Slight Observations of a Pessimist.

Less crippled, More Insomnia.

Fri, 04 Jan 2008 03:11:47 +0100

The breakdown of a relationship does funny things to a person. Even though they know its the right decision, that ultimatly they are better off without a person there's always that question. Did I really do the right thing?

Take now for instance, its 2 in the morning, I should be asleep. I'm not. I have to be up for work in less than 5 hours so naturally I have the need to call someone and discuss said insomnia problem with them. Unfortunantly there is only one person who would either a)be awake already, or b)wake up enough to talk me into falling asleep, and he's my ex partner. Nowadays I think he'd more than likely tell me to fuck off than lull me to sleep with sweet nothings. Not that I want to be lulled to sleep mind you, I just want to, well you know, sleep.

I find myself analysing love films in a whole different manner. Take this evening, in attempts to fall asleep I subjected myself to some of the worlds most boring films, like Romeo and Juliet, the modern day version. As Juliet walked up the aisle to a chorus of choir music, a smile lighting up her pretty little face, Romeo, waiting at the alter, unable to take his eyes off her. Beautiful right? No, they met yesterday, literely yesterday, this is like the worst day-after-the-night-before EVER. He didn't even get a shag out of it, not yet anyway.

Comments

The best week of my life.

Sat, 24 Nov 2007 00:34:14 +0100

Last week I dislocated my knee. In the final ten minutes of work I came up with 'the penguin dance' where you keep your knees together and splay your feet and kinda jump around a little bit. This resulted in the afore mentioned dislocated knee....

I've spent the week after this event limping around on a pair of crutches unable to put any weight on the injured leg and being overtaken by old women on both zimmer frames and mobility scooters. How I wish I was joking.

However,this injury brings up a whole different indignition, that being the disabled access (or lack of it) in many public areas, mainly my university. Firstly I had to struggle up 2 flights of stairs for a lecture this week, 2 flights of wet, wobbly-handrailed stairs. It's an older building, there's no lift, I can almost comprehend that, but then I discovered there was no lift access to my friends halls, then there was an overgrown bush blocking a ramp so I had to heave myself up yet more stairs...the list can go on, and on, and on. Either way, I was not impressed. And when I limped my way into the bar to buy a drink to soften my anger at all the f***ing stairs do I really need to be stared at? Does a leg splint and a set of crutches immediatly make me the most interesting person on campus? Really?

On the upside, I don't have to work this week, no more Bene-babe shit for me!

Don't ask me why I felt it is appropriate to blank out 'fucking' but not 'shit'.

END.

Comments

To have a stomach like an olympic geek.

Fri, 16 Nov 2007 00:18:37 +0100

So today I went to my Rebound trampoline aerobic class thing, I actually love this class, except today I was the only one....

After a workout so streneous my stomach STILL hurts 3 hours later I'm feeling pretty good about myself, the bikini body I'm aiming for seems almost within my grasp. Almost. I'm sure if I eat nothing but a handful of museli and a shiny green apple I'll get there.

When I began working for Benefit I assumed that all Benebabes would be skinny pretty and blonde, and working with Elle proves me right, she is skinny pretty and blonde but extremely nice with it, and surprisingly one of the most genuine girls I've met in a long time. Well, my training day on Tues proved me drastically wrong about the former. The girls aren't ugly as such, just ungroomed, and blatent beni-clones. I swear the whole day stank of some freaky genetic cloning technology, all to create the perfect benebabe. It wouldn't have surprised me if I'd walked into a pristine operating theatre and been asked to strip to have my bene-chip implanted. No I am not exaggerating, yes it was that bad. The day gave me migraine, literely.

Uni this morning was as interesting as every, at least in this lecture I actually learnt something. Even if it is how to change the words 'Composed upon Westminster Bridge' into 'Limbo said sup on less wine sir, bride'. Believe it or not that took 20 minutes to come up with...and 'A man, A plan, A canal -Panama!' reads the same backwards. I didn't come up with that one...

FIN.

Comments

Miss Popularity.

Fri, 09 Nov 2007 22:36:11 +0100

Firstly let me introduce myself, my name is Meg I'm a 3rd year Creative Writing student wasting my last 6 months of student life hoping everything will be ok after I've achieved the statuatory 3rd class BA. I'm obsessive, slightly compulsive, vain, bitchy, with vague leanings towards depression/schizophrenia and OCD. What a big barrel of laughs I hear you cry? Well actually after consuming my own weight in Malibu I'm not adverse to a little slutty dancing and have been told 'I'm a laugh'.

I also happen to work for Benefit cosmetics, where the F stands for FUN (if you choose to believe what the slightly scary Area Manager tells you). To be fair the job in itself isn't too bad, I spend my weekends happily shoving whatever crap people want to try onto their faces, our main aim at the moment to combat dull 'winter skin' with brightening face primer (It takes you from dull to darling with one quick application!) and to sell glittery shimmery 'Christmas makeup'. I realise I use a lot of quote marks, but phrases such as 'Christmas makeup' deserve them, what actually is Christmas makeup after all? What is it about this time of year that makes people, not just people mind you but fully grown adult women, feel it is appropriate to dress as a fairy? Nothing, and covering your ageing skin in enough shimmer to blind someone with sensitive corneas does not, I repeat not, make you look like the svelte toned women of your youth, no matter how hard you try.

Today after applying enough makeup to conceal the remnants of a hangover and vaguely tidying my counter I was presented with a sash, a deep purple silk sash with a lilac ruffled edge. Oh, and the words 'Miss Popularity' stamped down the front. Sexy. This alongside the gold sparkly headache inducing tiara I must wear for the whole Christmas season made me look, well, like a twat. I guess whoever dreamed up this idea had visions of us Benebabes being overjoyed at dress up time, willing donning our sashes and crowns and rubbing vaseline on our teeth to give our customers a big shiny smile, clearly this would sell products.

I guess the markerting directors sitting in their heated offices laughing over a Terrys chocolate orange have never suffered the humiliation of a crowd of school children pointing and laughing asking what makes me 'Miss Popularity'. Or had a rather alarming looking middle aged man, run his eyes up and down said sash and congratulate you on being popular.

What really concerns me is that I have at least another 2 days of being Miss Popularity, do you think crying about my emotional insecurity or mentioning how my social inadequancies mean I just can't wear this label will work? Hopefully, failing that I'll just burn the fucker.

Comments