Oh my stars

Considering I'm off to a Stargate convention at Heathrow today, my horoscope is very appropriate.

Your interests in certain off-the-wall topics may be encouraged, dear Cancer, when you find yourself engaged in a conversation with someone who shares similar thoughts. Perhaps you find yourself exchanging ideas about UFO's and life on other planets. Suddenly you are looking at your whole life as if you were a character in a science-fiction novel. Exchange books and other literature with those who have their mind on the same page. You may not be the only one who thinks there is a conspiracy against them.

Spooky eh?

Multi tasking

Oh dear. I'm faffing about on here when I've got so many things to do. I need to wax my bikini line, paint my toenails, file my fingernails, pack, wash, iron various things and all for this weekend when I'm going to a Stargate *thing* in London. And all with the National TV Awards on in the background. I'm only interested in watching the Dr Who stuff and so far I've managed to catch Billie and Chris's awards. Just the best drama award left if I've not already missed it. The most exciting thing was seeing Bille receive her award from Gary Dourdan of CSI. Is CSI up for a gong? Or is he just a guest presenter? Anyone? Anyone?

Crack of doom

Highlight (or more probably lowlight) of today was the charming gentleman ahead of me in the queue at Farmfoods at lunchtime. Farmfoods is just next door to the office and I'd popped in for some lunch and a can of pop. Middle aged, rather portly in stature and wearing a pair of tracksuit bottoms that lovingly revealed half his arse-crack & accentuated by him leaning over his trolley. Oh and not forgetting the label of his trakkies which was comfortably nestled in said crack. Just what I wanted to see when I was about to eat my dinner.

Its noice its different its unewsewal.

The woman between us offered to let me jump in front of her in the queue since I only had a frozen sheperds pie and a can of 7up and she had a trolley full of frozen goods. I thanked her and remarked about the view. "Ooh I know. I wouldn't mind if he were a bit fit but..." and at this point she pulled a face that would've frightened a police horse. We both giggled. Ah, bonding with a strange woman over a man's arse crack. I never thought I'd see the day.

The trouble was I couldn't take my eyes off it. Like watching a car crash.

Cracking.

Am I boring?

I was invited to a Halloween party tonight. I'd got my outfit planned. I was going to go with a costume that required little effort - black clothes and a blonde wig, I was going as Yvette Fielding - but the wig I'd snaffled from the theatre didn't look right. I was also going to persuade my friend Martin to go as Derek Acorah and had picked out a suitable wig for him but he didn't reply to the text message to say that he was going. So I changed my mind and decided to go as Margaret Slitheen wearing a skirt suit teamed with a whoopee cushion and a zip stuck to my head. But I didn't know where to get some spirit glue/gum to stick the zip on with or a whoopee cushion and with all the effort of thinking I decided not to bother with a costume at all. Then I decided I couldn't be bothered travelling to my friend's house and back on public transport and that they'd just be getting as trashed as possible while I sat there nursing the same bottle of Leffe all night so I sacked the whole thing off completely. I'm going to watch all my tv programmes I've recorded with a bottle of beer and munch my way though some crisps and a bag of Maltesers.

Who says I don't know how to have a good time?

Life's eternal mysteries #1

Where is that smell of paint coming from? We're not decorationg anything. We haven't even got any paint in the house. Nothing has been spilled or is leaking as far as I can tell. I can only smell it in the hall & the living room. We haven't got a new 'Drying Paint' scented Ambi Pur plugged in.

*scratches head*

Show off

Just because I can...

Llanfairpwyllgwyngyllgogerychwyndrobwyllantisilliogogogoch

Now I've done that without checking it on Google or any other search engine for that matter. Which should make it all the more impressive but no doubt someone will point out that its spelled wrong. Because it probably is. Lets see what the spellchecker makes of it.

Hmmmm. Spellcheck doesn't want to work. I can't say I blame it.

No sex & alot of violence

I've been umming and ah-ing about posting about today's dire event. On the one hand I don't want folks to think bad of me 'cause I'm a nice person and its very out of character but on the other hand I've nothing else to post about and I need to share. I think the best way is to not go into too much detail. So in a nutshell...

Me on a bus.
Racist arsehole sat behind me.
Arsehole lights up a cig.
Cig smoke in my face.
Verbal argument.
Punch thrown.
Erm, by me.
Arsehole grabs me by the throat.
More scuffles.
I get off the bus to much verbal abuse & threatening by said arsehole.
I get home sore & shaking.
Debate whether to report it to police.
After some discussion with third, unbiased, parties decide not to.
Decide to relax, watch telly & have a stiff drink.
Vow never to do something so stupid & shameful again.
End of story.

My goodness

I'm very sweary aren't I? I've just noticed that every single post on the front page of this blog has at least one swear word in it. Well, all except one. I do apologise, it must be my age. I've been a fairly mild mannered lass most of my life but these past few years I find myself getting more and more irritable and sweary. This is what one gets for being less than assertive and bottling up the ensuing anger. And people in general are just so gosh darn rude these days. No manners at all. Terrible folks.

I promise I'll try to swear less in future. But on here. My other blog wouldn't be the same without a few choice words - goes with the territory.

Mad dash

I haven't had the best of evenings. I got out of work at 5.45 and made a mad dash for the train station. I just got on the train in time but only just. I got to Bolton & walked to the bus station, buying a bag of chips on the way (I didn't have time for a proper tea). I only ate half because the bus was in and I needed to be on it. Except that the bus then sat in the station for another ten minutes. Half a bag of chips wasted. Got to the next stage on my journey ok but there were no buses to the theatre for another 1/2 hour which would make me late. So I got a taxi. £2.40.

Walked into the theatre and chatted amiably with a couple of people until one of them kindly pointed out that there wasn't a panto rehearsal on tonight, they were auditioning for the first play of next year. I confirmed this with the panto director who quite blatantly didn't give a shit that I'd just travelled all that way & no-one (least of all him) had bothered to tell me that there wasn't a rehearsal tonight.

Exit me stage right followed not by a bear but with a face like thunder. And now I really don't give a shit if I'm late for rehearsal on Thursday. He can fucking wait. Bastard.

Buses back home were ok until I got to Bolton. I'd just missed one so decided to get an Arriva bus which I have to pay on as my pass isn't valid on those. Arriva is usually reasonably priced but tonight the bastard driver decided to overcharge me. So I've complained to the GMPTE. Serve him right, the tosser.

What, another one?

How quickly it comes round again. The panto I mean. Tomorrow night will be the first rehearsal for this years panto, Puss in Boots. I hope I get out of work at a decent time. No 6.15 finish for me.

I'm hoping we'll manage to sneak in a few pussy jokes here and there. *snigger*

I've just been reading some of my old posts, seeing what I was getting up to this time last year. It seems to mainly consist of me slagging off work and pointing out silly place names. I've alerady bitched about work so all that's left is for me to say that there's a road in the North West called Cock Clod Lane.

What exactly is a cock clod?

Actually, no, don't answer that.

Who's that fat bastard?

I got the shock of my life yesterday morning. I'd been to Liverpool on Saturday and by the time I got home my bro had gone out for the evening so the first time I saw him was when he knocked on my bedroom door yesterday morning. He'd had his head shaved. Completely. Now, he's had long hair for years, years I tell you. Typical rocker. But on Saturday afternoon, out of the blue, he had it all taken off. He looks like Alexei Sayle. All he needs is an ill fitting suit and the transformation will be complete. Ye gods.

Work is shite. No change there then. Today was the first day in our new offices in Chorley. Travelling there was fine but when I got there our main database's server had gone tits up. Oh joy. Its a long story but basically it meant that this evening, myself & Tracy (one of the boss type people) spent an hour and a half faxing the lads work to them. Usually it can be done in about 40 mins. And that's on my own. I finally got home at 7.20pm. Arse!

Who's idea was this work thing anyway?