How she had called for, not only 'help' but for some reason 'parsnips', and still no one had come. I imagined my mother tearfully saying 'I told her to shout fire, the stupid girl'. You always here about women being attacked- usually on some dodgy Channel Four documentary called 'Danger on your doorstep'- but I never thought I'd become another statistic. Having said that, it's been a while since any man has even touched me, so it'll probably so me some good. You know you're desperate to find someone when you begin considering rape a plus. But my parents, they'd fall apart. Well screw this; I'm not going down without a fight! I should leave him with some horrific scar so that the police might discover him more easily and arrest him for life. Thinking about it though, my bag holds quite simply; a used lipstick; empty packets of chewing gum; a five week old lottery ticket that has £10 on it and my keys. Not exactly an arsenal. I could used my keys-
“Oh Samantha, I'm so glad I found you-” cooed Ben from the bus as he took hold of my waist, yeah, I could definitely use my keys and just jab them into his face quickly -”I'm so glad I found you-”
I don't understand why he keeps saying that, it's really annoying, “But...you didn't find me. You followed me”
Ben from the bus lets go of my waist and looks confused, “What?” Ooh, time to pull away from him a little, “I followed you?”
“Yeah, you followed me. That's just...there's no effort in that. At all. That's like saying to a pirate-”
“A pirate?”
“-'Oh man, well done finding the treasure on the map someone else drew out for you”, I'm dimly aware of the fact I'm talking about pirates, because in his confusion Ben from the bus has let go of my wrist, too “and you know, that's just not kosher.”
“Sam, what? Are you aware that you're no making any sense?”
Hypocritical bastard!! “Chhyeah, says the guy who waits outside my work, then grabs me, insisting he knows me when he doesn't!!” I'm really pissed off now, and I can see on his face that my new confidence has left him baffled, “You come swanning over, picking on the first innocent girl you-”
He scoffs, interrupting my Joan of Arc style rant, “Ha, innocent? You?”. His tone is too friendly and his smirk too familiar. I turn to run, not wanting to find out what happens next, but he predicts my movements and I end up with a face full of burly chest once more.
I feel my throat tense, and try to force the words out in a cool command, “Seriously, you have to leave me alone. Now. I don't know why you followed me-”
“Ok, what? I didn't follow you, what is wrong with you? Sam, it's me!” His earnest expression halts the scathing comeback I've got prepared and I notice we're a lot closer to the high street that I thought. In fact, there's a homeless guy about 30 feet, probably less, from where we're stood, and this area is so well lit, you'd think it was dusk rather than late evening.
“You... you didn't follow m-”
“No. Why would I follow you?”
“But then, how did you know to wait outside-”
“I honestly didn't know you worked here. I just came in to buy a new jacket”, he motions towards me as if I'm supposed to know what he's talking about, “this afternoon and I saw you on the shop floor, so rather than-”
“A new jacket?”
“Yeah to replace the one I left at yours last week. I figured we wouldn't...”
His explanation becomes a drone as my memory sparks back to life.
There was a club. There was definitely alcohol. Too much alcohol. It was my friends Sarah's 27th birthday, and being the wannabe teens that we are we played drinking games. None of us knew the rules to any of these games, so we just drank constantly. We made our way to the club, but I have no recollection of the journey there or back, only some of the actual club itself. Ben had approached me first, asking if he could buy me a drink; apparently, on the first day of the new bus route, the distraction of my beautiful face had caused him to accidentally sit on the lap of Intense Asian-Guy, rather than the empty seat next to him. By the way, this memory comes partially courtesy of Lindsay; once again, she'd been instructed by Rob not to drink because he 'didn't want to have to deal with it later'. Bastard made a living out of spoiling her fun. But, she was able to fill the, many, gaps in my memory. She told me that I had taken the drink, kissed Ben on the cheek and then run away shrieking as soon as I'd heard the first few everlasting chords of Haddaway's 'What is love?' When Lindsay had approached me about Ben I had slurred into her ear “He'sss like, twice the sssizeofme, Lindz. I think he'd sssnap me in two. Isss it bad that that's turningmeon?” Lindsay, despite being disgusted with me, had helped me find him once again. When we did, it was because we walked straight past him and he'd grabbed hold of my hand, and I remember now that at the time I'd been struck with the force with which he'd gripped me, so much so I had yelled out and pulled away. He had pulled me towards him, apologising, telling me that he 'didn't know his own strength most of the time'. Thinking on my reaction minutes ago, I can only cringe at what my reaction had been then; to throw my arms around his neck and declare in my sexiest (read drunken) voice “Well, maaybe it'sss about time we found out, eeeh?” Lindsay said we had left straight after that and no one heard from me until around 3 in the afternoon the next day. By heard from me I mean received a text begging them to bring me paracetamol and McDonalds.
I should probably start listening to Ben now, he's still talking. I feel ridiculous for my previous reaction, and looking at him again now I can see why I was first attracted to him. I mean, he's a good guy, right? He must've taken care of me that night. He came to meet me outside of work, and he didn't wanna bug me about that jacket, so maybe this means he likes me? We kind of have a cute story we could tell the grandchildren; 'Well, Nana met Grandad at a club when she was off her face. They hooked up, but Nana forgot that, then the next time she thought Grandad was a rapist, but it turns out he was the love of her life!' Well, maybe not the Grandchildren. But this could be the one I've been waiting fo-
“-and you see, the things is, after you threw up on me, then on my jacket, then on my shoes I just figured you wouldn't wanna see me again because you'd be too embarrassed. So I decided rather than ask you about the jacket I thought I'd come in today and buy a new one. You kept insisting on cleaning it, and you even tried to wash it there and then, but when you started walking towards the washing machine with your cat in one hand and washing powder tablets in the other, I realised it was probably time you went to bed.”
Ok, so it's not a Jane Austen classic but you know...it's a start.
xXx
Thursday 16 December 2010
Amy's Happy Christmas song
Sung to the tune of 'Let it snow'. As well as you can, anyway.
"Oh, the weather outside is frightful,
But inside I have to write my essay,
And since I've no place other than work to go,
I'll walk to work then come back and finish my essaaay"
...
Well, Emma liked it.
xXx
"Oh, the weather outside is frightful,
But inside I have to write my essay,
And since I've no place other than work to go,
I'll walk to work then come back and finish my essaaay"
...
Well, Emma liked it.
xXx
Wednesday 8 December 2010
Facebook: Friend or Foe? Day Three
For those wondering, there wasn't a Day Two entry because aside from simlar things like me going to pick up my phone to check Facebook about 3 times, nothing much on the obsession side of things actually occurred.
However, there was a bit of a break through in that i really needed to find out some information that i had previously recieved in a message through facebook- but because i had no access i couldn't re-check the details. So i had to use my phone in order to contact the messenger, who promptly replied and everything was fine. So yeah- perfect proof that there's no need to have facebook. And before anyone says 'Oh, but you got the first message through facebook' yes, that's true; but if i didn't have facebook i would've gotten that message through text, would i have not? See?
Today though? Oh, today more than made up for the lack of obsessive behaviour of yesterday.
So let's start with how Facebook has made a mockery of my subconscious.
I had a little bit of a rough day yesterday, which culminated in a lovely meal with my friends and then all of us getting a little bit slozzled. The more rum i had- at half price due to some wonderful connections with one of the bar staff*- the sadder i got, and before i knew it i was writing half-arsed emo-accented tweets from my phone. It was at this point that for the first time since giving it up i actually was appreciative of the fact i didn't have facebook. because a very embarrassing and depressed/drunken status would've appeared, and although my followers on twitter are used to me being wayward and moany with my emotions, facebook isn't. So that saved me a little bit of face(book. i'm so funny).
Anyhoo, because of aforementioned emotional 'turmoil' i decided i wanted to dream- because whenever i'm a bit upset about something i tend to dream about it and it helps clarify things for me. I have my most vivid dreams after I've woken up too early and then fallen back asleep again, so i set my alarm 2 hours earlier than i had to wake up, to hopefully kick-start some epiphany dreamage. But oh no. My lack of facebook has overpowered my emotions and completely corrupted my subconscious. Because what i ended up dreaming about was me, being able to log into my facebook account and the overwhelming feeling of joy that came with being able to do so. I couldn't believe it when i woke up. emotional clarity?? Naaah, let's just do some stalking. stupid brain.
I have been pretty desperate all day to be able to go onto it. I actually clicked onto the link that appears in my little bar bit at the top of my laptop (yeah, i know technology well good) but of course couldn't log in. I got an email to my kentmail account letting me know that my password had been changed, and because they were unsure as to whether i'd meant to do this or if i'd been hacked they sent an email to all email accounts associated with my facebook. It then provided me with a link, that would allow me to 'regain control' of my facebook account. Fuck me, was i ever tempted. there it was, lying in wait for me to click and and find out how many (none) notifications were lying in wait. But i resisted. I'm not entirely sure how, but i did.
Since then I've been concentrating on work that i've had to do, but after watching The Apprentice (Oh my god oh my god i wont say anything but oh my god) i desperately wanted to go on there to see what everyone else was saying!!!! so annoying. i did get over it though.
So today's been a bit of a 'oh i miss facebook' day, which surprised me. i would've thought by now i would've been a bit lacklustre about it all. but hey ho. tomorrow is another day. tomorrow is actually the first day that i'm going to be at work without facebook access, which made up for most of the boredom issues that come with the job. but it's all kosher- cos i have a lot of reading to do for my course. BOO THE THE MOTHERFING YA.
xXx
*This sounds dirty, but he's just a friend
However, there was a bit of a break through in that i really needed to find out some information that i had previously recieved in a message through facebook- but because i had no access i couldn't re-check the details. So i had to use my phone in order to contact the messenger, who promptly replied and everything was fine. So yeah- perfect proof that there's no need to have facebook. And before anyone says 'Oh, but you got the first message through facebook' yes, that's true; but if i didn't have facebook i would've gotten that message through text, would i have not? See?
Today though? Oh, today more than made up for the lack of obsessive behaviour of yesterday.
So let's start with how Facebook has made a mockery of my subconscious.
I had a little bit of a rough day yesterday, which culminated in a lovely meal with my friends and then all of us getting a little bit slozzled. The more rum i had- at half price due to some wonderful connections with one of the bar staff*- the sadder i got, and before i knew it i was writing half-arsed emo-accented tweets from my phone. It was at this point that for the first time since giving it up i actually was appreciative of the fact i didn't have facebook. because a very embarrassing and depressed/drunken status would've appeared, and although my followers on twitter are used to me being wayward and moany with my emotions, facebook isn't. So that saved me a little bit of face(book. i'm so funny).
Anyhoo, because of aforementioned emotional 'turmoil' i decided i wanted to dream- because whenever i'm a bit upset about something i tend to dream about it and it helps clarify things for me. I have my most vivid dreams after I've woken up too early and then fallen back asleep again, so i set my alarm 2 hours earlier than i had to wake up, to hopefully kick-start some epiphany dreamage. But oh no. My lack of facebook has overpowered my emotions and completely corrupted my subconscious. Because what i ended up dreaming about was me, being able to log into my facebook account and the overwhelming feeling of joy that came with being able to do so. I couldn't believe it when i woke up. emotional clarity?? Naaah, let's just do some stalking. stupid brain.
I have been pretty desperate all day to be able to go onto it. I actually clicked onto the link that appears in my little bar bit at the top of my laptop (yeah, i know technology well good) but of course couldn't log in. I got an email to my kentmail account letting me know that my password had been changed, and because they were unsure as to whether i'd meant to do this or if i'd been hacked they sent an email to all email accounts associated with my facebook. It then provided me with a link, that would allow me to 'regain control' of my facebook account. Fuck me, was i ever tempted. there it was, lying in wait for me to click and and find out how many (none) notifications were lying in wait. But i resisted. I'm not entirely sure how, but i did.
Since then I've been concentrating on work that i've had to do, but after watching The Apprentice (Oh my god oh my god i wont say anything but oh my god) i desperately wanted to go on there to see what everyone else was saying!!!! so annoying. i did get over it though.
So today's been a bit of a 'oh i miss facebook' day, which surprised me. i would've thought by now i would've been a bit lacklustre about it all. but hey ho. tomorrow is another day. tomorrow is actually the first day that i'm going to be at work without facebook access, which made up for most of the boredom issues that come with the job. but it's all kosher- cos i have a lot of reading to do for my course. BOO THE THE MOTHERFING YA.
xXx
*This sounds dirty, but he's just a friend
Monday 6 December 2010
Facebook: Friend or Foe? Day One
08:57am
Woke up and did the usual; picked up my phone to check Twitter and Facebo-uh oh. First hurdle hit. I have to admit, a part of me got really frustrated; I started thinking, quite angrily, 'oh this is so stupid. If i wanna go on there I can, for god's sake`.But nope. No facebooks for me. Sigh. This is tricky.
10:50am
For the second time since i left the house 15 minutes ago, i just went to check my facebook. This is ridiculous. However, the feelings of disappointment are becoming less frequent.
13:03pm
I never quite realised the extent to which I've become involved with facebook. My hand is so used to me checking it whenever i'm on my phone, that my thumb keeps going to click on the mobile app and instead I end up looking at google maps. Also, the weather application on Snaptu has never seen so much action- the whole layout on Snaptu has shifted 'cos I removed the facebook button and so i keep accidentally clicking on it. Still, at least I know that depsite the fact it feels like -2°C it's actually 1°C, the wind is blowing North at 14kmh
14:00pm
I wasn't able to finish reading two of the short stories that we were analysing for our creative writing workshop today, so I turned to Rosie, the author of one of the stories, and told her that 'After this i'll read through it and then send you the feeback on Facebook'.
No, I won't. Great. Got her Kentmail address though, as well as Kieran's, and I suppose this is what I was talking about- the other ways you can communicate with other people that don't involve facebook are there, you just have to make that little bit more effort to find them
19:10pm
Emma: I should be doing work, but i'm noooot
Me: ...
Emma: what?
Me: Are you on Facebook?
Emma:... i'm saying nothing.
19:16pm
Emma's just said 'oh you've been tagged in a photo, wanna see- oh shit, yeah! well, you look really nice in it'
ARRRRRGGGGGHHH
It's been really hard since I got back from uni to not be able to just click on it and browse. It's quite strange how much I really really really wanted to go on it. Hopefully this will change as the days go on, but i guess we'll see...
xXx
Woke up and did the usual; picked up my phone to check Twitter and Facebo-uh oh. First hurdle hit. I have to admit, a part of me got really frustrated; I started thinking, quite angrily, 'oh this is so stupid. If i wanna go on there I can, for god's sake`.But nope. No facebooks for me. Sigh. This is tricky.
10:50am
For the second time since i left the house 15 minutes ago, i just went to check my facebook. This is ridiculous. However, the feelings of disappointment are becoming less frequent.
13:03pm
I never quite realised the extent to which I've become involved with facebook. My hand is so used to me checking it whenever i'm on my phone, that my thumb keeps going to click on the mobile app and instead I end up looking at google maps. Also, the weather application on Snaptu has never seen so much action- the whole layout on Snaptu has shifted 'cos I removed the facebook button and so i keep accidentally clicking on it. Still, at least I know that depsite the fact it feels like -2°C it's actually 1°C, the wind is blowing North at 14kmh
14:00pm
I wasn't able to finish reading two of the short stories that we were analysing for our creative writing workshop today, so I turned to Rosie, the author of one of the stories, and told her that 'After this i'll read through it and then send you the feeback on Facebook'.
No, I won't. Great. Got her Kentmail address though, as well as Kieran's, and I suppose this is what I was talking about- the other ways you can communicate with other people that don't involve facebook are there, you just have to make that little bit more effort to find them
19:10pm
Emma: I should be doing work, but i'm noooot
Me: ...
Emma: what?
Me: Are you on Facebook?
Emma:... i'm saying nothing.
19:16pm
Emma's just said 'oh you've been tagged in a photo, wanna see- oh shit, yeah! well, you look really nice in it'
ARRRRRGGGGGHHH
It's been really hard since I got back from uni to not be able to just click on it and browse. It's quite strange how much I really really really wanted to go on it. Hopefully this will change as the days go on, but i guess we'll see...
xXx
Sunday 5 December 2010
Facebook: Friend or Foe?
I have always had a bit of a problem with Facebook. Turning up at Uni during freshers, I was berated for not having it, or for not wanting to be on it; catcalls of 'Oh my god, but how can you not have Facebook??' would follow me from club to pub. But after months of being told how amazing it was I caved, and joined it.
At first I threw myself into it, tagging pictures, posting on walls, liking groups that had names such as 'Not being set on fire' and 'I hate fat people because they ruined Jurassic Park' and poking for all I was worth. But after a while I realised that my 'Friend List' was full of people who's faces I didn't recognise and most of the ones I did know I didn't even like or had just never had conversation with them. And so began the age of Facebook culling. I would go through all of my friends and delete around 50 every time, until I was left with under half the amount I used to have. This is where the problem started.
You see, to me Facebook isn't a massive statement about who I am and who the people I'm friends with are. There's no opinion of mine on there-i have my blog and twitter for that. I got rid of all my silly 'likes' around the same time the culling began, and made it so it was simply a method of contacting me. So you see, although sometimes I did delete people because I didn't like them, the majority of the time it was because we never contacted each other, so there was no point them being on there. But people seemed to genuinely take offence at the fact I had deleted them on Facebook!! Up on campus I would be stopped by people who would look at me as if I'd slapped them and say 'WHY did you delete ME on FACEBOOK?!?' to which I would often reply 'Er, because this moment is literally either A) the first time we have ever spoken or B) the first time you've spoken to me in about 6 months'. It was ridiculous! It's a website! If everyone was offended by the behaviour of somebody on something that ended with '.com' then the world would not talk to each other. You can't explain it like that though; people have actually accepted Facebook- a website- as a method of knowing how a person feels about you. They judge emotion via a flickering screen.
It was at this point I realised something was wrong. Today I began to realise just how much Facebook bothers me, but it's hard to explain why. Because I've always seen it as a way of keeping in contact with people, I think it's silly that there are options for games, or crazes that sweep across your news feed. Recently everyone has been changing their profile pictures to be that of cartoon characters in order to stop child abuse. I mean, could there actually be anything more absurd about that last sentence?? But in the world of Facebook- and yes, it has become a world- this is the norm.
When I first mentioned today that I was getting rid of my account the response was a little bit phenomenal. Not numbers wise- not many people really cared, for which I cannot blame them- but just the incredulous-ness of some people, who quite frankly couldn't believe I was going to delete it. That's right- I was semi-judged for not using a website anymore. A WEBSITE. I cannot stress enough, just how trivial a thing Facebook SHOULD be, but just isn't. it's deemed integral now, to general society. Me and Alex spoke about it, and he said that he was worried I would feel out of the loop of our friendship group because i wouldn't be able to see things everyone had posted on walls or comments on photos, and he had a point- i would. But, as i said to him, HOW fucked up is it, that i am massively close to this group of people, the best of friends, like brothers and sisters, and yet because I wasn't on a website I would feel out of touch with them, out of the loop. It's insanity.
I was going to delete my facebook tomorrow, not indefinitely, just to see whether or not it actually bothered me if i went on it or not. Just to measure how much I need it, to be honest. But I was clueless as to how much of it i would lose, which in itself sounds ridiculous, but let me explain; before University i didn't have Facebook. And so it is a memory of not only the 2 and a bit years I've been here, but also of how I've changed. I mean, technically speaking, I wouldn't throw away any of the letters or notes that have been written to me by my friends in the last 2 and a bit years, and although there's a lot on there i wouldn't mind getting rid of there are some thing's I'd like to keep. Between friends, I actually like facebook. i shouldn't lose the memories i want to keep just because the ones i couldn't care less about exist too.
So what I've done instead is asked a, very trustworthy friend, to change my password for me, and I'm going to refuse to go onto facebook for the next week. I'm going to document everything; from how people react when I talk to them about the possibility of me deleting my account to how many times i feel i want to go on it or say the word 'facebook' aloud, and keep you all updated on this blog. It'll be interesting to see how I feel about it once the week is done, and even more so to realise this week how much i depend on it.
I'm not a hypocrite- i understand why people love it so much, and that it's just that times are changing, and this is the way they've gone. But I'm an old fashioned girl- and to me there just seems so little an amount of effort involved in facebook. Your closest friends lay amongst people you barely know, so easily; and hardly anyone calls or texts anyone anymore. So we'll see how I deal with it. but the fact is; i was fine 2 and a bit years ago.have i really come to depend on it so much in such a short period of time? only one way to find out...
xXx
At first I threw myself into it, tagging pictures, posting on walls, liking groups that had names such as 'Not being set on fire' and 'I hate fat people because they ruined Jurassic Park' and poking for all I was worth. But after a while I realised that my 'Friend List' was full of people who's faces I didn't recognise and most of the ones I did know I didn't even like or had just never had conversation with them. And so began the age of Facebook culling. I would go through all of my friends and delete around 50 every time, until I was left with under half the amount I used to have. This is where the problem started.
You see, to me Facebook isn't a massive statement about who I am and who the people I'm friends with are. There's no opinion of mine on there-i have my blog and twitter for that. I got rid of all my silly 'likes' around the same time the culling began, and made it so it was simply a method of contacting me. So you see, although sometimes I did delete people because I didn't like them, the majority of the time it was because we never contacted each other, so there was no point them being on there. But people seemed to genuinely take offence at the fact I had deleted them on Facebook!! Up on campus I would be stopped by people who would look at me as if I'd slapped them and say 'WHY did you delete ME on FACEBOOK?!?' to which I would often reply 'Er, because this moment is literally either A) the first time we have ever spoken or B) the first time you've spoken to me in about 6 months'. It was ridiculous! It's a website! If everyone was offended by the behaviour of somebody on something that ended with '.com' then the world would not talk to each other. You can't explain it like that though; people have actually accepted Facebook- a website- as a method of knowing how a person feels about you. They judge emotion via a flickering screen.
It was at this point I realised something was wrong. Today I began to realise just how much Facebook bothers me, but it's hard to explain why. Because I've always seen it as a way of keeping in contact with people, I think it's silly that there are options for games, or crazes that sweep across your news feed. Recently everyone has been changing their profile pictures to be that of cartoon characters in order to stop child abuse. I mean, could there actually be anything more absurd about that last sentence?? But in the world of Facebook- and yes, it has become a world- this is the norm.
When I first mentioned today that I was getting rid of my account the response was a little bit phenomenal. Not numbers wise- not many people really cared, for which I cannot blame them- but just the incredulous-ness of some people, who quite frankly couldn't believe I was going to delete it. That's right- I was semi-judged for not using a website anymore. A WEBSITE. I cannot stress enough, just how trivial a thing Facebook SHOULD be, but just isn't. it's deemed integral now, to general society. Me and Alex spoke about it, and he said that he was worried I would feel out of the loop of our friendship group because i wouldn't be able to see things everyone had posted on walls or comments on photos, and he had a point- i would. But, as i said to him, HOW fucked up is it, that i am massively close to this group of people, the best of friends, like brothers and sisters, and yet because I wasn't on a website I would feel out of touch with them, out of the loop. It's insanity.
I was going to delete my facebook tomorrow, not indefinitely, just to see whether or not it actually bothered me if i went on it or not. Just to measure how much I need it, to be honest. But I was clueless as to how much of it i would lose, which in itself sounds ridiculous, but let me explain; before University i didn't have Facebook. And so it is a memory of not only the 2 and a bit years I've been here, but also of how I've changed. I mean, technically speaking, I wouldn't throw away any of the letters or notes that have been written to me by my friends in the last 2 and a bit years, and although there's a lot on there i wouldn't mind getting rid of there are some thing's I'd like to keep. Between friends, I actually like facebook. i shouldn't lose the memories i want to keep just because the ones i couldn't care less about exist too.
So what I've done instead is asked a, very trustworthy friend, to change my password for me, and I'm going to refuse to go onto facebook for the next week. I'm going to document everything; from how people react when I talk to them about the possibility of me deleting my account to how many times i feel i want to go on it or say the word 'facebook' aloud, and keep you all updated on this blog. It'll be interesting to see how I feel about it once the week is done, and even more so to realise this week how much i depend on it.
I'm not a hypocrite- i understand why people love it so much, and that it's just that times are changing, and this is the way they've gone. But I'm an old fashioned girl- and to me there just seems so little an amount of effort involved in facebook. Your closest friends lay amongst people you barely know, so easily; and hardly anyone calls or texts anyone anymore. So we'll see how I deal with it. but the fact is; i was fine 2 and a bit years ago.have i really come to depend on it so much in such a short period of time? only one way to find out...
xXx
Saturday 27 November 2010
Him?... Really?
A recent conversation brought up the fact that I tend to have crushes on the most peculiar of people. I can't dispute this; it's pure fact. So instead I will spend time indulging in them whilst simultaneously explaining them as well as I can.
There's no easy way to explain having a crush on a fictional character that's never actually existed- especially one that wears cowhide waistcoats. All I can say is that as a young girl, Toy Story was, and still is, my favourite film of all time and my obsession with it runs a little deeeper than most Pixar enthusiasts. Woody's loyal, caring personality was made all the more affecting by the fact he's flawed with insecurities and jealousy, and with his pointed features he taps into my weird liking of lanky, uncoordinated men. He's one of the greatest fictional characters of the last century, and the fact that I STILL don't have a Woody doll, despite having asked for one every christmas and birthday since i was 6 years old genuinely pains me.
Plus, he's voiced by Tom Hanks. I mean, COME ON.
David Mitchell
David Mitchell is a prime example of how the more talented a man is, the more attractive I find him. He's not only hilarious, but an incredible writer/actor, and the fact that he is ridiculously intelligent only further fuels my lust. Yeah, sure, he's not the best looking guy in the world, but that doesn't really matter all that much to me, he seems genuine and like a real gentlmen. The best way to describe him is to say it's as if someone travelled back to around 1875, plucked him out of a crowd and then chucked him head first into the 21st century. His delightful awkwardness makes me swoon.
Dara O'Briain
All I can do to explain this one is to refer to a direct quote from myself, as to how important a sense of humour in a man is;
"A guy needs to be funny. Humour is the most important thing when it comes to me being attracted to a man. A guy could probably laugh me into bed, if he were funny enough".
Around 89% of all crushes I have had have been based purely on how much the bloke has made me laugh. Seriously.
Also, there's something strangely compelling about how big he is. That's not meant to sound as dirty as it does...but seriously, he's like a tank. A big, hilarious, sexy, Irish tank...
Brains
This guy taps into the whole 'intelligence is sexy' part of my libido. Brains was always there with another incredible invention or idea to make sure everything was F.A.B, and is the real hero behind Thunderbirds. Never seeking glory, only ever to help, he was the first real geek i ever laid eyes on, and since then, let's face it - there's been no turning back. Want to know where my love for the geekiest of men comes from? Look no further than the blue eyes, bow-tie wearing bespectacled stud by the name of Brains. Plus, he invented Thunderbird 2, which is like my dream vehicle. HE INVENTED THUNDERBIRD TWO. Nuff said.
We'll ignore that he's a puppet, though, yeah? YEAH.
Before anyone points it out, yes, I am aware that so far my list has consisted of two people who never actually existed, and two comedians. Shuddup.
Rupert Grint
Whilst some people may look at me with a raised eyebrow when I declare that the only man who could ever convince me marriage is a good idea is Rupert Grint ("What, that ginger guy from Harry Potter??"), I know that I am not alone in my love for someone who must, surely, be one of the most exciting acting talents to emerge in the last ten years. I'm not a fan of the Harry Potter films (NOTE: this doesn't mean that I hate them, just that I have no interest in them), but after having seen both Driving Lessons and Wild target, i can officially say that this guy is supremely talented. And an absolute FITTIE. I like that you never hear about his private life, and that in every interview he comes across as the only one who hasn't let it all go to his head. And he has amazing taste in music. *Insert wand based sexual innuendo here*
Gary Oldman
The fact of the matter is, I don't even feel like I should need to explain myself with this one. IT'S FUCKING GARY OLDMAN. If you don't have a crush on him there's something weird about YOU. I am so in love with this man that the laptop I'm currently typing this up on was christened in his name, and if you want to use my laptop you have to ask if you can 'have a go on Gary'. Yes. Yes, you may. But first it's my turn.
Ok, fine, if you REALLY need a reason behind why I love him so much; AIR. FORCE. ONE.
'Nuff said.
To be fair, if you look back on all the people I've taken a shine to, celebrity or not, none of them been particularly conventional, and have left people confused. All i can say is I've never really been one to adhere to the rules of convention, and I won't ever apologise for not fancying the men I'm supposed to, nor for fancying the men that I'm not
xXx
Woody
There's no easy way to explain having a crush on a fictional character that's never actually existed- especially one that wears cowhide waistcoats. All I can say is that as a young girl, Toy Story was, and still is, my favourite film of all time and my obsession with it runs a little deeeper than most Pixar enthusiasts. Woody's loyal, caring personality was made all the more affecting by the fact he's flawed with insecurities and jealousy, and with his pointed features he taps into my weird liking of lanky, uncoordinated men. He's one of the greatest fictional characters of the last century, and the fact that I STILL don't have a Woody doll, despite having asked for one every christmas and birthday since i was 6 years old genuinely pains me.
Plus, he's voiced by Tom Hanks. I mean, COME ON.
David Mitchell
David Mitchell is a prime example of how the more talented a man is, the more attractive I find him. He's not only hilarious, but an incredible writer/actor, and the fact that he is ridiculously intelligent only further fuels my lust. Yeah, sure, he's not the best looking guy in the world, but that doesn't really matter all that much to me, he seems genuine and like a real gentlmen. The best way to describe him is to say it's as if someone travelled back to around 1875, plucked him out of a crowd and then chucked him head first into the 21st century. His delightful awkwardness makes me swoon.Dara O'Briain
All I can do to explain this one is to refer to a direct quote from myself, as to how important a sense of humour in a man is;"A guy needs to be funny. Humour is the most important thing when it comes to me being attracted to a man. A guy could probably laugh me into bed, if he were funny enough".
Around 89% of all crushes I have had have been based purely on how much the bloke has made me laugh. Seriously.
Also, there's something strangely compelling about how big he is. That's not meant to sound as dirty as it does...but seriously, he's like a tank. A big, hilarious, sexy, Irish tank...
Brains
This guy taps into the whole 'intelligence is sexy' part of my libido. Brains was always there with another incredible invention or idea to make sure everything was F.A.B, and is the real hero behind Thunderbirds. Never seeking glory, only ever to help, he was the first real geek i ever laid eyes on, and since then, let's face it - there's been no turning back. Want to know where my love for the geekiest of men comes from? Look no further than the blue eyes, bow-tie wearing bespectacled stud by the name of Brains. Plus, he invented Thunderbird 2, which is like my dream vehicle. HE INVENTED THUNDERBIRD TWO. Nuff said.We'll ignore that he's a puppet, though, yeah? YEAH.
Before anyone points it out, yes, I am aware that so far my list has consisted of two people who never actually existed, and two comedians. Shuddup.
Rupert Grint
Whilst some people may look at me with a raised eyebrow when I declare that the only man who could ever convince me marriage is a good idea is Rupert Grint ("What, that ginger guy from Harry Potter??"), I know that I am not alone in my love for someone who must, surely, be one of the most exciting acting talents to emerge in the last ten years. I'm not a fan of the Harry Potter films (NOTE: this doesn't mean that I hate them, just that I have no interest in them), but after having seen both Driving Lessons and Wild target, i can officially say that this guy is supremely talented. And an absolute FITTIE. I like that you never hear about his private life, and that in every interview he comes across as the only one who hasn't let it all go to his head. And he has amazing taste in music. *Insert wand based sexual innuendo here*Gary Oldman
The fact of the matter is, I don't even feel like I should need to explain myself with this one. IT'S FUCKING GARY OLDMAN. If you don't have a crush on him there's something weird about YOU. I am so in love with this man that the laptop I'm currently typing this up on was christened in his name, and if you want to use my laptop you have to ask if you can 'have a go on Gary'. Yes. Yes, you may. But first it's my turn.Ok, fine, if you REALLY need a reason behind why I love him so much; AIR. FORCE. ONE.
'Nuff said.
To be fair, if you look back on all the people I've taken a shine to, celebrity or not, none of them been particularly conventional, and have left people confused. All i can say is I've never really been one to adhere to the rules of convention, and I won't ever apologise for not fancying the men I'm supposed to, nor for fancying the men that I'm not
xXx
Monday 22 November 2010
Emily
This is the first short story that I've written this term- it also happens to be one of the best thing's I've ever written, as far as I'm concerned. Hope you enjoy, feedback is very very very much welcome :)
Emily
It was quiet for no longer than 3 minutes after we'd sat down before she started talking, but Emily was never one for leaving a moment peaceful.
“So, I have a bone to pick with God.”
I brushed over her expression, starting at the subject she's chosen to bring up. We'd known each other since we were seven, and we'd never had a discussion involving the big man upstairs before now. I sadly thought this through to myself within seconds of her having said a word and my final thought of 'I 'spose we haven't needed to before' was eclipsed by my asking “...With God?”
“Yep.”
“With the man who created the World in 7 days?”
“Ok”, she began, and I saw her brow furrow, “the things wrong with that sweeping generalisation are threefold; 1) Man? What proof is there that he even existed, yet alone was male? 2) There’s no proof that this ‘Man’ created the Earth except a book by a bunch of people who wrote it ‘cos they were bored of, I dunno... living ages ago...”
“Right...”
“Right.”
“ And the third?”
“Third?”
“You said it was threefold.”
“Oh, did I? Er, OK, thirdly, Er. How about ‘Shut the fuck up’?”
With this she ‘playfully’ nudged my shoulder with her fist, causing my coffee to spill, burning my freezing hands; the concoction of winter chill and smouldering caffeine left them numb and she shook with silent laughter as my eyebrows dipped low.
“Bitch.”
“Now, now, Caleb,”she waggled her finger in my direction, “that’s no way to treat a lady!”
I placed the coffee to the side of me instantly forgetting it was there, explaining, “I tell you what- the second one turns up, you let me know, and I’ll adapt my behaviour so as to avoid offending this...gracious woman” I bowed with false pretence and her lilting joy reverberated around the trees that protected the bench we were perched upon.
“You’ve distracted my train of thought with your preposterous attempts to be well-spoken.”
“Well, one can dream. You, er, said something about a bone to pick-”
“Ah Yes! Pigeons.”
I looked at her expression, and there was no sign of humour whatsoever. The dead branches acted as a morose green screen that enveloped the skyline, but in the chill her cheeks had swollen with a blossom more suitable for spring. I remembered how she had always been a complex blend of conventional and outlandish, and right then her beauty in the park light struck me as both. The image wavered as she turned her head, revealing her profile to be shaped by her lack of hair. Her tendency towards impulsive behaviour left others reeling, including her mother, but I couldn’t help but be jealous. It had been long, dark as damp bark and she had tired of the hassle and fuss of it in the last few weeks, so had opted to shave it all. She still looked beautiful, but I had always thought so, and so now could only be considered biased. Her head turned back towards me whilst she pointed towards the creature that caused her such offence.
“See?”
“What’s wrong with pigeons, then?”
She was silent as her tongue poked into her cheek the way it did when she was deep in thought before announcing,
“Well, I honestly just do not see the point of them.”
“The point? Do they need one, as a rule?”
“Well, they just seem so...careless, of God. Think of it, there are thousands, if not millions of beautiful, wonderful, necessary creatures surrounding us. If you choose to include humans then that becomes billions. But pigeons have, not only no use upon this earth, but all they do is sully the beauty that is already there and...Take up space.”
I watched as she shifted on the bench and drew her knees to her chin. Her arms swallowed her whole and her eyes failed to make contact as she whispered,
“Maybe if they made some space by getting rid of some of these useless pigeons there’d be room for the rest of us, you know? Then maybe we wouldn’t have to give up so much just to move, to breathe, to live.”
We knew we weren’t really talking about pigeons anymore. I reached out and her hand met mine halfway, our fingers cosy-ing together against the cold. We shuddered, but it wasn’t in reaction to the weather.
She didn't leave the moment of upset much time to dwell, before regaining herself, pulling her hand away, and asking
“So how’s our foxy seminar leader Sam coming along?” Her smirk danced all the way from her mouth to her raised, inquisitive eyebrow.
“Oh god, here we go again...”
“Has he missed me? Does he desperately search the room of T6 thinking ‘Well, my word, where on earth could Emily be? I must find out at once!’-”
“Well, actually-“
“Before throwing his fists on the desk, reaching up towards the ceiling, screaming-“
“You always were one for drama."
Her smile disappeared and her features fell down, and she sighed, asking “Why have you started talking about me in the past tense? Am I not still one for drama? Do I suddenly lack this so called drama that-“
“You know,” I interrupted, gently squeezing her knee, “What I meant. Don’t pick a fight with me, you little shit”. I said the last part in a tone of voice that echoed her Grandmothers, who had given Emily the nickname ‘little shit’ after one of her china dolls had become the latest victim of the Tyrannosaurus Rex Emily insisted on carrying everywhere with her until the age of 13. Her grandmother had gone on to tell her that ‘normal girls don’t play with dinosaurs’ to which Emily had replied ‘by now, Gran, you should know I’m not normal’. At the sound of the old woman’s croaky impersonation a reluctant smile broke out on Em’s face.
“Do you know, that’s one of the reasons why I hate you so very much?”
“What’s that then?” I replied, cagily.
“I can never be annoyed with you, because you always make me laugh. It’s massively frustrating.”
“Well, I will bear that in mind, whilst simultaneously ignoring it so that you can never be annoyed with me again.”
She smiled, and leaned forward brushing my fringe from my eyes. “Wonderful. What were we talking about again?”
“The Eighth wonder of the world; Sexy Seminar leaders.”
“Oh, no, that’s the ninth wonder of the world.”
“Right, of course it is. The eighth being...?”
“Duh. Pokemon.”
“Right, yes, how foolish of me. Well, as I was saying before being told that Pokemon are up there with the Pyramids and The Great Wall of China,” In that moment I silently chuckled at the ridiculousness of our conversation and a wave of sadness hit me as I realised my life may never be so surreal again, “Our sexy seminar leader Sam did actually mention you last week”.
She looked at me and could tell by the look on my face that whatever Sam had said, it hadn’t been the declaration of love that she’d been hoping for. She sighed, a breath that was so deep I felt she stole some of mine too on the way back out, and asked “Short and Sweet?”
“He dealt with it like an utter professional. What he said about you and all of...this? It was really moving, actually. Casey Cheswick almost looked teary.”
“Are you sure that’s not just from all the dick that she gets in her face?”
I fell about laughing as she continued her rant,
“Seriously, what the fuck do I care if that utter slag gets upset, she has never said two words to me, except ‘Er’,” and she began swaying slightly from side to side, raising her lips in a perfect imitation of Casey’s permanent pout, “’Do you realise, right, that your ‘air has gone?’”
“Oh come on,” I protested, “She’s not THAT bad!”
“She looks like she’s had botched bot-ox.”
Again I couldn’t contain my laughter. It felt good to feel the joy of it coming from inside me, I hadn’t experienced a laugh like it in a while; honest, and with no hidden agenda. She was the only one who could make me laugh in such a candid way. Her sigh followed my mirth like an encore, and I could see her eyes shift the way they do when she avoided tears. She looked at me, then my lips, and murmured
“I’ll miss the way your lips crease up when you laugh."
I faltered a little. Emily had never been one for sentimentality or observation.
“I love that you’ve managed to say something endearing whilst simultaneously making me conscious of the way I laugh.”
She chuckled lightly, “You’ll start laughing at something and then cry at the thought of me bullying your creasy lips!”
“I think it’s going to be a while before I laugh again without you, Emily,” I began, as I felt my breathing start to shudder around my chest and push it’s way from my mouth. She took my hand as the first tear fell, and I jumped at how cold she was, and pale. The white tag was massive on her slightly limp wrist and I held her fingers gently, afraid they may snap, “I’ll cry simply at the thought of you-” and as I watched the bead emerge, glisten and fall from her eyelash my world span. When I looked in her eyes I saw the fear I felt, and there was a moment while we let the other recover.
“Now,” she croaked, pulling away from my touch, and wiping her eyes, “don’t get silly on me, Caleb, there’s no need for drama. I don’t want you to cry at the thought of me; you can cry for the loss of me, but the thought should...should make your heart a cliché, flipping and skipping. It should make your soul feel warm and you hands feel held. Don’t remember me all balding like Richard O’Brien, remember me as the long haired vixen I used to be.” She gave a cheeky grin as the last tear slid from her face and winked provocatively.
“Used to be? You’re still gorgeous, Em.”
“...I have no hair.”
“So? I’ll buy you a hat, cover the bald”
And like that we were laughing again.
It was only when I looked over at her to measure her beauty against the dusk, that I saw that her eyes had become rather glazed and she was slumped in an unseemly way which made it look like she would cave in any moment. She gave a shudder as I watched, and for the for the first time I realised I could faintly see my breath dance with the sky. I hadn't even noticed the chill, but it swept over me and I tucked my hands under my arms as she pulled a small woollen object that I didn't recognise out of her coat pocket. She saw my inquisitive look and simply said,
“Glittens.”
I thought she'd gone insane, as if the treatment had registered her incapable of speech or something. I couldn't remember whether or not that was one of the side effects her parents had mentioned to me, so I casually asked her “Glittens?”
“Yeah, Glittens.” “She stared and then repeated the phrase I had never heard before, shaking the item as well as she could in my face, “Glittens. Glittens?" Supported by her glazed expression and my ignorance of the word the whole moment was hugely unnerving. She looked hard at my face before asking “Dude, why do you look so worried?”
“Emily...” I didn't know how to broach the subject. Emily had asked me to treat her as I always did, despite what had come to pass, and I knew her treatment, or it's affects, was something she point blank refused to discuss with me, so I brushed my hand along the collar of her coat and asked delicately “Are you sure 'Glittens' is a word? Do you maybe need me to go get someone so you can-can...explain what you're trying to sa-”
“Get with the programme, Caleb.” Her look was pure, undiluted anger, contorted on her face with embarrassment, that I had caused in assuming she was helpless, “They're glove-mittens, Glittens stand for glove mittens, see?” She then furiously untangled the 'Glittens' from the ball they were rolled in, to reveal a fingerless glove that had a small fold of material you could fasten over the tips of your digits. They were magenta, and striking against her pallor, and as she tried to put them on she struggled with the fasten. She could not stand the idea of people naturally assuming a position of pity whilst watching her, and I knew all this too well. Still, it didn't stop me from wanting to help her with the stupid woollen thing, and without thinking I quickly moved as if to do so, but in a swift motion she swung her hand out of my reach, and tried to move up the bench and further away from me. As she did so, her legs fell out of their crossed position and onto the pavement that was so smooth and unscathed it was as if no one's heavy step had ever rested upon it. She lost her balance, taken aback by the speed with which her legs had fallen to the floor, the momentum causing her knees to buckle and collapse . Her body bowed towards the ground and away from me, and with reflexes I never knew I had, I caught her and managed to pull her back by her shoulders. She winced as my grip tightened on her fragile frame, pulling her towards the safety the organised wood of the bench sought to give her. Her breath came out in unnaturally forced gasps, rather than regulated breathing, and in a peculiar second I remembered a time when I had seen my father chopping wood, and how the whooshing noise before the axe fell was mimicked by Emily's now desperate attempts to feel air rush through her. I panicked, but it seemed like as my panic rose hers devolved until it was no more than a heavy sigh, as if I had taken on her fear and kept it for myself. She swayed slightly in her seat, before once again crossing her legs and looking at me like a petulant child who's realised they've done wrong. I tried looking back at her without my feelings getting caught in the back of my throat and failed. I stifled a sob and put my fist to my mouth to protect her from the sight of my grimace, but she pulled it away just as a tear fell and sparkled on our hands.
“I'm sorry, Caleb,” she whispered as her face was painted with sadness that shone in the street lights, that had switched on in response to the ever-nearing dark of the time, “I know you weren't-....I know-” and she let out a little sob that broke both our hearts, and I swept across the bench to cradle her, pulling her into my form and hiding her from what we both knew was coming.
Although our last meeting was two weeks ago, the memory hurts still. A little after I held her the hospice nurse had come out to find us, saying that she'd let Emily be out far too long anyway and that visiting hours for non-family members were over. We felt numb as we'd hugged goodbye, and I promised I would come see her in around four days time from then, once all her family had done the rounds, so that we wouldn't be interrupted by a random Uncle or second Cousin bursting through the doors with sweets she couldn't eat and flowers she couldn't stand.
The phone call had come at precisely 05:51am 2 days after. It had been neither Emily's Mother nor Father who'd phoned, but her brother Darren, who explained in a monotone, voice that cracked occasionally that Emily had fallen into a coma 7 hours before, and had died at 03:42am this morning. When I arrived at the hospital, I vaguely heard several doctors each try to explain to me that the problem with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia is the speed with which events take place and that Emily's blast cell count was to do with it, but I had never bothered to learn the details of her illness after she had told me about it two months before, so it all fell on deaf ears. I had refrained from learning about the disease partially because Emily herself had asked me not to, but mostly because this way I could find no logic in why she was ill; if I didn't know the science behind it then there was no rational reason why she was dying, there was no way it was real. But Darren's phone call had thrown me into a reality the same way touching her limp wrist had on that bench in the hospice park. Emily had died, and no amount of explanation or looks of sympathy could reform my world or make it how it had been and how it should have been forever. But I do as I was told, and when I can bare to bring myself to talk of her I never mention her illness, only her life. With my subconscious being the schemer it is, I find myself dreaming of her often, and in those moments she's truly alive, as am I. Some days I hope not to wake up; but I know soon enough that I'll wake up of a morning and I won't avoid her memory, but that it will come with me, supporting every choice I make and laughing along with me as she had done, and as she always will do.
xXx
Emily
It was quiet for no longer than 3 minutes after we'd sat down before she started talking, but Emily was never one for leaving a moment peaceful.
“So, I have a bone to pick with God.”
I brushed over her expression, starting at the subject she's chosen to bring up. We'd known each other since we were seven, and we'd never had a discussion involving the big man upstairs before now. I sadly thought this through to myself within seconds of her having said a word and my final thought of 'I 'spose we haven't needed to before' was eclipsed by my asking “...With God?”
“Yep.”
“With the man who created the World in 7 days?”
“Ok”, she began, and I saw her brow furrow, “the things wrong with that sweeping generalisation are threefold; 1) Man? What proof is there that he even existed, yet alone was male? 2) There’s no proof that this ‘Man’ created the Earth except a book by a bunch of people who wrote it ‘cos they were bored of, I dunno... living ages ago...”
“Right...”
“Right.”
“ And the third?”
“Third?”
“You said it was threefold.”
“Oh, did I? Er, OK, thirdly, Er. How about ‘Shut the fuck up’?”
With this she ‘playfully’ nudged my shoulder with her fist, causing my coffee to spill, burning my freezing hands; the concoction of winter chill and smouldering caffeine left them numb and she shook with silent laughter as my eyebrows dipped low.
“Bitch.”
“Now, now, Caleb,”she waggled her finger in my direction, “that’s no way to treat a lady!”
I placed the coffee to the side of me instantly forgetting it was there, explaining, “I tell you what- the second one turns up, you let me know, and I’ll adapt my behaviour so as to avoid offending this...gracious woman” I bowed with false pretence and her lilting joy reverberated around the trees that protected the bench we were perched upon.
“You’ve distracted my train of thought with your preposterous attempts to be well-spoken.”
“Well, one can dream. You, er, said something about a bone to pick-”
“Ah Yes! Pigeons.”
I looked at her expression, and there was no sign of humour whatsoever. The dead branches acted as a morose green screen that enveloped the skyline, but in the chill her cheeks had swollen with a blossom more suitable for spring. I remembered how she had always been a complex blend of conventional and outlandish, and right then her beauty in the park light struck me as both. The image wavered as she turned her head, revealing her profile to be shaped by her lack of hair. Her tendency towards impulsive behaviour left others reeling, including her mother, but I couldn’t help but be jealous. It had been long, dark as damp bark and she had tired of the hassle and fuss of it in the last few weeks, so had opted to shave it all. She still looked beautiful, but I had always thought so, and so now could only be considered biased. Her head turned back towards me whilst she pointed towards the creature that caused her such offence.
“See?”
“What’s wrong with pigeons, then?”
She was silent as her tongue poked into her cheek the way it did when she was deep in thought before announcing,
“Well, I honestly just do not see the point of them.”
“The point? Do they need one, as a rule?”
“Well, they just seem so...careless, of God. Think of it, there are thousands, if not millions of beautiful, wonderful, necessary creatures surrounding us. If you choose to include humans then that becomes billions. But pigeons have, not only no use upon this earth, but all they do is sully the beauty that is already there and...Take up space.”
I watched as she shifted on the bench and drew her knees to her chin. Her arms swallowed her whole and her eyes failed to make contact as she whispered,
“Maybe if they made some space by getting rid of some of these useless pigeons there’d be room for the rest of us, you know? Then maybe we wouldn’t have to give up so much just to move, to breathe, to live.”
We knew we weren’t really talking about pigeons anymore. I reached out and her hand met mine halfway, our fingers cosy-ing together against the cold. We shuddered, but it wasn’t in reaction to the weather.
She didn't leave the moment of upset much time to dwell, before regaining herself, pulling her hand away, and asking
“So how’s our foxy seminar leader Sam coming along?” Her smirk danced all the way from her mouth to her raised, inquisitive eyebrow.
“Oh god, here we go again...”
“Has he missed me? Does he desperately search the room of T6 thinking ‘Well, my word, where on earth could Emily be? I must find out at once!’-”
“Well, actually-“
“Before throwing his fists on the desk, reaching up towards the ceiling, screaming-“
“You always were one for drama."
Her smile disappeared and her features fell down, and she sighed, asking “Why have you started talking about me in the past tense? Am I not still one for drama? Do I suddenly lack this so called drama that-“
“You know,” I interrupted, gently squeezing her knee, “What I meant. Don’t pick a fight with me, you little shit”. I said the last part in a tone of voice that echoed her Grandmothers, who had given Emily the nickname ‘little shit’ after one of her china dolls had become the latest victim of the Tyrannosaurus Rex Emily insisted on carrying everywhere with her until the age of 13. Her grandmother had gone on to tell her that ‘normal girls don’t play with dinosaurs’ to which Emily had replied ‘by now, Gran, you should know I’m not normal’. At the sound of the old woman’s croaky impersonation a reluctant smile broke out on Em’s face.
“Do you know, that’s one of the reasons why I hate you so very much?”
“What’s that then?” I replied, cagily.
“I can never be annoyed with you, because you always make me laugh. It’s massively frustrating.”
“Well, I will bear that in mind, whilst simultaneously ignoring it so that you can never be annoyed with me again.”
She smiled, and leaned forward brushing my fringe from my eyes. “Wonderful. What were we talking about again?”
“The Eighth wonder of the world; Sexy Seminar leaders.”
“Oh, no, that’s the ninth wonder of the world.”
“Right, of course it is. The eighth being...?”
“Duh. Pokemon.”
“Right, yes, how foolish of me. Well, as I was saying before being told that Pokemon are up there with the Pyramids and The Great Wall of China,” In that moment I silently chuckled at the ridiculousness of our conversation and a wave of sadness hit me as I realised my life may never be so surreal again, “Our sexy seminar leader Sam did actually mention you last week”.
She looked at me and could tell by the look on my face that whatever Sam had said, it hadn’t been the declaration of love that she’d been hoping for. She sighed, a breath that was so deep I felt she stole some of mine too on the way back out, and asked “Short and Sweet?”
“He dealt with it like an utter professional. What he said about you and all of...this? It was really moving, actually. Casey Cheswick almost looked teary.”
“Are you sure that’s not just from all the dick that she gets in her face?”
I fell about laughing as she continued her rant,
“Seriously, what the fuck do I care if that utter slag gets upset, she has never said two words to me, except ‘Er’,” and she began swaying slightly from side to side, raising her lips in a perfect imitation of Casey’s permanent pout, “’Do you realise, right, that your ‘air has gone?’”
“Oh come on,” I protested, “She’s not THAT bad!”
“She looks like she’s had botched bot-ox.”
Again I couldn’t contain my laughter. It felt good to feel the joy of it coming from inside me, I hadn’t experienced a laugh like it in a while; honest, and with no hidden agenda. She was the only one who could make me laugh in such a candid way. Her sigh followed my mirth like an encore, and I could see her eyes shift the way they do when she avoided tears. She looked at me, then my lips, and murmured
“I’ll miss the way your lips crease up when you laugh."
I faltered a little. Emily had never been one for sentimentality or observation.
“I love that you’ve managed to say something endearing whilst simultaneously making me conscious of the way I laugh.”
She chuckled lightly, “You’ll start laughing at something and then cry at the thought of me bullying your creasy lips!”
“I think it’s going to be a while before I laugh again without you, Emily,” I began, as I felt my breathing start to shudder around my chest and push it’s way from my mouth. She took my hand as the first tear fell, and I jumped at how cold she was, and pale. The white tag was massive on her slightly limp wrist and I held her fingers gently, afraid they may snap, “I’ll cry simply at the thought of you-” and as I watched the bead emerge, glisten and fall from her eyelash my world span. When I looked in her eyes I saw the fear I felt, and there was a moment while we let the other recover.
“Now,” she croaked, pulling away from my touch, and wiping her eyes, “don’t get silly on me, Caleb, there’s no need for drama. I don’t want you to cry at the thought of me; you can cry for the loss of me, but the thought should...should make your heart a cliché, flipping and skipping. It should make your soul feel warm and you hands feel held. Don’t remember me all balding like Richard O’Brien, remember me as the long haired vixen I used to be.” She gave a cheeky grin as the last tear slid from her face and winked provocatively.
“Used to be? You’re still gorgeous, Em.”
“...I have no hair.”
“So? I’ll buy you a hat, cover the bald”
And like that we were laughing again.
It was only when I looked over at her to measure her beauty against the dusk, that I saw that her eyes had become rather glazed and she was slumped in an unseemly way which made it look like she would cave in any moment. She gave a shudder as I watched, and for the for the first time I realised I could faintly see my breath dance with the sky. I hadn't even noticed the chill, but it swept over me and I tucked my hands under my arms as she pulled a small woollen object that I didn't recognise out of her coat pocket. She saw my inquisitive look and simply said,
“Glittens.”
I thought she'd gone insane, as if the treatment had registered her incapable of speech or something. I couldn't remember whether or not that was one of the side effects her parents had mentioned to me, so I casually asked her “Glittens?”
“Yeah, Glittens.” “She stared and then repeated the phrase I had never heard before, shaking the item as well as she could in my face, “Glittens. Glittens?" Supported by her glazed expression and my ignorance of the word the whole moment was hugely unnerving. She looked hard at my face before asking “Dude, why do you look so worried?”
“Emily...” I didn't know how to broach the subject. Emily had asked me to treat her as I always did, despite what had come to pass, and I knew her treatment, or it's affects, was something she point blank refused to discuss with me, so I brushed my hand along the collar of her coat and asked delicately “Are you sure 'Glittens' is a word? Do you maybe need me to go get someone so you can-can...explain what you're trying to sa-”
“Get with the programme, Caleb.” Her look was pure, undiluted anger, contorted on her face with embarrassment, that I had caused in assuming she was helpless, “They're glove-mittens, Glittens stand for glove mittens, see?” She then furiously untangled the 'Glittens' from the ball they were rolled in, to reveal a fingerless glove that had a small fold of material you could fasten over the tips of your digits. They were magenta, and striking against her pallor, and as she tried to put them on she struggled with the fasten. She could not stand the idea of people naturally assuming a position of pity whilst watching her, and I knew all this too well. Still, it didn't stop me from wanting to help her with the stupid woollen thing, and without thinking I quickly moved as if to do so, but in a swift motion she swung her hand out of my reach, and tried to move up the bench and further away from me. As she did so, her legs fell out of their crossed position and onto the pavement that was so smooth and unscathed it was as if no one's heavy step had ever rested upon it. She lost her balance, taken aback by the speed with which her legs had fallen to the floor, the momentum causing her knees to buckle and collapse . Her body bowed towards the ground and away from me, and with reflexes I never knew I had, I caught her and managed to pull her back by her shoulders. She winced as my grip tightened on her fragile frame, pulling her towards the safety the organised wood of the bench sought to give her. Her breath came out in unnaturally forced gasps, rather than regulated breathing, and in a peculiar second I remembered a time when I had seen my father chopping wood, and how the whooshing noise before the axe fell was mimicked by Emily's now desperate attempts to feel air rush through her. I panicked, but it seemed like as my panic rose hers devolved until it was no more than a heavy sigh, as if I had taken on her fear and kept it for myself. She swayed slightly in her seat, before once again crossing her legs and looking at me like a petulant child who's realised they've done wrong. I tried looking back at her without my feelings getting caught in the back of my throat and failed. I stifled a sob and put my fist to my mouth to protect her from the sight of my grimace, but she pulled it away just as a tear fell and sparkled on our hands.
“I'm sorry, Caleb,” she whispered as her face was painted with sadness that shone in the street lights, that had switched on in response to the ever-nearing dark of the time, “I know you weren't-....I know-” and she let out a little sob that broke both our hearts, and I swept across the bench to cradle her, pulling her into my form and hiding her from what we both knew was coming.
Although our last meeting was two weeks ago, the memory hurts still. A little after I held her the hospice nurse had come out to find us, saying that she'd let Emily be out far too long anyway and that visiting hours for non-family members were over. We felt numb as we'd hugged goodbye, and I promised I would come see her in around four days time from then, once all her family had done the rounds, so that we wouldn't be interrupted by a random Uncle or second Cousin bursting through the doors with sweets she couldn't eat and flowers she couldn't stand.
The phone call had come at precisely 05:51am 2 days after. It had been neither Emily's Mother nor Father who'd phoned, but her brother Darren, who explained in a monotone, voice that cracked occasionally that Emily had fallen into a coma 7 hours before, and had died at 03:42am this morning. When I arrived at the hospital, I vaguely heard several doctors each try to explain to me that the problem with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia is the speed with which events take place and that Emily's blast cell count was to do with it, but I had never bothered to learn the details of her illness after she had told me about it two months before, so it all fell on deaf ears. I had refrained from learning about the disease partially because Emily herself had asked me not to, but mostly because this way I could find no logic in why she was ill; if I didn't know the science behind it then there was no rational reason why she was dying, there was no way it was real. But Darren's phone call had thrown me into a reality the same way touching her limp wrist had on that bench in the hospice park. Emily had died, and no amount of explanation or looks of sympathy could reform my world or make it how it had been and how it should have been forever. But I do as I was told, and when I can bare to bring myself to talk of her I never mention her illness, only her life. With my subconscious being the schemer it is, I find myself dreaming of her often, and in those moments she's truly alive, as am I. Some days I hope not to wake up; but I know soon enough that I'll wake up of a morning and I won't avoid her memory, but that it will come with me, supporting every choice I make and laughing along with me as she had done, and as she always will do.
xXx
Sunday 21 November 2010
Teenage Glory days (TGD)
My brother Joe George (or Fozz) is the bassist in a pretty amazing band called Teenage Glory Days with Sam Crocker (guitar) and Shaun Dawson (drums). This here is 'A Day in the life of TGD', i suggest you all watch, and then check out their facebook page :)
PS I know you're all thinking i'm naturally obliged to say that they're great, btw, but it's the truth. They are pretty daym good.
PS I know you're all thinking i'm naturally obliged to say that they're great, btw, but it's the truth. They are pretty daym good.
xXx
Saturday 20 November 2010
Living the dream
I'm almost halfway through my third and final year of Uni and i'm terrified. I genuinely avoid thinking about what's going to happen come next June when I'm kicked out of the warm cocoon of education into the Big Bad World to make it by myself. Even more so because I was stupid enough to dedicate my life to a career which revolves far too much around luck and perfect timing; i actually question my sanity, considering I'm the least 'lucky' person I know and i'm always late. But I need to stop having panic attacks everytime someone asks me what I want to do after Uni and start trying to sort myself out.
After Uni has finished I will have to live at home. That's just the way it is. But for me, this is one of the most terrifying prospects- I love seeing my family, don't get me wrong. They're amazing and I think the world of them. But to go from being entirely independent, from having more freedom then my mind can deal with sometimes, back to this scheduled place where there are rules and regulations, where I can't even get a text message without being asked who it's from? It makes me sad. I'm the kind of person who needs things to be happening in order to keep my head above water. The summer before i left for Uni I had 4 months off, and couldn't find work- i actually became depressed, simply because there was nothing to do, nothing to motivate me, nothing to push me to act on all the ideas i had or the things I wanted to do. Beccles is wonderful; if you go there on holiday. For someone like me it's the worst place to live. Everyone there is happy to have these quiet, sensible lives, and be normal, no one pushes any boundaries and no one expects to make much of themselves. I know that for some, if not most, people the idea of marrying your childhood sweetheart and setting up home and having a secure job and house in the country is the the ideal and there's nothing wrong with that! it's awesome if that's what you want from life, kudos for finding it. But I'm not like that. I need more. I needed to leave home, and the person i've become since i left for Uni? I wish i could go back to 17-18 year old Amy and just say to her "This? This isn't it. You're nowhere near finding yourself yet, chin up. it's gonna be alright". I guess it's a good thing that i didn't have to wait that long to find out.
But now i'm facing the prospect of having to go back to that, back to there and i'm terrified i'm gonna sink. I'm having trouble keeping my head above water as it is, but once i've gone back to that quiet secluded part of my life i fear i'm just going to fall back into place. Sure i won't fit at first, but it's got a knack of making you into something you're not, Beccles.
The plan was to take a year out to raise money, go to New Zealand with Connie and then study in London. London... I just KNOW once i get there i'll find exactly what i'm looking for. It's the most wonderful combination of pessimism and magical whimsy that I need to support my similar personality. It's unreal in it's wonder; The size of it- you can walk three minutes and find yourself in a whole other world; the sheer mass of people that surround you, and bustle you; the shapes, the beauty that envelopes the skyline, the streets. I once stood between two glass buildings whilst the sun went down and their reflections danced off of each other on either side of me, seemingly reaching the clouds and carrying on into the sky. It's breathtaking. But whilst being unreal it's so sensible, too, and kind of freakishly normal; the people there go to work, go home, and repeat as needed; some of the roads are so full of traffic you have to yell in order to hold a conversation; there are a ridiculous amount of Starbucks; pigeons OWN you. And yet you leave work, look up and see the building you've just left was built to look like a boat. Or you turn and see a light projection bouncing off the wall opposite you, showing you someones artistic efforts and imagination. You walk from one of those Starbucks and you find yourself stood between two massive stone Lions. Or next to a gigantic wheel that spins people around. Or outside a gate that stands before a palace- YES AN ACTUAL PALACE. Lewis Carroll couldn't write that shit man, there is A PALACE in the middle of a bustling city. The magic of it is... it's so strangely compelling and out of place. But it works, and my heart aches a little at the thought of not living there.
The more i think about the things i want the more terrified i become at the prospect of not achieving any of them. But i need to put myself out there and risk losing a lot in order to get back what i want from life. I know that i will live in London one day, and whilst part of my mind thinks 'not for a while, though' the other part of my mind says 'er...why's that then? why not just do something about it and see what happens?'. Well, crazy, impulsive part of my mind that sounds a little like the narrator from (500) Days of Summer. I think i will.
xXx
After Uni has finished I will have to live at home. That's just the way it is. But for me, this is one of the most terrifying prospects- I love seeing my family, don't get me wrong. They're amazing and I think the world of them. But to go from being entirely independent, from having more freedom then my mind can deal with sometimes, back to this scheduled place where there are rules and regulations, where I can't even get a text message without being asked who it's from? It makes me sad. I'm the kind of person who needs things to be happening in order to keep my head above water. The summer before i left for Uni I had 4 months off, and couldn't find work- i actually became depressed, simply because there was nothing to do, nothing to motivate me, nothing to push me to act on all the ideas i had or the things I wanted to do. Beccles is wonderful; if you go there on holiday. For someone like me it's the worst place to live. Everyone there is happy to have these quiet, sensible lives, and be normal, no one pushes any boundaries and no one expects to make much of themselves. I know that for some, if not most, people the idea of marrying your childhood sweetheart and setting up home and having a secure job and house in the country is the the ideal and there's nothing wrong with that! it's awesome if that's what you want from life, kudos for finding it. But I'm not like that. I need more. I needed to leave home, and the person i've become since i left for Uni? I wish i could go back to 17-18 year old Amy and just say to her "This? This isn't it. You're nowhere near finding yourself yet, chin up. it's gonna be alright". I guess it's a good thing that i didn't have to wait that long to find out.
But now i'm facing the prospect of having to go back to that, back to there and i'm terrified i'm gonna sink. I'm having trouble keeping my head above water as it is, but once i've gone back to that quiet secluded part of my life i fear i'm just going to fall back into place. Sure i won't fit at first, but it's got a knack of making you into something you're not, Beccles.
The plan was to take a year out to raise money, go to New Zealand with Connie and then study in London. London... I just KNOW once i get there i'll find exactly what i'm looking for. It's the most wonderful combination of pessimism and magical whimsy that I need to support my similar personality. It's unreal in it's wonder; The size of it- you can walk three minutes and find yourself in a whole other world; the sheer mass of people that surround you, and bustle you; the shapes, the beauty that envelopes the skyline, the streets. I once stood between two glass buildings whilst the sun went down and their reflections danced off of each other on either side of me, seemingly reaching the clouds and carrying on into the sky. It's breathtaking. But whilst being unreal it's so sensible, too, and kind of freakishly normal; the people there go to work, go home, and repeat as needed; some of the roads are so full of traffic you have to yell in order to hold a conversation; there are a ridiculous amount of Starbucks; pigeons OWN you. And yet you leave work, look up and see the building you've just left was built to look like a boat. Or you turn and see a light projection bouncing off the wall opposite you, showing you someones artistic efforts and imagination. You walk from one of those Starbucks and you find yourself stood between two massive stone Lions. Or next to a gigantic wheel that spins people around. Or outside a gate that stands before a palace- YES AN ACTUAL PALACE. Lewis Carroll couldn't write that shit man, there is A PALACE in the middle of a bustling city. The magic of it is... it's so strangely compelling and out of place. But it works, and my heart aches a little at the thought of not living there.
The more i think about the things i want the more terrified i become at the prospect of not achieving any of them. But i need to put myself out there and risk losing a lot in order to get back what i want from life. I know that i will live in London one day, and whilst part of my mind thinks 'not for a while, though' the other part of my mind says 'er...why's that then? why not just do something about it and see what happens?'. Well, crazy, impulsive part of my mind that sounds a little like the narrator from (500) Days of Summer. I think i will.
xXx
Wednesday 17 November 2010
The Little Match Girl
I just had the strangest moment.
I was sat in my living room, reading Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde for my seminar next week, with Emma on the next sofa. We didn't have the telly on, because I was too busy trying to get past the first page of DJMH and Emma was on her laptop, and there was complete silence, except for the washing machine sounding like it was throwing a hissy fit in the kitchen next door.
After triumphantly making it to the second page, I got to half way down the page when i read the following line; "Tramps slouched into the recess and struck matches on the panels". Instantly my mind flashed the image of me, my brother and my sister when we were younger, a lot younger, around 1997, all sat on the 3 beds that were pushed together to create Kage, Fozz's and my bed in the room that is now mine and Kage's. We were all in our pyjamas, and tucked up, with the curtains open and the sky a really pale blue, as if the day was just holding on a little longer than it should. We were being read to by our baby-sitter Kate, who was the daughter of our neighbour from across the road; we had a baby-sitter for a while whilst we were younger, whilst my dad worked the night shift at his job and my mum worked as a barmaid. She was reading to us from our favourite book, the original fairy tales of Hans Christian Anderson, which we always asked for. I know that the original tales probably weren't the nicest things for children to hear, but we've never been a family for normality (To this day the little mermaid for me is still a tale of sorrow and fear, having never seen the Disney version and I don't intend to. I like my fairy tales mean)
The story Kate was reading to us was that of 'The Little Match Girl', and in literally seconds of reading the line from DJMH i blurted out-loud "Oh my god, The Little Match Girl!", by which Emma was very confused. The whole moment that, until now I had forgotten, was as vivid as if i had been sat there again, listening to Kate read. I think the reason the memory is so vivid is because 'The Little Match Girl' was the first ever story I can remember that I cried at after hearing it. The story itself is so beautiful, and not very long at all- if you can find it online I heartily suggest reading it, also, you'll realise why my mind made the connection between that line from DJMH to it. It's one of the most affecting things I've ever read, which I obviously didn't know at the age of 7 whilst first hearing it, but the fact that it's stuck in my head along with such an incredibly vivid image let's me know how much it moved me, and how easily it was impressed into the back of my mind. It's so simple, but so amazingly poetic and emotional.
The whole moment, and how quickly it all happened, was really intense, and literally happened about 20 minutes ago. The memory is still really strong now, and it just strikes me as odd that I can still remember things from over a decade ago, that I never even considered to be of any importance, or any significance at the time. Strange how some things can affect you so subtly, isn't it?
xXx
I was sat in my living room, reading Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde for my seminar next week, with Emma on the next sofa. We didn't have the telly on, because I was too busy trying to get past the first page of DJMH and Emma was on her laptop, and there was complete silence, except for the washing machine sounding like it was throwing a hissy fit in the kitchen next door.
After triumphantly making it to the second page, I got to half way down the page when i read the following line; "Tramps slouched into the recess and struck matches on the panels". Instantly my mind flashed the image of me, my brother and my sister when we were younger, a lot younger, around 1997, all sat on the 3 beds that were pushed together to create Kage, Fozz's and my bed in the room that is now mine and Kage's. We were all in our pyjamas, and tucked up, with the curtains open and the sky a really pale blue, as if the day was just holding on a little longer than it should. We were being read to by our baby-sitter Kate, who was the daughter of our neighbour from across the road; we had a baby-sitter for a while whilst we were younger, whilst my dad worked the night shift at his job and my mum worked as a barmaid. She was reading to us from our favourite book, the original fairy tales of Hans Christian Anderson, which we always asked for. I know that the original tales probably weren't the nicest things for children to hear, but we've never been a family for normality (To this day the little mermaid for me is still a tale of sorrow and fear, having never seen the Disney version and I don't intend to. I like my fairy tales mean)
The story Kate was reading to us was that of 'The Little Match Girl', and in literally seconds of reading the line from DJMH i blurted out-loud "Oh my god, The Little Match Girl!", by which Emma was very confused. The whole moment that, until now I had forgotten, was as vivid as if i had been sat there again, listening to Kate read. I think the reason the memory is so vivid is because 'The Little Match Girl' was the first ever story I can remember that I cried at after hearing it. The story itself is so beautiful, and not very long at all- if you can find it online I heartily suggest reading it, also, you'll realise why my mind made the connection between that line from DJMH to it. It's one of the most affecting things I've ever read, which I obviously didn't know at the age of 7 whilst first hearing it, but the fact that it's stuck in my head along with such an incredibly vivid image let's me know how much it moved me, and how easily it was impressed into the back of my mind. It's so simple, but so amazingly poetic and emotional.
The whole moment, and how quickly it all happened, was really intense, and literally happened about 20 minutes ago. The memory is still really strong now, and it just strikes me as odd that I can still remember things from over a decade ago, that I never even considered to be of any importance, or any significance at the time. Strange how some things can affect you so subtly, isn't it?
xXx
Thursday 11 November 2010
Remembrance Day
(This is probably my favourite poem ever )
Perhaps some day the sun will shine again,
And I shall see that still the skies are blue,
And feel once more I do not live in vain,
Although bereft of You.
Perhaps the golden meadows at my feet
Will make the sunny hours of spring seem gay,
And I shall find the white May-blossoms sweet,
Though You have passed away.
Perhaps the summer woods will shimmer bright,
And crimson roses once again be fair,
And autumn harvest fields a rich delight,
Although You are not there.
But though kind Time may many joys renew,
There is one greatest joy I shall not know
Again, because my heart for loss of You
Was broken, long ago.
Perhaps some day the sun will shine again,
And I shall see that still the skies are blue,
And feel once more I do not live in vain,
Although bereft of You.
Perhaps the golden meadows at my feet
Will make the sunny hours of spring seem gay,
And I shall find the white May-blossoms sweet,
Though You have passed away.
Perhaps the summer woods will shimmer bright,
And crimson roses once again be fair,
And autumn harvest fields a rich delight,
Although You are not there.
But though kind Time may many joys renew,
There is one greatest joy I shall not know
Again, because my heart for loss of You
Was broken, long ago.
-Vera Brittain
xXx
xXx
Monday 1 November 2010
Living in a ganster's paradise, aka Bishop's Way.
We were sat about 3 feet from each other in our living room when this happened.
Cos we is 'ard, innit blud?
AMY G-UNIT vs EM C H(e)UNG
MUTHAAFUCKAAAAA!!!
Cos we is 'ard, innit blud?
AMY G-UNIT vs EM C H(e)UNG
MUTHAAFUCKAAAAA!!!
(You have to click to see the image properly)
xXx
Tuesday 19 October 2010
Semi Live Blog: Working in an Upmarket Department Store
Here is a Semi-Live blog i wrote whilst working my first full day at an Upmarket Department Store*. I've never worked in retail before. ever.
08:59am
Ok, so work hasn't even technically started yet, and already i've mucked up the psion system and i think I've broken the phone.
Also when i answered the phone I totally forgot phone protocol and just ended up saying 'Err err, wait, i forgot what I'm supposed to say-' to which the phoner replied 'Er, hello usually works'.
OH GOD WHY DID SHE LEAVE ME ALONE ON MY FIRST DAY?!?!?
09:02am
At least I look pretty. I may be fucking up, but i look pretty.
09:11am
I officially have a new best friend. Her name is Pauline and she works in the alterations department. She is FAB. She's sympathetic to my plight. my plight being that I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE WHAT I'M DOING.
Time? I don't know. I got told off by J for having my phone in the draw of the desk so i had to get rid of it and there are no clocks on the shop floor. But then again why would you need clocks in a place where time. stands. still. J's phone is now where mine was. Hypocritical cow.
Around 11 i guess
J sorted out the Psion situation. afterwards she turned to me and scathingly said 'An idiot could do this job, Amy. ok?'
Later in the day
I've already helped old ladies spend over £250 this morning. I feel guilty, like i'm stealing from them. I'm sure this isn't how sales people are supposed to feel- guilty.
Later in the daaay
An old lady flashed me. Pulled back the changing room curtain as i approached it with a different size skirt for her and was stood there in her, surprisingly small, underwear. I DID NOT SIGN ON FOR THIS.
Later
Currently sat in the staff restaurant. No phones allowed, and still no clocks. I don't know what drink to have. I want something cold but all they have is fizzy stuff and i'm scared to drink them in case i burp in some old person's face.
Later
MAKING A LORRA LORRA SALES BLINDA DATA
Around 12:45pm
Holy shit. I've just noticed the christmas decorations up in here. Christmas Decorations. IT'S NOT EVEN FUCKING HALLOWEEN YET.
Afternoon time
Just received a 'Round Robin' from Tunbridge Wells, that I had to forward to Beales in Haversham regarding graphics. Had no idea what i was saying but FUCK that felt professional.
Afternoon time later
J just came over to me with a bottle of perfume, put it on the desk and then said 'Here you go. Just in case you start to smell'. ?????????????????????????????????????????????????
Sometimes after 15:30pm
Just saw myself in the mirror. I need to get my hair cut.
time
Oh my word the lingerie in the area of the shop floor next to mine is stunningly beautiful. I've spent half my time ogling at it and the other half thinking of how i'm going to spend my payslip on it.
Close to 17:00pm
AWW BEAM!! C just came over and said 'Have you ever done this before? and I said 'No' and she said 'you're an absolute natural. You're excellent with the customers, you speak so well to them! I'm very impressed!' Also J set me a target of £500 worth of sales - i made £870!!
YEEEAAAH BWOIIII!
Still bored as fuck, though.
You can tell that towards the end i just stopped caring.
xXx
08:59am
Ok, so work hasn't even technically started yet, and already i've mucked up the psion system and i think I've broken the phone.
Also when i answered the phone I totally forgot phone protocol and just ended up saying 'Err err, wait, i forgot what I'm supposed to say-' to which the phoner replied 'Er, hello usually works'.
OH GOD WHY DID SHE LEAVE ME ALONE ON MY FIRST DAY?!?!?
09:02am
At least I look pretty. I may be fucking up, but i look pretty.
09:11am
I officially have a new best friend. Her name is Pauline and she works in the alterations department. She is FAB. She's sympathetic to my plight. my plight being that I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE WHAT I'M DOING.
Time? I don't know. I got told off by J for having my phone in the draw of the desk so i had to get rid of it and there are no clocks on the shop floor. But then again why would you need clocks in a place where time. stands. still. J's phone is now where mine was. Hypocritical cow.
Around 11 i guess
J sorted out the Psion situation. afterwards she turned to me and scathingly said 'An idiot could do this job, Amy. ok?'
Later in the day
I've already helped old ladies spend over £250 this morning. I feel guilty, like i'm stealing from them. I'm sure this isn't how sales people are supposed to feel- guilty.
Later in the daaay
An old lady flashed me. Pulled back the changing room curtain as i approached it with a different size skirt for her and was stood there in her, surprisingly small, underwear. I DID NOT SIGN ON FOR THIS.
Later
Currently sat in the staff restaurant. No phones allowed, and still no clocks. I don't know what drink to have. I want something cold but all they have is fizzy stuff and i'm scared to drink them in case i burp in some old person's face.
Later
MAKING A LORRA LORRA SALES BLINDA DATA
Around 12:45pm
Holy shit. I've just noticed the christmas decorations up in here. Christmas Decorations. IT'S NOT EVEN FUCKING HALLOWEEN YET.
Afternoon time
Just received a 'Round Robin' from Tunbridge Wells, that I had to forward to Beales in Haversham regarding graphics. Had no idea what i was saying but FUCK that felt professional.
Afternoon time later
J just came over to me with a bottle of perfume, put it on the desk and then said 'Here you go. Just in case you start to smell'. ?????????????????????????????????????????????????
Sometimes after 15:30pm
Just saw myself in the mirror. I need to get my hair cut.
time
Oh my word the lingerie in the area of the shop floor next to mine is stunningly beautiful. I've spent half my time ogling at it and the other half thinking of how i'm going to spend my payslip on it.
Close to 17:00pm
AWW BEAM!! C just came over and said 'Have you ever done this before? and I said 'No' and she said 'you're an absolute natural. You're excellent with the customers, you speak so well to them! I'm very impressed!' Also J set me a target of £500 worth of sales - i made £870!!
YEEEAAAH BWOIIII!
Still bored as fuck, though.
You can tell that towards the end i just stopped caring.
xXx
Dancing with the Star Wars Stars
OK, so basically Vicki told me she had something amazing to show me. ONce she did i felt it was only right to pass on the amazingness to you lovely lot. Because, and i mean this;
THIS. IS. EPIC.
2007
2008
2009
2010
Now don't say I never give you nuthin'
xXx
THIS. IS. EPIC.
2007
2008
2009
2010
Now don't say I never give you nuthin'
xXx
Friday 10 September 2010
Confessions
1) I like leaving the music channels on, in case a song that I'm not really supposed to enjoy comes on, and then feign ignorance as to the whereabouts of the remote control.
2) Sometimes when I see my cat Charlie sat on the windowsill outside, waiting to be let in, I get up and go to the door as if I'm going to open it, then laugh at her from the other side of the cat-flap.
3) The more talented a man the more attractive i find him. This then explains my crushes on Simon Pegg, Gary Oldman, Liam Neeson, Dara O'Briain and David Mitchell.
4) I really want to steal the Toy Story alarm clock that my 4 year old nephew Eli owns. During the day it has Woody on it, and at night the face changes to Buzz and glows in the dark. It gets harder to leave it where it is everytime I see it.
5) I tell people I don't believe in marriage because I don't need a band of metal on my finger to prove I love a man, but really it's because I'm convinced the love would fall apart and the band of metal would make the hurt ten times worse.
6) I actually enjoy reading Middlemarch.
7) When I'm making my Academy Award Winner acceptance speech, I'm wholly tempted to name-call every bastard who ever doubted me and then cackle until forced off the stage.
8) Men with excessive piercings and long hair make me suspicious and feel a little bit ill.
9) I could never be with someone who smokes. EVER.
10) I don't think 'Spirited Away' is all that good.
11) I'm so addicted to Twitter that I dream about it at least 4 times a week.
12) When Carrie took Big back I was so angry I swore I'd never watch 'Sex and the City' again. I watched the film last night, but I still get rage.
13) I think my parents genuinely think I'm gay and in love with my best friend Connie.
14) Everytime my sister says that she thinks '(500) Days of Summer' is a rubbish film, a little part of me goes insane with rage.
15) When I first started blogging and tweeting, a few people took the mickey out of me. These same people now all have twitter and/or a blog. This makes me feel smug.
16) Sometimes I have a little cry over the fact that Muse's last album was rubbish and that they've broken my heart. To this day I still can't listen to 'Citizen Erased' without becoming depressed.
17) My level of apprehension way exceeds my level of excitement when it comes to starting my third and final year at University of Kent.
18) The process of having to pluck my eyebrows makes me wish I was a bloke.
19) If I had to choose between saving my cats or my friends, only about 67% of my friends would survive.
20) If I was told I have to choose between buying myself dinner or that months copy of Empire Magazine I would end up starving the majority of the time.
xXx
2) Sometimes when I see my cat Charlie sat on the windowsill outside, waiting to be let in, I get up and go to the door as if I'm going to open it, then laugh at her from the other side of the cat-flap.
3) The more talented a man the more attractive i find him. This then explains my crushes on Simon Pegg, Gary Oldman, Liam Neeson, Dara O'Briain and David Mitchell.
4) I really want to steal the Toy Story alarm clock that my 4 year old nephew Eli owns. During the day it has Woody on it, and at night the face changes to Buzz and glows in the dark. It gets harder to leave it where it is everytime I see it.
5) I tell people I don't believe in marriage because I don't need a band of metal on my finger to prove I love a man, but really it's because I'm convinced the love would fall apart and the band of metal would make the hurt ten times worse.
6) I actually enjoy reading Middlemarch.
7) When I'm making my Academy Award Winner acceptance speech, I'm wholly tempted to name-call every bastard who ever doubted me and then cackle until forced off the stage.
8) Men with excessive piercings and long hair make me suspicious and feel a little bit ill.
9) I could never be with someone who smokes. EVER.
10) I don't think 'Spirited Away' is all that good.
11) I'm so addicted to Twitter that I dream about it at least 4 times a week.
12) When Carrie took Big back I was so angry I swore I'd never watch 'Sex and the City' again. I watched the film last night, but I still get rage.
13) I think my parents genuinely think I'm gay and in love with my best friend Connie.
14) Everytime my sister says that she thinks '(500) Days of Summer' is a rubbish film, a little part of me goes insane with rage.
15) When I first started blogging and tweeting, a few people took the mickey out of me. These same people now all have twitter and/or a blog. This makes me feel smug.
16) Sometimes I have a little cry over the fact that Muse's last album was rubbish and that they've broken my heart. To this day I still can't listen to 'Citizen Erased' without becoming depressed.
17) My level of apprehension way exceeds my level of excitement when it comes to starting my third and final year at University of Kent.
18) The process of having to pluck my eyebrows makes me wish I was a bloke.
19) If I had to choose between saving my cats or my friends, only about 67% of my friends would survive.
20) If I was told I have to choose between buying myself dinner or that months copy of Empire Magazine I would end up starving the majority of the time.
xXx
Thursday 9 September 2010
Burning Bright
Me: Ma, have you heard about that 'Burning Bright' film?
Mum: Yes i have, and i think it's appalling!
Me: I know I- wait, what? Don't you mean AMAZING?!?
Mum: NO!!! Now all those stupid Americans-
Me: BIT racist, mother-
Mum: -are gonna think (puts on terrible accent that sounds more welsh than anything) 'Oh man, all the tigers-
Me:-'all the tigers'?
Mum:-are gonna try and kill me and my family' and then they'll go round killing all the tigers!!
Me: Mum, there aren't any tigers in America!!!
Mum: Siegfried and Roy have tigers!!
Me: Yeah, but they're not gonna set them on people and be all 'Hey, shoot my tiger'!!
Mum: YES THEY WILL!!
xXx
Mum: Yes i have, and i think it's appalling!
Me: I know I- wait, what? Don't you mean AMAZING?!?
Mum: NO!!! Now all those stupid Americans-
Me: BIT racist, mother-
Mum: -are gonna think (puts on terrible accent that sounds more welsh than anything) 'Oh man, all the tigers-
Me:-'all the tigers'?
Mum:-are gonna try and kill me and my family' and then they'll go round killing all the tigers!!
Me: Mum, there aren't any tigers in America!!!
Mum: Siegfried and Roy have tigers!!
Me: Yeah, but they're not gonna set them on people and be all 'Hey, shoot my tiger'!!
Mum: YES THEY WILL!!
xXx
Monday 6 September 2010
Conversation
Blogger:SNORREE....ZZZZZ....SNOOOOOR- AHH, what?!?!? Wait, who is that? Amy?
Me: Heeey Blogger.
Blogger: What are you doing up?!?! it's half 2 in the morning!!
Me: Jezz, Blogger, you should be used to this by now
Blogger: But... But you've been so sensible of late
Me: Meh, i got bored of sensible
Blogger: But-
Me: Hey, stop lecturing and let's just do this already, yeah?
Blogger: Fine. What do you wanna write about?
Me:...Don't know.
Blogger: WHAT?? SO YOU WOKE ME UP AT HALF 2 IN THE MORNING TO JUST SIT AROUND AND WAIT FOR YOU TO GET YOUR SORRY ARSE INTO GEAR AND-
Me: Seriously, dude? Chill.
Blogger: DON'T YOU TELL ME TO CHILL, I WORK EVERYD-
Me: Oh please!! You do not work everyday!
Blogger: I DO!
Me:Pfft-
Blogger: I- DON'T YOU 'PFFT' ME!!
Me: You know, tumblr never gets like this. Tumblr doesn't give a fuck what time people wanna write blogs.
Blogger: Maybe you should just get a tumblr then. Delete me.
Me:...What, you're seriously gonna do this?
Blogger: Go on. Do it. Delete me. and get a tumblr. If it's so much better. See if i care.
Me: but-
Blogger: delete me, like you told me you were gonna delete your Twitter account about 3 months-
Me: YOU LEAVE TWITTER OUT OF THIS.
Blogger: I don't care. delete me. Get a tumblr, frolic and re-post the same things everyone else does.
Me: But...we've been together almost 2 years, you can't honestly say you wouldn't-
Blogger: I-
Me: But-
Blogger: Don't-
Me: We-
Blogger: Care. (silence) Well?
Me:...imsorry
Blogger: What was that?
Me: I'm Sorry.
Blogger: Better.
Me: I promise next time i'll have an idea before i wake you up at half 2 in the morning.
Blogger: Good girl. Honestly, what were you playing at?
Me: I dunno, i just thought... maybe if i just opened a new post page i'd know what to do once i got there.
Blogger: Well, thank god we've had this discussion. Otherwise who knows what kind of tawdry crap you could have tainted me with.
Me:...Blogger?
Blogger: yeah?
Me: Can i blog about this conversatio-
Blogger: No one wants to read this conversation, Amy. You come across very badly in this conversation. And that's mostly because it never actually happened.
xXx
Me: Heeey Blogger.
Blogger: What are you doing up?!?! it's half 2 in the morning!!
Me: Jezz, Blogger, you should be used to this by now
Blogger: But... But you've been so sensible of late
Me: Meh, i got bored of sensible
Blogger: But-
Me: Hey, stop lecturing and let's just do this already, yeah?
Blogger: Fine. What do you wanna write about?
Me:...Don't know.
Blogger: WHAT?? SO YOU WOKE ME UP AT HALF 2 IN THE MORNING TO JUST SIT AROUND AND WAIT FOR YOU TO GET YOUR SORRY ARSE INTO GEAR AND-
Me: Seriously, dude? Chill.
Blogger: DON'T YOU TELL ME TO CHILL, I WORK EVERYD-
Me: Oh please!! You do not work everyday!
Blogger: I DO!
Me:Pfft-
Blogger: I- DON'T YOU 'PFFT' ME!!
Me: You know, tumblr never gets like this. Tumblr doesn't give a fuck what time people wanna write blogs.
Blogger: Maybe you should just get a tumblr then. Delete me.
Me:...What, you're seriously gonna do this?
Blogger: Go on. Do it. Delete me. and get a tumblr. If it's so much better. See if i care.
Me: but-
Blogger: delete me, like you told me you were gonna delete your Twitter account about 3 months-
Me: YOU LEAVE TWITTER OUT OF THIS.
Blogger: I don't care. delete me. Get a tumblr, frolic and re-post the same things everyone else does.
Me: But...we've been together almost 2 years, you can't honestly say you wouldn't-
Blogger: I-
Me: But-
Blogger: Don't-
Me: We-
Blogger: Care. (silence) Well?
Me:...imsorry
Blogger: What was that?
Me: I'm Sorry.
Blogger: Better.
Me: I promise next time i'll have an idea before i wake you up at half 2 in the morning.
Blogger: Good girl. Honestly, what were you playing at?
Me: I dunno, i just thought... maybe if i just opened a new post page i'd know what to do once i got there.
Blogger: Well, thank god we've had this discussion. Otherwise who knows what kind of tawdry crap you could have tainted me with.
Me:...Blogger?
Blogger: yeah?
Me: Can i blog about this conversatio-
Blogger: No one wants to read this conversation, Amy. You come across very badly in this conversation. And that's mostly because it never actually happened.
xXx
Questions
(Here is a random poem i wrote a while ago)
All the days are figures;
years are figures moving slow.
The first hand slips
and the second is forgotten,
moments falls to a pause
and breaths are held,
like a marksmen with a cross-hair
poised on a fraction of a life.
To save it is a question of conscience.
To take it is a question of pride.
The question's not of Ego
but a fragile state of mind.
xXx
All the days are figures;
years are figures moving slow.
The first hand slips
and the second is forgotten,
moments falls to a pause
and breaths are held,
like a marksmen with a cross-hair
poised on a fraction of a life.
To save it is a question of conscience.
To take it is a question of pride.
The question's not of Ego
but a fragile state of mind.
xXx
Thursday 2 September 2010
that 3 month itch...
After I'd said 'I'm fed up' for the twelfth time since 3pm today, Pandy turned to me and said 'You want to go back to Canterbury, we get it'. I was mollified, quickly defending myself with well thought out argument's such as 'Nu-Uh' and 'Pfft that's not why i'm fed up,JEEZ Pands, give it a break'. Mum then said 'Amy. You get like this at least 3 weeks before you're due to head back to Uni. You go on about how tired you. How you're fed up but don't know why. How you just feel down all the time. It's because you're getting Desperate to go back to Canterbury. It's OK, me and your father understand. We're just thankful you had work to keep you occupied otherwise this would've started up at least a month ago'.
The woman is right.
I need to go back to Canterbury now.
(Puts red ruby slippers on and starts tapping feet together)
-Er, Amy, What are you doing?
-Trying to get back to Canterbury.
-Just because it worked for Dorothy, doesn't mean it's gonna work for you.
-...Dorothy? Who the hell is Dorothy?
xXx
The woman is right.
I need to go back to Canterbury now.
(Puts red ruby slippers on and starts tapping feet together)
-Er, Amy, What are you doing?
-Trying to get back to Canterbury.
-Just because it worked for Dorothy, doesn't mean it's gonna work for you.
-...Dorothy? Who the hell is Dorothy?
xXx
Subspace Sex
Ross: I need to go to bed now. I have to get up at 08:30am
Me: Ahh noes!!
Ross: Ah well. Maybe Ramona Flowers can sneak a subspace portal into my brain and we can have hyped up supersex whilst i sleep
Me: PFFT yeah right, in your dreams. OOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
Ross: Oh dear...
Me: I went there.
xXx
Me: Ahh noes!!
Ross: Ah well. Maybe Ramona Flowers can sneak a subspace portal into my brain and we can have hyped up supersex whilst i sleep
Me: PFFT yeah right, in your dreams. OOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
Ross: Oh dear...
Me: I went there.
xXx
Wednesday 1 September 2010
Saturday 28 August 2010
Insomnia
When i was younger i had really big trouble sleeping at night. It got to a point where i was running on about 2 hours sleep every day, which was horrible. I can remember when it started- Christmas Eve. It was the most ridiculous thing too, I got a Christmas song stuck in my head and it kept going round and round and when Christmas Morning came i hadn't slept at all. That whole day i spent trying not to hear the same songs too often, fearing they'd get stuck in my head and i wouldn't be able to sleep again.
That's how it starts- you worry about not getting to sleep, so when it comes to going to sleep you actually try. Have you ever noticed that? when you try and make yourself sleep you never can? I've always found it strange. And all the while you're trying to sleep the minutes go by and by and before you know it it's 3am and even though you went to bed at 10pm you're no closer to sleeping than you were when you were eating your breakfast.
The part that always upset me the most and the thing i found most harrowing about not being able to sleep- and it is harrowing, by the way. A couple of awkward nights here and there and you get cranky, sure. But when you go months without being able to just doze off, left staring at your ceiling until the sun comes up, sleeping becomes all you can think about, all day, everyday, even though it's the one thing you can't actually do. After the first month of only roughly 2 hours a night i began feeling sick to my stomach at the thought of bed. The hours during the day went super fast, and i used to dread hearing the words 'time for bed'. You come to expect the fact you can't sleep. I made a lot of jokes around that time. Most of them thought up whilst not being able to sleep, ironically.
Anyway, the thing that really got to me was how lonely i always felt. Lying in my bed, which was a place i hated being in, at 4am feeling like there was no one else in the world awake with me right now. I'd constantly be listening for the sound of a car to go past and think 'Oh, thank god, someone else is awake right now, i'm not by myself'. But living in a small country town, there isn't that much traffic. Just...even though i KNEW that other people were awake, somewhere, there wasn't anyone with me. The thought of being alone, ever, still majorly scares me now.
Then, after 5 months of living off of the dregs of 'sleep', randomly, one night after no particular special day, occasion or change to my daily routine i slept soundly, and did so for years after-wards. And that was it. Every so often my Insomnia comes back- predictably around my AS Levels-although strangely not my A Levels- and during my first year of Uni i had some trouble. Neither of them lasted as long as the first time, but the bout during Uni was very hard to deal with because I had no one there who i knew well enough to talk to about it. But that only lasted 3 weeks and since then i've had no trouble sleeping.
You may think this is a really random blog to be writing, considering the ones that surround it. But it was so weird, i looked down at the clock on my laptop and it said 'something ridiculous AM'. And i got the little tugging feeling in my stomach, like i used to get. The little thought of loneliness popped into my head, and its been a while since i felt it. so i thought i'd write about it. maybe in the hope someone else has felt that way too.
xXx
That's how it starts- you worry about not getting to sleep, so when it comes to going to sleep you actually try. Have you ever noticed that? when you try and make yourself sleep you never can? I've always found it strange. And all the while you're trying to sleep the minutes go by and by and before you know it it's 3am and even though you went to bed at 10pm you're no closer to sleeping than you were when you were eating your breakfast.
The part that always upset me the most and the thing i found most harrowing about not being able to sleep- and it is harrowing, by the way. A couple of awkward nights here and there and you get cranky, sure. But when you go months without being able to just doze off, left staring at your ceiling until the sun comes up, sleeping becomes all you can think about, all day, everyday, even though it's the one thing you can't actually do. After the first month of only roughly 2 hours a night i began feeling sick to my stomach at the thought of bed. The hours during the day went super fast, and i used to dread hearing the words 'time for bed'. You come to expect the fact you can't sleep. I made a lot of jokes around that time. Most of them thought up whilst not being able to sleep, ironically.
Anyway, the thing that really got to me was how lonely i always felt. Lying in my bed, which was a place i hated being in, at 4am feeling like there was no one else in the world awake with me right now. I'd constantly be listening for the sound of a car to go past and think 'Oh, thank god, someone else is awake right now, i'm not by myself'. But living in a small country town, there isn't that much traffic. Just...even though i KNEW that other people were awake, somewhere, there wasn't anyone with me. The thought of being alone, ever, still majorly scares me now.
Then, after 5 months of living off of the dregs of 'sleep', randomly, one night after no particular special day, occasion or change to my daily routine i slept soundly, and did so for years after-wards. And that was it. Every so often my Insomnia comes back- predictably around my AS Levels-although strangely not my A Levels- and during my first year of Uni i had some trouble. Neither of them lasted as long as the first time, but the bout during Uni was very hard to deal with because I had no one there who i knew well enough to talk to about it. But that only lasted 3 weeks and since then i've had no trouble sleeping.
You may think this is a really random blog to be writing, considering the ones that surround it. But it was so weird, i looked down at the clock on my laptop and it said 'something ridiculous AM'. And i got the little tugging feeling in my stomach, like i used to get. The little thought of loneliness popped into my head, and its been a while since i felt it. so i thought i'd write about it. maybe in the hope someone else has felt that way too.
xXx
A conversation on [with] my phone
(Sat at the table on Bob the laptop, desperately trying to be sociable. My phone is next to me, plugged in and charging, when it suddenly starts to buzz)
Me: OHH YEAAAH textual messages. I'm so popular right now. (I look at the phone. the screen is blank) Ah what?
Phone: Oh, er, jeez, this is awkward...
Me: Where's the text, phone?
Phone: Yeah, er, you haven't actually got one?
Me: But-
Phone: Yeeah, that noise, the *Bzzzzz* situation? It's just to let you know i'm fully charged.
Me: Oh.
Phone: Yeah.
Me: So...no one actually texted me?
Phone: Yeah. But that's not to say-
Me: So no one wants to talk to me?
Phone: Now, come on i didn't say that-
Me: No, what you said was perfectly clear, actually.
Phone: HEY. that's not fair. I just thought i'd let you know i was charged, it wasn't meant to be a-
Me: OH YEAH RIGHT!! You always do this, you always say that you're trying to help me out, when all you're doing is...getting my hopes up.
Phone: I do NOT do it on purpose! How dare yo-
Me (muttering): This is EXACTLY like last week with all those messages from Vodafone.
Phone: OH. OH i cannot believe you brought that up AGAIN. That wasn't my fault!
Me: You didn't have to sound so eager every time!! here i am, sitting here, bored and lonely and you're all "Hey, Amy, Guess who wants to talk to you? NO ONE!! just some multi-million corporation looking to squeeze another £5 out of you!"
Phone: We've spoken about this. I had no choice, i'm just doing my job-
Me: Yeah, i get it- 'you were only doing your job'
Phone: Listen, it's not my fault your friends don't like talking to you, ALRIGHT??
Me:...I can't believe you just said that.
(Silence. I pick up my phone and go to press the 'off' button)
Phone: Now.. No, Amy, come on... don't be like tha- AMY! DON'T!
(I switch my phone off)
------
(5 minutes later)
Phone: Switched me back on, then?
Me: Yeah, i realised i couldn't go on Snaptu if you were off.
....
You know sometimes i actually worry my head is so far elsewhere no one else will find it.
xXx
Me: OHH YEAAAH textual messages. I'm so popular right now. (I look at the phone. the screen is blank) Ah what?
Phone: Oh, er, jeez, this is awkward...
Me: Where's the text, phone?
Phone: Yeah, er, you haven't actually got one?
Me: But-
Phone: Yeeah, that noise, the *Bzzzzz* situation? It's just to let you know i'm fully charged.
Me: Oh.
Phone: Yeah.
Me: So...no one actually texted me?
Phone: Yeah. But that's not to say-
Me: So no one wants to talk to me?
Phone: Now, come on i didn't say that-
Me: No, what you said was perfectly clear, actually.
Phone: HEY. that's not fair. I just thought i'd let you know i was charged, it wasn't meant to be a-
Me: OH YEAH RIGHT!! You always do this, you always say that you're trying to help me out, when all you're doing is...getting my hopes up.
Phone: I do NOT do it on purpose! How dare yo-
Me (muttering): This is EXACTLY like last week with all those messages from Vodafone.
Phone: OH. OH i cannot believe you brought that up AGAIN. That wasn't my fault!
Me: You didn't have to sound so eager every time!! here i am, sitting here, bored and lonely and you're all "Hey, Amy, Guess who wants to talk to you? NO ONE!! just some multi-million corporation looking to squeeze another £5 out of you!"
Phone: We've spoken about this. I had no choice, i'm just doing my job-
Me: Yeah, i get it- 'you were only doing your job'
Phone: Listen, it's not my fault your friends don't like talking to you, ALRIGHT??
Me:...I can't believe you just said that.
(Silence. I pick up my phone and go to press the 'off' button)
Phone: Now.. No, Amy, come on... don't be like tha- AMY! DON'T!
(I switch my phone off)
------
(5 minutes later)
Phone: Switched me back on, then?
Me: Yeah, i realised i couldn't go on Snaptu if you were off.
....
You know sometimes i actually worry my head is so far elsewhere no one else will find it.
xXx
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