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Sunday February 10, 08
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03:04 PM - hot stuff
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I CANNOT GET OVER THE SIGHT OF THAT ASS!
Whew.
I...I don't know what to say.
I never thought I'd see the day.
I had thought that Mr Carpenter would be somewhat unimpressed with my slavering, rabid fan-talk on the matter, but he has taken it remarkably well, and has viewed both my disgraceful comments and THAT PICTURE with an interesting mix of mild amusement and indifference...
I have a university interview on Wednesday. How am I to concentrate with that image imprinted on my brain, and no sign of it fading?!
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Wednesday January 09, 08
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03:14 PM - Television is good for the soul...FACT
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If you could jump into the telly what show would you become a part of?
I would jump into 'Have I got news for you?' and shake Paul Merton by the hand, and say 'Jolly good show, old chap. Your jokes are spiffing.' (I am watching it now)
Or Charlie Brooker's screenwipe. Have you seen it? If you have you will know that Charlie is truly a prophet. THE prophet. He would be King Charlie and I would be his humble servant. I would even fan him with a palm leaf and feed him grapes.
If only...I could live in a fantasy world 24 hours a day.
*Or I would jump into that Olay advert with 'Nadine Baggott' and say PENTAPEPTIDES MY ARSE!!!
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Tuesday October 23, 07
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01:20 PM - General grump
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Listening to darling Rufus Wainwright's 'Going to a Town': pure opulence - something to soothe my state of workaday grumpiness.
I also tried entertaining myself by making a mix-tape of Rufus Wainwright’s bestest most prettiful songs for Mr Carpenter (he has kindly agreed to see Rufie live with me- hurrah!). This ended in failure: my neuroticism took over when I was writing the tape insert and I got a bit obsessive trying to make my handwriting as neat as possible; I wrote many versions and ruined the only passable one by going mad with a pink highlighter and an assortment of colourful pens. Then the songs didn’t actually all fit on the tape. Boo.
Let’s play a game! It’s called ‘WHO HATES THE WORLD THE MOST AND IS GOING TO HAVE THE BIGGEST TANTRUM?’, and basically, you moan a lot. Simple!
I'm sick of the fact that my friends have fucked off to uni and I'm left rotting in ignorance.
I’m sick of the fact that Morrissey is not real.
I’m sick of people’s inappropriate (and sometimes disconcerting!) questions:
- “Are you thinking of marrying Mr Carpenter?”
- Are you thinking of pissing off and minding your own business?! (That’s what I wanted to say- I didn’t actually say it, in case you were wondering. I may be an angry youth but I don’t actually explode at people like that.)
- “Oh, you’re left-handed?”
- “Mm-hmm”
- “Do you wank left-handed then?”
(To be honest, this one did kinda make me laugh. She caught me off guard a little though, and I’m a bit of a prude about things like that.)
Looks like I win. I'm tempted to stamp my foot in childish fury to seal the victory.
I recently made the mistake of asking a jolly fella that I work with what he thought of me:
“You swear and moan too much”
Can’t say I disagree, but he could have cushioned the blow a little...
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Wednesday September 26, 07
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02:08 PM - Ode to Shopman
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For about a year I had a rather tedious crush on a guy in a shop. Such an embarrassing thing to admit, but that’s what ‘blogging’ is for, yes? Anonymous confessions. Therapy.
I assumed that he had left as I had not seen him for months. The other day I popped in to purchase a little something. And who should be at the till? Oh, only Shopman, the love of my life! As I approached he looked up and said, “Oh, hi! How are you?” And not even in the faux I’m-pretending-to-care-because-I’ll-get-a-bollocking-from-my-boss-if-I-don’t sort of way. He genuinely recognised me. I did the polite “I’m fine thanks” thing that you’d say even if you were just about to jump in front of a bus.
We got chatting. He told me that it was his last day...I was never to see him again...I handed him over the money with shaking hands (yes, honest to God! This is how sad I am). I even dropped my purse because I was so nervous. I am truly Muppet of the Moment.
And yet I do think that he liked me...In that way.
Once the transaction was over I simply wished him luck and left.
I wish I’d at least told him that I thought he was a handsome sort of chap.
Sigh. Swoon.
------------------------------------------------- ..........
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And in other departments of Wildey’s world:
I was set to head off to Scotland for university...but I chickened out. Might go next year.
Job-wise my air of (what I considered to be) mildly amusing self-deprecation seems to have convinced my manager that I am incompetent. Well that’s just great.
Anyway, I’ve got other things to stress about. Apparently it’s nearly Christmas. I ought to start panic-buying shit for presents about now...
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Thursday January 25, 07
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03:54 PM - Shoplifters of the world...unite and assassinate me!
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Working with customers has made me realise how retarded the human race really is.
Customers behave like you are the shit on their shoe.
I soldier on in politeness, in the vain hope that if I'm nice to them they might perhaps treat me with an equal level of respect. I smile, I joke, I try my hardest to accommodate them with whatever fucking ridiculous thing they want. But in return I get complaints, scowls, abrupt replies, and most tedious of all- insinuations that I am trying to sabotage their attempts at buying tickets!
Don't they realise I'm just the pleb that has been put on the front line to face the initial enemy onslaught? I have no control over what they're complaining about.
'It's all very well having the building works done out the front but you haven't got rid of those puddles.'
Er...WHAT?! Did I fucking draw the building plans?! Did I BUILD the steps?! Do I unknowingly have the power of GOD to change the weather? And more importantly:
DO I GIVE A FUCK?!
As I talk to customers, giving the sympathetic nod of the head, or the gleeful chuckle at the shit joke they just made I can practically feel the acid creeping up my throat and choking me.
I much prefer to talk to them on the phones. That way I can convey in various forms of mime the act of killing myself for my colleagues' viewing pleasure. My favourite being the gun to the head, the cheeks puffed out to express the blast, and the simulation of bits of brain spurting out the side of my head as I carry on the conversation with the blissfully ignorant customer:
'Oh, I see...oh, that's such a shame...Well I'm sure we can sort something out for you...'
One of these days I shall be sacked for leaping over the counter and throttling a customer.
The difficult customer comes in various forms. There are the upper class TWATS that speak in ear-splitting shrill voices, broadcasting their inane conversation to the world:
'Yah, yah. My name's Lady ---- ...what do you MEAN you can't find me on the system?!'
Or the bumpkins, who try and scab the (limited) cheapest tickets, months after they've been on sale and when told of the available prices, shriek, 'Why are they £15?!' I am tempted to shriek back, 'This is not the fucking cinema you pikey twat! It's theatre!'
Then, of course, we have the plain stupid ones. There should be a league table of the longest time it takes to make someone understand that we have NO tickets left. NONE. AT ALL. EVER. So no, I don't think you will be able to book eight seats together for tonight.
And finally there's the mentally ill. A lady asked me the other day whether I have grandchildren. I'm eighteen. And there's the man who asked 'Is your mum the one that works at the other theatre with the blind man?' These are, of course, harmless questions, but in conversation with them I feel a sense of terror that they might say something wholly inappropriate. And there ARE the mentally ill about who seem to be specifically trying to ruin my life, with their goal being to witness my suicide. I still pass one of these particular customers in the street. Every time I do, without fail, I mouth the word 'WANKER' (not specifically at him, he'd probably beat me up) with a sense of righteousness, because in my own petty way I see it as retribution.
I will soon become pickled in my own hatred of mankind.
God help me.
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Thursday January 18, 07
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03:48 PM - University Application Result
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WANKER UNIVERSITY (Actually it was a favourite of mine.)
My first result is rejection.
Oh, I suck! Thanks for letting me know that.
If I have to stay in this job I'll rot.
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Tuesday December 26, 06
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03:01 PM - Update
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Alright m'loves?
Life, it seems, goes on...
Christmas was alright. Some lovely moments, some tedium. The usual. Merry belated Christmas to all you folks. Happy new year, then.
I had £600 stolen from my bank. By some wanker. But I got it back, so no harm done.
I went non-vegan for a couple of days, stuffed my face with too much dairy, felt ill and immediately reverted back to veganism.
Got a digital camera. Have gone picture-snapping mad. To the annoyance of family. Only problem being that it likes to announce loudly that it's been turned on, and so it's impossible to catch people unawares. Perhaps I ought to read the instructions. Pish.
The neighbours have waged war on us. War by wheelie-bin. They even tried to ruin our Christmas day. I just found it amusing that they have nothing better to do with themselves at such a time. Sad. I suspect it could escalate, though. Might wake up to a roomful of flames. Better put some thought into an escape route; I live on the top floor. I'm thinking sliding down the roof might be a good option.
But of course, one of the most beautiful things to have happened recently; Moz-triumph at Wembley arena. So, I was thinking that this time I really was going to get a proposal, but, sigh, maybe next time, eh dears?
FRONT ROW, on the barrier. To his left. Not a bit of crushing. Brilliant setlist, bootiful voice, witty man, he seemed happy, I was thoroughly pleased with it all. Definitely third time lucky!
Kristeen Young as...captivating...as ever. Heh.
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Monday November 27, 06
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04:25 PM - The squirrel incident...
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Mr Gorgeous (whom I shall from now on refer to as 'Mr Carpenter'...really, it was getting ridiculous calling him that; if he found out his ego would explode) and I went to the park today and experienced 'nature', leading to one of the most hilarious incidents I have ever witnessed.
Walking through the park we saw a squirrel whose complete lack of fear of human beans astounded us. Mr Carpenter coaxed it towards us, and we stroked it. Sweet...
But as we stood up to leave, the squirrel (clearly annoyed that we had no food to offer) POUNCED. As the squirrel advanced up the carpenter's leg I could tell that the carpenter was expecting to add a nice big squirrel bite to those injuries obtained from physical labour.
I will never forget the look on the squirrel's face as it determinedly clung on with one claw, and Mr Carpenter frantically spun around trying to shake it off. I, caring lady that I am, stood cackling at the situation and taking pictures on my phone.
www.photobucket.com/albums/l97/Smithette/sq.jpg
I laughed non-stop for about ten minutes.
But he got his own back; he is now the proud owner of a picture of me stuck up a tree...
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Tuesday October 24, 06
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12:47 PM - Uh, yeah...about that...
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Deleted...I'm covering my tracks!
(You never know who might be reading!)
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Saturday October 21, 06
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02:11 PM - This Charming Man
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I DELETED THIS ONE IN CASE 'SOMEONE' READS IT, BECAUSE I WOULD BE EMBARRASSED. SO THERE.
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