I am woman, hear me snore.

I don’t snore really.

I started work today. That’s right – I have a real job. It may not last forever (such is the state of the economy, businesses absolutely will not employ staff permanently) but it is a job. A job that I can do well. A job that will pay for my hair dye obsession and boyface’s KFC obsession. I’m ever so slightly over the moon about it. I get to wear posh clothes and get up at 7am, and be on a tram being a prime target for swine flu… oh yeah, working is rubbish.

In other news, I also said goodbye to my red hair for the last time. I’m not doing it anymore. I look too greasy. Too homeless. I’ve gone for a nice shade of poo brown instead.

Cars can go jump off a cliff.

All I have done for the last month is look at car insurance quotes. Repeatedly. Also, webuyanycar.com quotes. And breakdown cover quotes. Basically, July is the month of the car. I quite like cars, driving, and most things related to them. Including getting fuel, cleaning, general maintenance and spending ages in Halfords choosing the nicest looking air freshener. One thing I don’t enjoy is T-Cut. It’s a complete waste of time, money, and muscles. Luckily, I am able to play stupid and get a refund despite using half of the bottle. Yays.

I’ve often wondered why I like driving so much. It could stem from it being a fundamental part of my growing up, or the fact that without driving, I would never have ended up living in Nottingham or meeting half of the people I know today. Or is it simply that I hate to walk and it saves me most of the trouble? Who knows. I’m just excited about being able to do it again.

Best not crash though. I’ve got me no legal cover.

I wouldn’t be a scouser if I wasn’t.

Shit. It’s May. Not the man. The month. I forgot to do a thing but it doesn’t matter since I did nothing.

Today I will address expenditures and company cars. Or something else entirely – my distinct jealousy of late. I am jealous of everybody in the world that is in a functional band. I want to be a massive rock star and have glittery bass guitars and have redder hair than Jonathan Ross’ wife. And bring back grunge and other acceptable 1990’s genres. I love my band to bits, we’re dead good. Actually no. I just want to be in a band that plays gigs. And that doesn’t happen. Because I moved to Wales. Because I lost my job around the time that the economy fell on it’s bony arse. Things are looking up though… not the economy, just the location of my (much less bony) arse and therefore the future band stuff.

Eurgh. There’s a scouser on the tellybox. KILL IT WITH FIRE!

Anyway. Speaking of my much less bony arse, I’ve made a decision of late. I’m too chunky for such a little person, so I’m going to exercise. Yes, yes this is still me. I know that I am defying everything that I am but… it’s good for you, right? I don’t want to die a fat bastard. And I don’t want to die because I’m a fat bastard and my heart has developed some form of blood asthma. It’s time to get the bike out! I shall take advantage of the “sun” (we only get a tiny bit in Wales) and shed some poundage. Perhaps one day, people will see my legs again. Mmyes.

I think I will go, my hair is fizzing more than I would like.

Pliwischkies

Oh my, it’s March. When the lambs come out, and the erm, daffodils. You know what else comes out in March? FUCK ALL. Oh, except Watchmen, which I may even pay to see. Maybe.

As with most blogs I’ve ever owned, I am happy to not care about what I’m writing until that fateful day where I realise that people actually read it. It makes sense, since I link to it from many (or all… it’s all) of the social networking sites that I use. And Deviantart. That’s not social networking, that’s for people wiv da talentz. Anyhoo, I got to that point again RIGHT NOW. So here’s my first attempt at a blog worth reading.

Ever worked in a call centre? How rubbish is it when you have to talk to someone that has the most ridiculous surname in the world that you have no chance of pronouncing? When the name is about 16 letters long and looks like it’s been typed with your face. I’d say, that’s one of the worst things about call centres. There’s no button next to the name for “pronunciation”. Microsoft Sam does NOT help you out with this one. I sometimes forget the woes of call centre staff when the roles are reversed and I end up on the other end of the phone, being called something that resembles the name of a Polish breakfast cereal. “Miss Bu…. Miss Buk…. Miss Boo-cha… Kylie?” This happened this morning, while I was trying to scream at my bank for applying charges to my account. Before I even got to shout at poor Indian man about the unfair reversal charges, I had to scream at him for calling me the most ridiculous series of names. We ended up agreeing that it was best if he called me Kylie, at least then I wouldn’t have to waste more of my precious free minutes correcting him every time he feels pressured to “personalise the call” and call me Monster Munch or something.

That’ll do. I’m gonna go and perhaps suggest that someone starts developing pronunciation aids for foreign call centre workers. Maybe I’ll do it. Maybe I’ll make a million dollars. Maybe I’ll spend that million dollars on a floor length fur coat, cheeseburgers and a jet. What’s it to you?!

Internets

I can’t remember how many years it has been since I first encountered the internet. I probably thought it was amazing and wanted it all to myself, but in the last hour I’ve realised that I now hate it. I hate it. I hate it with all of my worldly might and if I could force any more effort into hating it, I would, but I seem to be spending the remaining effort I have trying not to look too closely at a tattoo-type-creation that I recently got on my wrist, that is wonky as hell. It hasn’t even healed and I’m noting down the bits I need to get corrected.

Anyway, back to the interwebs. There was a time when it wasn’t widely available but everyone wanted it. There was a time when it was very expensive to use it, so nobody did. There was a time that so few people had it, that it wasn’t even worth looking at because there was nothing on it except perhaps the BBC website and Maddox (don’t get me wrong, Maddox was worth having the internet for, but he just didn’t update enough for me!). How different is it now? I seem to spend most if not all of my time using it for absolutely no reason! Nobody else in the WORLD (that I know) sits at a computer all day waiting for someone to do something interesting on Facebook or Myspace or Twitter or some other website that does essentially the same thing as another website but we all feel compelled to use all of them regardless.

In realising all of this, I have taken steps towards pulling the internet away from my face a bit. I spend a lot of time in the house of someone else where there is a computer, but there is also a television and an outdoors and a bed. Do you know what I missed most? PEOPLE! Real people that are in your vicinity, not just words on a screen! Even now, when I am sitting on my own in said house of someone else, I’ve got a computer and the internet at my fingertips and all I can think of to do is document my feelings regarding the internet and it’s redundancy in my life. And honestly, this surprises me, given the fact that I studied towards a degree in internet and multimedia related… stuff. Yeah I didn’t finish. By the start of the third year I was practically crying if someone mentioned HTML Kit or TopStyle.

I may well put some words in here that will match up if someone searches for “tits” or “hardcore porn” with Google. I hope those people will think about how much of their life they are spending in front of the idiot box (which is no longer the television). Go out and be with people and take loads of pictures of squirrels and make friends and stand outside in a thunderstorm and UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES be thinking about how great that picture you just took of yourself would look as your default on Myspace.

The end. Top Gear is on.

Foggy Notion

Somebody please bestow upon me the ability to understand the thought process behind the invention of squeezy Marmite.

What exactly is the point? There’s nothing wrong with the jar! In fact, I enjoy the jar. From new and clean to weeks old and slightly sticky, it’s all a great experience. And yes, it can be hard to spread, but that is half of the fun! This squeezing business… it’s just stripped all of that away. Squeeze, distribute evenly, eat. Ruined.

I hope that the sales of squeezy don’t overtake jar, because then the suits will take my beloved jars away. Maybe I’ll just save a few jars and fill them up with squeezy and put them in the fridge for a month. Hmm. Down with squeezy Marmite!

In other news – what is the deal with taking the e-numbers out of blue Smarties? And light Ribena tasting like cat piss? Goddamnit stop changing things!

Horrorshow

The end of December, January and the start of February, in summary.

I have a new found appreciation for regional English accents and dialects. I may not be able to reproduce them, but I appreciate them nonetheless.

Christmas was below average, colder than usual and certainly not my favourite as it usually is. However, it was better than all previous years because I got to spend a lot of the good time before it with someone dead good that I love.

New Year was rubbish – I spent the evening with my favourite boy in the world and it was good, until my sister decided she would go crazy and scream at me a lot. A strange night, but I suppose it could have been worse.

January – weird. Found out some stuff that shocked me. Fixed it, but still, it made me think hard about things. Also, went to some effort to make someone’s birthday a bit more exciting than “Cinema?” and seemed to pull it off.

February, so far – Fucking rubbish. No job since this morning. That’ll teach me to work for a bank.

Thing is though, despite all the crap, I’m happy. It’s a start.

Here’s to the atom bomb

I’m starting to feel like everything I do ends up being wrong. Everything ever. I don’t make my merry way through life treading on people’s toes. I very rarely even say what I’m thinking if there’s a chance that someone won’t like it. However, by taking a  golden opportunity at really being happy, I seem to have contributed to someone else being really unhappy. I keep getting told that it’s not the case and it’s not my problem and I shouldn’t worry and other similar things, but I’m sure that anyone else in my position knows that it isn’t that easy. I suppose a lot of the time, people don’t see the remainder. People always miss the remainder. I never miss the remainder and it seems to be my downfall. It’s difficult to know what you’re supposed to do when you’re morally and emotionally torn between two things. Or people, perhaps. Do you follow your heart, or your guilt? I think before now I would have gone with the guilt, but this has gone a bit too far to just disregard. 

 

Self-involved ramble, yes. Pointless, yes. Nevermind eh.

This is not a test!

Fuck Blogger. That’s all I can say. From this day forward, we’re all about wordpress.
 

You know what’s annoying? Nin-fucking-tendo. If it’s not the DS, it’s the Wii. I get it, I get it –  revolutionary, life changing, possibly even life affirming technology has to be forced into your eyes. But… can’t you go and force it into someone else’s eyes? I get QUITE enough advertising about those things, considering I have never and will never want to buy either of them.

 
You know what else is annoying? How people have reacted to John Lydon doing the Country Life advert. 
 

You know what else is annoying? Television. And having nothing to blog about other than the adverts that you’re seeing. Come back next week and I’ll have prepared a proper rant.