A list of things to do...

(to forget, b l i s s f u l l y forget)

When I was bored at work yesterday, I made a list of all the things that I needed to do when I came home from work. It said:
- finish reading the health and safety on site book
- tidy up and clean the kitchen
- go out for a run
- install microstation on my computer
- find a new flat
- and write a new post for my blog
The health and safety book never made it out of my bag, I did tidy and do a bit of cleaning in the kitchen, but as we didn't have any hoover bags for the hoover, it was a bit limited what I could manage. We haven't had hoover bags for months actually, but I have tried emptying the one that was there, which was a big thing for me, as I was imagining the many woodlice we've hoovered up coming alive and jumping on me, eeeuuuggghhh... Not likely to happen, but what can I say, it's just one of my phobies. I went out for a run, but half way through my stomache got unbelievably acidy, so I walked the rest of the way. I didn't install microstation on my computer (tonight's task), I looked for a flat on www.findaproperty.com and www.gumtree.com - not much success, but we've still got a month to go, and I didn't write a new post for my blog (tonight's task).
I'm a big fan of making lists. Means there's fewer things I have to remember. So it's really good for things I don't want to think about. For example, things I should do when I turn 30, you know, things to take me into adulthood. For example:
- pay off my overdraft
- start a pension scheme
- open a savings account
- get on the property ladder
- figure out where to take my career
- clean the flat once a week, like my mum does...
YIKES! But see, now that I've made a list, I can stop thinking about it... er... sort of. I've also done another list, of things that I maybe ought to do. Like:
- stop referring to my boyfriend as my toyboy
- change the word "single" in my blog profile to "double"
- stop spying on Disco-boy's purchases on e-bay (boy, can that boy shop!)
- stop writing my blog while at work
... and so on.
But tonight, I think I should just curl up with a mug of tea, a blanket, turn off the lights and admire the thunderstorm outside... apart from sunshine and 25-30 degrees, this is my favorite weather :)

Good Stuff

I visited the countryside last weekend. I know it was the countryside because I saw cows and sheep on the way up there. And when I got off the train the girls seemed to be wearing even shorter skirts and skimpyer tops than in London - I didn't think that was possible! I also felt this great pressure on the sides of my head, like something very thick and heavy blocking my ears. Then I realized it was the silence, and once I got used to it, it actually felt quite comfortable, it was like it helped keep my thoughts inside my head untill I had had time to think them through properly. Weird. In the pub, everyone looked related, and they probably were, and they all seemed to take great joy in vulgar jokes. It was a lovely weekend, the sun was baking and the final confirmation I got, the proof I had been there, was what I brought back with me. Farmer's tan! Working very hard to even it out now that I'm back in the city, doing my best to expose sholders and upper arms on my lunchbreaks. But I really enjoyed the weekend, which might mean that I'm slowly but surely turning into a proper Londoner, although I'm not quite craving to move out just yet. That will hopefully take many many years. So Good Stuff no.1 was last weekend.
Good Stuff no.2 is the weather these days. Love it love it love it, absolutely love it. Although it's to hot to think, and the 8th deadly sin should be staring into a computer screen in a stuffy non air-con office all day when it's 30 degrees outside.
Good Stuff no.3 is my horoscope for the next six months (according to a certain glossy mag): more money, love work, total control, easy, triumphant months. Open, truthful, intimate relationship, travel and wider world. Sounds like pretty good stuff to me!
Good Stuff no.4: Apparently, my birthday (4 July) is National Kissing Day. Mwah mwah!
Good Stuff no.5: Today is Thursday, so tomorrow is the weekend. This means two days off, Spikey in town, and this time he's gonna bring Little Portia with him. Wroom wroom, London here we come! (We're gonna go shopping, which is Good Stuff no.6)

...tummy ...this is serious business!

It's three weeks today. That's all I've got left to reach my goal. After a month of excessively violent coughing, resulting in a damaged ribcage muscle and a voice so husky I'm thinking of doing a Bonnie Tyler tribute show, I'm finally ready to go back to the gym. Nothing less than a miracle will do now to flatten that tummy. So, I've just got to stay on the straight and narrow, from today onwards it's fruits, vegetables, lots of fish and all the other healthy stuff, no coffee (except in emergencies of course), no chocolate (except green and black's organic of course), gym every day, I'll be the picture of health!
Aaaanyway, so I get up this morning, I'm at Spikey's house, so I've got about an hour and a half's journey ahead of me to work. Leave the house just slightly late (what else?), head for the bus stop. The bus comes along, I touch my oyster card on the reader, but instead of the cheerful 'bleeep', there's that dreaded 'bib-bib'. What! I look at the bus driver expecting him to act like a proper bus driver and do that sideways nodding thing that means I can just go in. No such thing. "There's no money on your oyster card ma'm." Don't you ma'm me you little... Off the bus I go, 'cause for some reason, in poshywoshy N10, you can't just pay on the bus, no, you have to buy a ticket in the ticket machine. So that's what I do, no, that's what I intend to do, but the damn thing doesn't work, even after I was lucky enough to have the right change on me. So the next bus comes along, and this time they have no choice but to let me in, after I mumble "machine broken" and do my backwards nodding thing. Right there I decide that this is the wrong day to give up coffee, and for the rest of the journey I'm happily hallucinating about that black magic fluid.
At the office, Bamse walks in with a fresh hair-cut and colour, and announces it's his birthday. Yiphee, that means we get cake! But not 'till after lunch of course. I decide to stay put by my desk in the lunchbreak, look a bit on the internet for a new flat, so I just pop out to Sainsbury's to get some food. A pasta/chicken salad is today's choice. Or as the packaging should have said: "mayonnaise with bits of pasta and chicken. And some red stuff to give it some colour, and something else to make the whole thing taste revolting." I've already written the letter: "Dear Sainsbury's. I'm writing to tell you that your pasta/chicken salad is absolutely inedible. Please remove it from your shelves, and provide us with something good, cheap and healthy instead. Your's truly, Scarpa."
Back at the office, I discover that Bamse has not bought one cake, he's bought three. And they're all my favorite. Sometimes when people buy cake, they just go for the biggest, loudest chocolate bomb they can find. Now I'm not one to slag off chocolate, but they just never live up to the expectations. But Bamse got it just right, so I spend the afternoon in cake heaven.
Rather than going to the gym after this orgie, I decide to go shopping. I've been so good for such a long time, I deserve just a quick peak in the shops, just to see what's new. Thankfully, I only have time to fall for a beautiful blue T-shirt before the shop closes, so I leave only £18 poorer today. I still haven't had dinner, and I'm getting dizzy, so I head to Borders, for a glossy magazine fix and something to eat, but as ususal, the papier maché sandwiches aren't that tempting, so I go for a bucket of green tea instead. What the hell, there's no day like tomorrow to start a health craze...

Desperate Housewives... with 48 hours in the day...

I bought one of those food/home/life magazines yesterday. Don't ask me why, I just thought maybe I should start cooking some more, something new and healthy and exciting (I must have been delirious). And I've got this idea in my head that maybe I should become a grown-up one day. AND it had a picture of a very sexy strawberry cheesecake on the cover (yeah, it was Wednesday and I haven't seen Spikey since Monday morning). So I got home, the weather was beutiful and I had bought haddock for the BBQ and lots of vegetables to go into a rice salad (my my, houswifey me). So I cooked for Puma and me, while rocking to Like a Virgin (it's got to be done), and afterwards, feeling very good about myself, I sat down and had a browse through my new shiny magazine. It has this section, how to lose 5lb in two weeks. Yes! I thought, that's just for me. Now. Tell me. Who the fuck in the whole wide world makes THIS for breakfast: Spiced fruit kebabs. Serves 2. Thread fruits such as 3 quartered fresh figs, a small chopped pineapple and 8 strawberries on to 2 skewers. Mix together the zest of 1 orange with its juice, a pinch of cinnamon and 2 tablespoons of runny honey. Drizzle over the kebabs and put under a hot grill for 6 minutes, turning them occasionally. Serve at once with 110g (4oz) of low fat yogurt per person... Are you kidding me? Is this before or after we do a home manicure? I am grateful if I can get my sorry ass out of bed early enough to have a shower before I go to work, let alone play Nigella before I've had my fix from Nero's. Now I don't know who has the time to make THIS for lunch: Cheese omelette... French onion soup... Roquefort, walnut and apple salad... Goat's cheese and salsa... Tuscan bean soup (give me a break!!!)... Eggs florentine... Don't these people work??? I guess the alternative is to spend your lunchbreak seeking for restaurants that make these dishes, then asking them to not use any oil or cream, do this for a week and then be too broke to eat for the rest of the month. That'll get you nice and skinny. What's for supper then, something that's been marinated for three days, or maybe a whole turkey with the lot? Ladies, who-ever and where-ever you are, save your money, save your time, and go to the bloody gym instead!!!

what?

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

I'm in shock! I obviously don't know myself at all... I hate attention seekers... well now I know why, I am one myself!!! apparently...
Now where's my cigar...

!

What Classic Movie Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

I'm off to blockbusters then....

Picture this

The scene is set on a Sunday evening in a north-London pub. At first sight it seems a fairly posh one, you know, the kind where you can get bangers and mash capable of driving all past and present demons away. But as the actors settle into their roles and someone shouts "ACTION!", you quickly realize that this isn't the case.
A Man and a Woman walk in, with the usual certain cheekyness in their smiles, and place their orders at the bar. They spot their friends at the back of the room, where Sexy Guitarist is attempting a game of pool against a Jamaican in sweatpants, and make their way to the table. She smiles at the man staggering on a collision course towards them, at the last moment his centre of balance shifts and they reach their destination safely. Greetings are exchanged, kisses blown in the air, and the group gathers for a quick toast.
The camera zooms out to take in the supporting cast. We see a 20 stone woman of about 25, wearing tight fitting nylon baggy trousers, singing loudly to the Robbie Williams tune playing in the background, Sweatpants does a hop and a skip, Staggering Man enters the room, is about to fall into WhTr woman's lap, she sends out a roar (she might be laughing) and we hear someone shouting in the other room.
Zoom back on our group, Sexy Guitarist is now sitting down, has a crooked smile on his face and a lustfull look in his eyes, looking at Blonde Bombshell. The subject of discussion is travel.
Blonde Bombshell: "I've never really fancied going to China or Japan, although I know they've got, like, a massive history and culture and all that"
the Man: "Yeah, I'm the same, never been to keen on going there either"
Blonde Bombshell: "I think it's just 'cause I don't really fancy chinese or japanese men"...
Someone shouts "CUT!" and the lights go out. But if you look very carefully, you will se the Woman's jaw rolling on the floor, her eyes hanging out of their sockets, she can't believe her ears.
I wonder if I'm wasting my time.

hmmm...

Your Brain is 73.33% Female, 26.67% Male

Your brain leans female You think with your heart, not your head Sweet and considerate, you are a giver But you're tough enough not to let anyone take advantage of you!

What Gender Is Your Brain?

Glory, two aunties, tunes and tummytrouble

Glory to the one that invented bank holidays! A 3 day weekend, a much needed 3 day weekend (after a strenuous, ahem, er... 2 day week), glorious 3 day weekend (er... do I need a holiday? Or am I just developing Alzheimers?).
It sort of kick-started thursday evening when Piccola and Sunnyside came to visit from up north, they're on their way to Thailand and wanted to do a bit of shopping in London first. Going to Thailand for a month... bastards!
Friday I left them to their own devices and reluctantly headed up to N10 to meet Spikey and his out-of-town, visiting aunties... yikes. He had warned me: "they are crazy, but a lot of fun". Yeah, I want to be sitting in a park, enjoying the sticky heat and sunshine we've been blessed with today, but no...
After they left, I felt like I'd been on a rollercoaster, laughing madly one minute, then on the verge of running out, screaming histerically... that was when one of them asked him: "so, do you love her?" Yikes, now he gets the panicky giggles as well, puts on two pairs of shades, hoping to disappear into thin air, I'm hoping the earth swallows me but it doesn't, no, instead auntie Redlocks takes my hand, now we dance. NOW WE DANCE. I'm dancing. With auntie. On Spikey's studio room floor. "Welcome to the family." Had they not been so hilariously funny, I swear I would have run straight out.
We survived the evening and on Saturday I made pancakes, final good impressions and then we were off the hook.
Time to head south of the river, our turn to show the northerners a good time, catch up on gossip from home (seems like the smaller the place you come frome, the juicyer the gossip) and unwind a bit. Spikey makes his special super-fast tuna pasta, wine and beer flow freely, the music grows louder, hey, here's a bottle of martini, bring it on...
It turned out a lovely evening, sitting in the kitchen, drinking martini, listening to good music, singing along (yikes! right?) to Belle and Sebastian... My sweet Spikey looked at me with a smile lighting up his whole face, "you can sing!". Obviously, he was drunk and high and I denied all charges. It's one thing to do something for fun, say when you're under the influence, or when you think you're alone, but another thing entirely to allow yourself to get into a situation where you might actually have to live up to reputations, expectations and all those other panic inspiring goodies. Speaking of panic, (and expectations for that matter... and being drunk which I plan to be), 5 weeks from today, looming in the near future, is the big three-o, my birthday. As I sit here, chewing on my £4.80 margherita, I wonder if I can manage to get a flat tummy in 5 weeks. Hehe, this makes me think of a cheesy pick-up line: "you've got the body I always wanted... I think it would look great on me". It's bad, I know, but if I have to be realistic ('cause that's what grown ups are - right?), my only chance of getting a flat tummy is if I get someone else's body... mind you, Spikey's isn't bad at all, oh nooo, firm back-side, lovely eyes, the cheekyest smile, and yes, the flat tummy I always dreamed of. See, even when I was the skinniest little girl in my class, I still had that pot-belly, sticking out of my trousers and my skirts (which gave my mum the giggles every time she made me dress up - must be her fault then, that I've never been a girly girl, I only ever wear pink as an attempt at sarcasm). Now where was I... oh yes, a lovely evening. At some point, we got the silly idea that we should go out somewhere, jumped on a bus going down the hill, but fortunately when we got there, Piccola was so drunk that no-one would let us in anywhere, so we did the only sensible thing and went back home, turned the music back on and carried on as previously.
Sunday came along, we chilled, monday came along, we chilled, went back to Spikey's place and then, inevitably, the work week started, I could hardly drag myself out of bed, my heavy ass down to the bus stop, the temptation to just stay in bed was almost to hard to overcome, had I not had all those sick days lately I probably would have let go... It's at times like these I realize how badly I need a holiday, I could be happy just motionlessly working on a tan, drinking nauseously sweet drinks and spending my money on stuff I'll never ever use... but first, that tummy...