Business as usual...

Business as usual…

So I’m doing my daily morning read of various blogs, realising that compared to most, I lead a rather boring life. I go to work, go home, surf the internet, gossip with Nats about the day’s events, then go sleep. Very boring indeed…

And it isn’t my fault really. I blame my payroll. I have far too much life for the amount I earn. Well, that and credit card debt. But you gotta love the credit card!!

I know I wasn’t tagged to do a dinner party line up, but you know what..i’ve never been one to wait my turn.

For my dinner party, the guests would be:

Katherine Hepburn (actress and womans rights activist)
Audrey Hepburn (actress and UN ambassador)
Tim Burton (director)
Winston Churchill (politian)
Pablo Fransisco (comedian)
John Peel (DJ)
Janet Evanovich (brilliant writer)
Prince William (future monarch)
John D Negroponte (head of the CIA)
Joss Whedon (creator of Buffy/Angel/Firefly)

To serve them I would have:

Mugabe (he deserves servitude)
The Monty Python team (just for the laughs)
The North Korean Dictator
Stalin
Zuma (he deserves servitude too)

Topics of discussion:

Zuma’s trials
Secrets of the CIA
Joss Whedon’s mind
Tim Burtons mind
Evolution of music from 1970 til today
How to achieve world peace.
The advantages to smoking cigars and drinking heavily.
Monarchy vs anarchy.

Playlist for the evening:

Norah Jones (chilled jazzy background music)
Katie Melua
Ella Fitgerald
Josh Groban
Mr Bungle
The Infected Mushrooms
White Stripes (acoustic sets)
Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly.
The Bang.

Don’t even ask about the menu. I’d serve them all good S’Affer food such as bobotie, my mom’s butternut soup, and for dessert – milktart. All with generous glasses of Drosty hof extra light red and amarula cream on ice to end the evening.

Looks like it’ll be an awesome evening.

Kelpto Art

My weekend was rather mundane. I spent Saturday chilling at home, doing copious amounts of laundry before heading out to Camden Market to do some serious window shopping. I came back empty handed (yay me) but also disappointed. You see, this cd shop Fopp is hosting the Fratellis tomorrow night at 6pm. I have two small problems with this.
Firstly, I work until 6pm on the other side of the city and will only get there at 8pm and secondly, even if I were to get there in time, I really don’t fancy getting pulverised by some overzealous 15 year old girl with enough piercings to set off a metal detector.
I spent the night watching Buffy until Nats came over and we chilled listening to music and drinking wine and talking a load of shit really.

Sunday was rainy – again, but this time Nats took me to an arts centre in Hampstead Heath.

Now, I’m all for arts and crafts and stuff, but sometimes I have to wonder how some of these artists get away with the absolute rubbish they try to sell! For example, a certain artist had an exhibition that was a video of her watching The Wizard of Oz while painting strange squiggly things on her wall. Erm..I did that as a three year old.
Another artist would dip twigs and leaves into porcelain…creepy. I’m the kind of person that takes about five seconds to make up my mind if I like a piece of art or not, so most of the visit was spent sticking my head in a door and if the phrase ‘I don’t get it’ surfaced, I moved on.
To give credit, there were some really good artists there amongst the pretentious patrons.

So Nats and I are ready to leave when we walk past a stack of pottery clay. A light bulb lit up above my head.
II: Nats, I want some pottery clay.
Nats: Ok, I’ll stand guard. You grab it and then we run.
II: Ok.

SO I grab a bag and nearly fell on the ground. The mofo was damn heavy, so I heaved it up and under my jacket and we skulked out a side door and up the road and around the corner. We were laughing so hard, we could barely walk. As we’re trekking to the station, the ten plus kilograms on my shoulder are making me reconsider my idea. What was I going to do with ten kilograms of pottery clay anyway? Its not like I had a potters wheel or Patrick Swayze or anything like that.

When I got home, I called my mom.
II: Mom,
Mom: yes love,
II: Mom, I’ve been arrested.
Mom: What! What did you do?
II: (Can’t contain laughter, splutters into phone)
Mom: You bloody brat! Giving me heart failure.
II: Sorry, I just…hahahahahahahaha…its just too..hahahahaha
Mom: Brat! What did you do?
II: There was pottery clay involved.
Mom: talk to your cousin.

This morning I got an email and was able to coherently explain my exploit. It was really funny at the time. But now, my mom’s reaction was funnier. Almost int eh vein of April Margera in Viva La Bam.

So last night I chilled, with my pottery clay and we watched Buffy. I’ve now finished season 4 – Season 5 is up next. More spills than thrills. But now I need to get my hands on the Angel series. I’m willing to swap my Supernatural season 1 box set for it!

Lolly went white water rafting this past weekend. I’ll let her tell you the story.

First posting of the day...and its far too bright

Typical of me to start my new blog with a post about being hungover...

My biggest fear has been confirmed - I'm sober! i'm not a dry drunk or a wet drunk or a drunk drunk. My liver has healed the wounds i inflicted on it back home and now i am paying for my soberness. or is it my brokeness that caused the soberness?

Anyway...

I'm not much of a hypochondriac, so hear me out on this.
For the past few weeks, my torso/chest area has been sore. I can't see why it should be cos i haven't really been doing anything to inflict pain. and its not a specific type of pain. its more like i've been put through a pizza dough roller machine a few times. Every fibre hurts. It even hurts to breath, to stay still, to move, to do anything really.

So last night we had the farewell drinks for one of our photographers. She is moving to New Zealand. I got there pretty late due to being on a bus for 45 minutes and then the tube for another 15 minutes. So i really needed a drink. I ordered my Strongbow (bad idea number 1) hoping th ealcohol would numb the pain that was encasing my body. I really felt like i had been through a scrum with the all black rugby team. yes i was really in a lot of inexplicable pain.

Moving on...

I drank my drink and began to chat to my colleagues and joke etc etc. then i discovered that the bathrooms were downstairs. Who the hell puts pub bathrooms in a place that requires stair access?????

The rest of the night is a blur of me drinking, fallin ginto cab, overpaying cab, falling out of cab, throwin gmy lighter at Nats window, getting fed by her, and going to bed. then i overslept this morning and skulked into the office an hour late!

And i'm still sore!! its not heart attack pains, its not collapsed lung pain, its just this constant all over bruising pain.

i'm going to go drink a box of Neurofen and try to get through the rest of my day...

Tube Issues

Dear Suicidal Fuckwit,

The next time you have the urge to end your pathetic existence, rather throw yourself off the Millennium Bridge and not infront of a train. Your little act of self destruction fucks up the tubes, messing up everyone else’s day and robs them of the opportunity to beat the crap out of you as you’re in a hundred pieces along the third track.

If you really need to off yourself, then do it in the privacy of your own home and not during rush hour on the freaking Piccadilly Line.

Thank you,

Pissed-off-and-late-because-of-you Insano.