\Te`di*os"i*ty\

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.