\Te`di*os"i*ty\

...is null and void as I don't want Pete or Hercule.

Bizarrely though, MenoMama got it right...I've gone with Hercules.

Although I might go with Wilbur. I fancy two syllables.

Jesus, I hope I never have a kid.

Bollocks to 5pm, I'm off home, and I'm not coming in tomorrow. Boredom-stress related issues. Health and safety and all that. I've a date in the pastry section of a tesco express.

With regard to the beastie below....

Pete, or

Hercule?

Meet my latest impulse buy. And I really do mean impulse, I'm talking less than an hour between deciding I want one and having him in his new cage.

Introducing...well I haven't decided for definite on a name yet, but as a temporary, potentially permanent option, please meet: Pete.

Other name options have included:

Dylan (which it has been up until last night)
The Professor
Lenin
Butch
Noodle
Janet
Ed
Dippit
Vladimir
Rafferty
Ralph (as in Rafe)
Ralph (as in Ralph)
Rupert
Batfink

There were many more. I don't do cutesy. I'm open to suggestions!

Your pirate name is...

Arch-Captain Fanny La Bouche

Marvellous.

Something has just happened to me.

I am no longer going to worry about where I will live for two weeks.

I am not going to worry about money.

I am not going to worry about being lonely.

I am not going to worry about the growing biscuit addiction.

I'm not going to worry about staying friends with everyone long enough to go to V.

I'm not going to worry about what the weather will be like at V.

Because these have just entered my life.

Actually, I better not quit. Let's be sensible. *crams in a biscuit*

...So, what do I do with all her stuff? Take it with me? I will have lots of cupboard space in the new flat...I'm sure I can stash it for another year...

Having said that, the other night I made a small mental list of what I AM going to be keeping:

All cards/postcards/letters
Most presents. Some random rubbish can be thrown out let go (Like the giant lollypop. Although, that mofo is so heavy it could be exceptionally useful as a burglar weapon *thwack* *crack*).
The blue/green/yellow checked boxers.
Maybe the pale/dark blue checked ones. They ween't my favourites though.
The blue vest top she slept in.
Her bandana.

Things I know I will be sending back include:

Her t-shirt from the 1994 World Cup that still fits her. It's very soft and her cousin bought her it. I know she'll want that back.
The penguin boxers.
Turqoise Gap jumper.

There's loads more but I can't remember what's in the pile. Still not looking forward to going through it but the alternative is carrying it around the rest of my life, making sure I always have ample cupboard space. Hmm.

In othe flat news, we have a verbal agreement on a dining room table and four chairs for £25. Bonza. They belong to the person moving out of the flat that the person's flat we're moving into will be moving into. Yep.

I've just bought some St John's Wort. I'm not sure how effective it is but I'm trying it anyway in the hope that it makes me a little less despairing and scratchy. I am feeling quite positive now that I know I'm moving but also trying to ignore the constant niggling 'Where will you live before you move in, and how will you afford it when you do?!' voice. I suppose I better ask my current landlord if I can stay for another two weeks or so at the end of this contract, and then hope that Workmate has moved out by then. If she hasn't, I face around two weeks of traveling from Hull to Grimsby and back every day. This is not a pleasing prospect. I can't bear using that bus more than once a fortnight, let alone twice a day. Eugh, such vile people on it. Plus, it's not just a case of packing a large bag for a couple of weeks at home - I've got 40kg of goldfish related paraphernalia to lug about. Definitely scrapping the idea of getting a guinea pig. A dog would be less trouble.

(Jenna puppy please, Mr Funky. Boy.)

I told my other flatmate that I wouldn't be moving upstairs with her due to the whole moving out thang (not the sickeningly 'nice' one - I haven't told her at all. Whatever). She didn't seem too perturbed - quite excited, in fact. I haven't told the other girl I would've been living with, who already lives upstairs, but then, she never comes down anymore anyway, so she can't be too concerned about my existence right now. None of them really come down anymore, unless they want something. Like the hoover. Or the foil. Or baking trays. I haven't seen them since my birthday two weeks ago, where they all went up to bed without even saying goodnight, after sitting in their coats all night - proving a point about money, I think. I can't say I have any desire to go up there and be met by stony silence and glancing looks, so I guess I'll just see them when they're ready.

I'm feeling a little hormonal which makes me more than a bit bitchy and right now I feel no emotional attachment to anything, bar people I never see, and possibly fudge. And a large vodka. And biscuits. Oh man, I love da biscuits.

Is it just me or is today going r e a l l y very slow? I've had very little to do today so I have been Browsing for Crap (which I won't be putting in my job evaluation). In 23 seconds I'm going to go get a biscuit.

I'm sure this has been seen by everyone who ever existed, but I find it amusing, so there we go:

Yesterday...

Me: You, Workmate, you're moving out of your flat this summer aren't you?
WM: Why yes, yes I am.
Me: When?
WM: Middle of Augustish.
Me: How wonderful. May I have your flat?
WM: Why...yes! Yes of course! Would you like to come round and look?
ME: Yes! When?
WM: Tonight! Yay!

Later...

Me and current Normal Flatmate: Why this is a lovely Flat. We shall take it.
WM: How wonderful!

Today...

Me: IIIIIIIIIIIII DON'T HAVE TO LIVE IN THAT STUPID FLAT ANY MOOOOOOOOOOOORE! I WILL HAVE A BAAAAAAAAAAAATH! AND A GREAT BIG ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! AND A DINING ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! AND A LIVING ROOOOOOOOOOOOOM! AND A PLACE FOR THE FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISH! AND I WON'T HAVE TO PUT ALL MY BELONGINGS IN ONE CUPBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOARD! AND I'M GOING TO BE HOMELESS FOR TWO WEEKS BUT I REALLY DON'T CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARE! BECAUSE I'M FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

I think I'm on #6, I haven't made one for a while...

Firstly, with regard to the 73 private posts...'mark all as read'. I'm sure I'll get round to it eventually, but lordy that's too much for a Monday morning.

Mainly:

I am moving out of those flats, I cannot live there another year, I will go utterly insane. I'm fed up of: living on top of work, living away from all the local shops, sharing a fridge and freezer shelf, noisy neighbours, having to live with someone I don't know (someone's signed for the spare room), having to keep everything I own in one room lest the living room should become untidy, having one kitchen cupboard for all food and crockery...the list goes on. If normal-have-lived-with-her-for-years flatmate is happy for us to find a flat together, super smashing great. If she'd rather live alone, boo hiss boo. Either way, this afternoon I'm looking for flats.

Thank you for my lovely photos of Baxter & Co on holiday lovely belated birthday present!

xxx

Thank GOD it's Friday today. I want a crunchie.

Anyway, last night was more interesting than any I have had in a while. I borrowed my flatmate's laptop, and after spending a token hour on the work I needed to have done for today, I muted the TV, played solitaire, and listened to Janis Joplin. It was quite pleasant.

Would anybody like to give me a laptop so I can have more pleasant evenings? If no one donates one I'll have to use all my savings, and as much as I enjoy spending every penny I own, freebies are always preferable.

Excellent, I Need a Hero playing on Radio 2. Love a bit of Bonnie. Unfortunately I haven't quite managed to resist the urge to fling back my head in a dramatic 80s singing pose and now I've cricked my neck. More fool me. Ooh, now I want them to play No More the Fool! Love a bit of Elkie!

I am aware I'm babbling.

Ooh, biscuits...

has no mufins
jam
might be an alien
smells vaguely of asparagus

The Tagger's knowledge of me is astounding. Who told them about the jam? How do they know?

Hi all

The Students' Union will be holding a rounders match against the University on Wednesday 27th June at 5.30pm, as part of the handover between the Union Executive Committees.

Big Boss Man has asked for volunteers, so if you or anyone in your office would like to play, could you please let me know as soon as possible?

Thanks

"I'm not!"
"You are!"
"I'm NOT!"
"Yes you are!"
"I am not playing ruddy rounders and that's that!"
"Yes, you are, I've put your name down"
"I'm back in PE, I've had this conversation before, I am not playing rounders with the Union exec, and that is that!"
"Yes"
"No"
"Yes"
"No"
"YES!"
"WILL YOU SHUT UP! NO!"

(repeat to fade)

(I'm not)

General all round rubbishness has pervaded most aspects of Me this week.

I am getting rubbish on here. I read as many as I can but don't always have time to comment, which I like to do, even if others aren't bothered whether I do or not. I write down so much by hand that I want to put in an entry but there are always little niggly things at work to do and I don't get chance.

Work is rubbish lately. I like working here, I like who I work with, and contrary to my moans I don't really mind all the students. I'd say I like about 20% of them, which is quite a lot really, given the general whining nature of those I have contact with.
Pay is rubbish, and to apply to be on a higher grading, I have to fill out a questionnaire of about 70 pages, explaining in unimaginable depth just what it is I do on a daily/weekly/monthly basis, who I have contact with, blah blah. My line manager agrees I should be on a higher banding. Big Boss Man agrees I should be on a higher banding. HR, however, want me to fill in this form, which will then be scanned by software, and this will decide whether I should be rebanded. My income for September onwards will be dictated by a computer, not the people who manage the budget that pays me, and see me taking calls about dead students, and comforting those that sit in tears surrounded by fifty letters from debt collectors, or responding to emails to students who think they might have a mental health problem, or feel suicidal. Working in this office can have really high points - like the thank you letters and phone calls from those who have been given help, and can continue their course, or buy a new car to get to their placements, or buy a washing machine and oven instead of relying on friends to wash the kids' school uniforms and feed them - and there are really low points - like going home and realising that the person who is feeling suicidal was rejected for financial help last semester. It's a very emotionally demanding job, however boring it can often be, but you can't express that on paper, and I'm not sure the emotionally bereft computer software would pick up on it anyway.

Home is rubbish. I don't want to carry on living there next year but I can't afford to live on my own really. Nor do I want someone I don't know to move in. It's annoying.

I've gone right off someone I currently live with and really won't bat an eyelid when she leaves this summer. Whilst I'm egging on Craig and John-Paul to kiss in Hollyoaks, she's shuddering next to me. "What's that shudder for?" "I don't like it". You what? Next to me? Really? You just said that, and actually shuddered? I've been told not to take it personally, but to be honest, I do, because now I know what her real views are, and I hate thinking about times I've talked about gay stuff with her and she's nodded along and "mmm'd" sympathetically, or mentioned my Poofs, or BLAH, whatever. She's a good 10 years older than me and going to be a teacher and I am amazed at her narrowmindedness. Having said that, she has some of the most irritating habits I have ever encountered in a housemate, and even worse, she's one of those 'nice' folk that appear to have no malice or evil in any bone in any of her skeletal body, and everybody 'likes' her, she's 'lovely'. I think she's bland. I can't bear people like that. Being 'nice' is nauseating.

I am also full of a head cold. On the way back from a meeting yesterday at the other campus in North Yorkshire, I actually thouht my head was going to split into very small fragments, and when I got home I turned all the lights off, stuck my head under a pillow, and cried it hurt so much. Then the 'nice' one came home, ignored my murderous look and started whistling tunelessly - another of her endearing features. I've endured it since August without saying a word but I can't much longer.

In other areas of rubbishness, my sister stole my mascara, and the new one I have makes me spidery. I feel sick all the time. I feel so single. I miss so many people. I'm always going to feel like I'm not quite good enough to do something. My room looks like a pigsty and I keep forgetting to tidy it. I can't face another night sat watching TV on my own on the sofa that is developing a dip because I always sit in the same place. I can't express how bored I am. I am also aware that I am moaning, and now I feel even rubbisher.

I never knew having to eat lasagne and peas from a polystyrene tray could be such a miserable experience. Shows me how much I know.
While eveyone else is tucking into their Ryvitas and vaginal yeast infection cottage cheese, I shall chase my vile lunch with CAKE.

Last night I dreamed dreamt dreameded that my flatmate's parent's bought her, her siblings and myself a dog. She got a small brown one. Her brother got a German shepherd. Her sister got a pug. They bought me Daniel Radcliffe. He was a really good pet. He sat on my bed in a navy dressing gown and got me a drink. I tried to explain to him that I had previously dreameded about owning Harry Potter, and now I did. He found it funny that I couldn't distinguish between them, adamant they were seperate people. I ruffled his hair and smiled knowingly.

Random things said over the past couple of weeks that have amused me, hereby recorded, lest I forget.

"Have you heard of Radiohead's No Surprises?"
"Er...clearly yes"
"I need to learn to play it on the glockenspiel"

"That peacock was a bastard. My mate tried to ride a peacock"
"Why the devil did they try to ride a peacock?"
"Y'know...I never did ask"

"I don't know why she's bothering to apply for that job"
"Are you referring to the girl stood behind me, filling in her application form, and reading this MSN screen over my shoulder?"
"Hello! You're not getting that job!"

"Oh bless him, he hasn't got a foot...Oh he doesn't look quite right...Ooh eck he's lost an arm! This is political correctness gone mad!"
"What is?"
"Well how can they be expected to win against a man with two arms?"
"Nanna it's the paralympics"
"Disgraceful"

"Grandad wants to know the scores on the football"
"I'll read it out...Wezzam...Wezzam...I can't read that, where's my glasses?"
"I doubt your glasses will correct your pronounciation of West Ham, mother"

Serbia's torch song, Molitva, was a heartfelt plea to an estranged lover with religious overtones.

"I can't lie to God as I kneel down and pray. You're the love of my life," cried Serifovic as five bouffant backing singers touched her back in support.

At times, their routine resembled liturgical dancing. At others, it seemed to be a slow-motion lesbian porn film.

How wonderfully put, BBC. Here was me thinking it was a squat woman shrieking as if burnt by the touch of the leggy 80s hags that circled her.

I think switching the TV on just as Slovenia were getting into the swing of things was a little more than my headache could take.

But I do love a bit of Wogan. It can stay on.

-----------------

Let's hear some love for the Serbian butch and all her femme bitches!

----------------

And the Ukranian metallic drag-sperm!

----------------

And well done Scooch. I ba ba da ba ba da'd along with you, even if
no one else did. I'll take a complimentary nut, thank you.

----------------

Aaaaaand we're heading for a spectacular nil pwah!

---------------

Dammit! Now we're just mediocre!

--------------

Serbia! Huzzah!

I'm slowly recovering from the shock of turning on the PC and seeing that ruddy green 'Bliss' landscape glaring back at me, devoid of all icons, save the Recycle Bin. Not even My Computer. Nothing. It's all...gone.

Ahem. Anyway.

I have no music left on here. Furthermore, I have no program to acquire said music.

I do not want to have to pay for it.
I do not want to have my computer addled again.
I do not want to have to use Soulseek again.

I beg of thee, techier folk than I, tell me of some program that can fulfil my deepest desire of having the above attributes. In return you can have....*scans*...this bag of chocolate eclairs. They're Cadbury's an'all.

Thank you all for the happy birthdays. I had a lovely day! Evening events were pretty shit, but I can't be bothered to expand on that right now. Perhaps later.

FYI, the crab has been named...Herr Mit. As predicted, Maddy headbutted him when I put him in the flowerpot, and his legs wobbled. Lovely.

I'm at home for the weekend. Normally I would be delighted at the 24/7 weekend internet access, HOWEVER, I have spent the best part of the morning reloading everything onto the damn thing. It died. Blue Screen. New hard drive. I've shed my tears over the years of stuff that's gone missing, including all the photos I recently loaded off my phone, all the ones of the Ex, ones she sent me from Brasil, photos from school, essays and other documents, saved conversations, ALL MY MUSIC, etc etc. I've silently berated myself for not backing all of it up, I've audibly berated my dad for being on the computer at the time of Blue Screen, and therefore everything being his fault. Now I'm comforting myself with peppermint tea, and the pretence that the old PC was stolen and we've had to buy a new one.

On another note, Nanna and Grandad's 50th wedding anniversary last night was quite fun, despite the presence of 5 children, 4 of whom were under 6, all of them capable of running around the table for three long hours. One of them - apparently my cousin's daughter - had only just started walking, and was actually the smallest person I have EVER seen. At some point in the evening somebody passed her to me and we spent a happy thirty seconds colouring (or 'stab sapped with pencils') until she pooed and it was warm on my leg and I handed her to my mother. Cute, but no bowel control. Not my kinda person.

My uncle from New Zealand arrived entirely unannounced. That was quite cool, especially when grandad swore and nanna spent the next ten minutes telling him off before turning her full attention to her youngest. On the two occasions he has come over since he moved there with auntie and prodigal cousins in tow, about 9 years ago, he has managed to make me feel inadequate and stupid. He always did that to me when I was small. He seems to think it's character building to tell me all aspects of my life are worthless, but he is very funny when he picks on other people, so I forgive him. Sort of. He's staying at our house for the next couple of weeks, but I'm heading back to Hull tomorrow, so I won't have to endure his constructive criticism and questionning for much longer.

And now, because it is pissing it down with rain, I'm going to pass the afternoon installing more PC crap I don't need, because it is comforting. I feel like someone's washed my blanky.

His legs wobble. He will be taking up residence in my fish tank, in the plant pot, and bubbles will disperse playfully over his head. He needs a name. Crab of Glory is a little too...y'know.

It's my birthday, I'm 23, and I'm hyper!

Because I've had sweets for my breakfast!

And I have a crab for my fish tank!

And I didn't bring in cake. What a lovely office this is.

Lunch, woohoo.

No desire to mope today, unlike yesterday, which I spent on the verge of tears.

I've even decided to don the clerical uniform of black trousers and white shirt, instead of my usual jeans and a cardigan, in an effort to look like I'm going to work.

I am feeling quite reflective though. I spent an hour on the phone to Ex Ex last night. I miss her so much, no one's ever made me laugh as much as her. Still, she's my best friend, even if I never see her. Plus she told me she loves me, and even though it was in an entirely unromantic context, it still made me close my eyes and smile.

It's my birthday tomorrow. Birthdays make me feel a little giddy, and a little mopey, and a little terrified of becoming a spinster. On Friday it is my Nanna and Grandad's 50th wedding anniversary. Bless them. I don't know whether or not it makes me sad that I'll never have one of those.

On another birthday note, am I missing something with the office etiquette of such an event? Here, I am being expected to bring in cakes. They all do it! Is this some tradition? I'd like to abstain, but they're getting me a mug, so I better not.

Rumble. They still haven't fixed the toaster. A cheap chocolate croissant would be good right now.

I rather appear to be sat at my desk, not on a train to Manchester. Decided over the weekend that I wasn't going to go. For some reason people appear to think that gave them the right to mutter under their breath or tell me I'll regret it, like my decisions have any bearing on their lives. The way I see it is, this time last week I knew nothing about the job. I don't want to move to Manchester this year. It doesn't pay very well, certainIy not enough to warrant moving somewhere that costs a hell of a lot more than what I'm used to. I couldn't give a shit about 'interview experience', especially if it means getting up at 5.30am and travelling to Manchester and back just to get it. If I had been offered it, I would have rejected it, a waste of time for both me and the interviers. Likewise, if I didnt get it, I wouldnt have minded. Therefore, other than this 'interview experience' people get so orgasmic about, what was the point in going? I feel better off not knowing either way and I wish some people could get their heads around that.

Anyway, it's all rather kicking off here at work anyway. They've blocked the student record of the guy that has been charged with murdering the Hull student so I can't snoop at that, more's the pity. I've been given the task of going through a list of a billion people and finding out where they live. Not so fun. There's still a horrible atmosphere of disbelief here. Nothing like that has ever happened in our halls. It's so sad. I know someone who was friends with her and it brings it home how far the effect of something like this can spread.

A parent of someone at the halls has just rang. She'd like to send a letter in to thank those who have made such a good job of looking after her son and everyone else at the hall over the weekend. I can't imagine what it must be like living there at the moment.

And to top it off, it's about to rain. 

I spent most of the weekend in a hightened state of inertia. Got back from a meal on Saturday night, and didn't leave the flat again until I came into work this morning. I did, however, get through half of Order of the Phoenix, changing position on the sofa every half an hour to avoid sores. Couldn't sleep for two reasons: a) I had been immobile for the better part of 48 hours and I had twitchy legs, and b) the Gibraltan boy downstairs was 'singing' in a traditional manner. Nice.

But, I do have a chocolate digestive, yum yum. 

I have a job interview next Tuesday at Manchester University.

I applied for it in the first week of February. I assumed that no response after almost 12 weeks meant no interview. Clearly, I'm naive in this respect.

I'm not sure if I want it.

Pro, getting it means a year of spectacular on the job training in prepartion for an MA in that area, which is always good.

Con, means moving to Manchester rather suddenly.

Pro, Manchester is infinitely better than Hull.

Con, it doesn't pay very much, especially after considering the scary things like a higher rent, bills and council tax which I don't have to deal with at the moment, along with a much higher cost of living than I have in Hull (which isn't exactly hard to achieve given the scabby nature of this place).

Pro, ummm...

Oh, Pro, I won't have to decide whether to do a different MA here or not.

Con, I haven't actually got the job yet.

Pro, I might not get the job which solves the problem of whether to go, what a relief.

Con, I might not get the job and then I might realise I'm quite disappointed.

I think tonight I need to ring Nanna. She'll know what to do. She'll offer sage-like advice such as 'do what makes you happy'. This won't be helpful but I suppose she'll be right.

Jesus mary and joseph my boss is looking at my facebook profile.

This, my friends, is not good.

This is a mofo of a hangover

It's gone, it's been taken, no tea cakes, but Gwen is happy as it isn't burning her neck anymore, so she gave me a sausage sandwich for a pound, and it's nice.

I am SO drunk right now.

Crumbs everywhere!

Hello quiet, dignified and reserved head of Counselling! I'm going to greet you like THIS! HELLO!

HELLO!!!!!!

Bring me peppermint tea on a tray with biscuit!

NOW!

Oh I definitely did jazz hands last night and I definitely fell over. But it was comfy down there, and I definitely found my shoe, as I'm wearing it now. My feet are dirty.

Bring on the meeting.

"Sapped has been working on some ideas for the online application system, haven't you?"
"Yes'm. It's a very bad idea. Students, generally, as a rule, can't add up very well. A biscuit, how kind".

Yes that's how it'll go.

Oh I did the hairspray-deodorant thing today. It was funny. I thought it was a myth. People do it. I did it.

Slurp.