Sunday, December 24

It's Christmas!.... Tommorow.

Just packing for christmas at my relatives. Isn't it funny how you can be the most independent person in the universe. Happy, gazing at adverts containing 'hunky boyfriend buying silver chain for girlfriend' without feeling worthless because you're single.

And yet.

And yet.

When people ask what you're doing for Christmas, their face always seems to morph into pity... perhaps imagining you all alone at home with half a Turkey in one hand, pills in the other...


And what? What?

It's 2007 in a few days and I am happy, very positive and not in maaaad need of a boyfriend to hang onto my every word, as well as my hand.
I'm fine.

Just wanted to get that off my chest.

Oh and this:


Sunday, December 10

Gold Diggas, Pink Shirts and Cola!

It’s that time of year again! And the office Christmas party seems to be the start of it all. Ours was on Friday, where I got to witness an array of staff from other buildings and ALL hierarchies.

So, it all began in a smoky pub (can’t turn up too early and look sad), where I had a whisky to settle my poor throat, my only alcohol for the night I kid you not... well I admit it… I HAVE A NATURAL HIGH!!!! Don’t need the booze!

Then off to the main venue- a hotel ballroom, lovingly supplied by the bosses.

Things like chatting to THE BIG BOSS in the toilet was now common place. As is
I.T geeks salivating at the sight of so many scantily clad females in one whole room!
Watching from my un-alcoholed gaze, the crème of the workplace dancing like collective monkeys during a mass seizure is something I won’t forget in a hurry.

Any cute guys?


But I saw a newcomer, who seemed well turned out and not afraid to have a hint of pink in his shirt – impressive qualities. The inner gold digger in me resurfaced when I asked him what he did for this company. He told me within earshot of a drunken manager who then revealed unprompted, this mans earning power….


So “Felling Hot, Hot Hot", (I kid you not) came on… and I could see the pink shirted man scratching his chin, wishing he had the guts to whiz onto the dance floor with the rest of us… if only he could find a way in… So I formed a chain… and as it got longer and longer (the chain, you dirty lot!) I grabbed the pink shirted man and thrust him into the front of my chain and off we ALL went around the ballroom.
My plan was complete…
It hit me- the whiff.
Of B.O.
Now. I’d been dancing for hours, vintage blouse sticking to me like flies to sandpaper and yet I was still… fragrant…. So, no excuses for lack of hygiene, prompting me to sling him out of the chain with no explanation.
Then I went and got a drink – a cola.