Feelin' hunky

Chris said something really nice to me the other day. He said he thought I'd grown into my looks, and that I was looking more attractive now than when I was younger, which I thought was lovely.

I have been feeling like I'm starting to get old lately, as I'll be 28 on my next birthday and 30 is suddenly looking like a very real proposition. Even just typing that is a bit scary, as I remember how ancient 28 sounded when I was 19. Saying that though, I also feel that I like where I am in life at the moment. I'm still fairly young, I have a nice place to live, my job pays pretty well and I don't really have money worries, and we go out dancing at least once a week.

So to be told also that instead of having lost my looks my maturity has actually added something to them is, well, really nice.

Of course, he could just have been saying that to get me into bed (didn't work).

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Why do men have to be so disgusting?

Really, I just don't get why men's toilets have to be in such a state all the time. It's just foul. Would their toilet at home look like that if they didn't have a woman either to clean it or to brow beat them into showing a little fucking respect for the fact that other people have to use it too?

It's always the same with communal men's toilets. For a start, how on EARTH do people manage not to flush? Isn't it just something you do automatically? Or do they find the the blank cubicle walls so stimulating that they get distracted and just wander off in their own little world?

And how hard must it be not to miss your intended target and piss all over the seat, and on some occasions even the fucking floor! Even at a urinal, how do you MISS a urinal??

I feel particularly sorry for the female customers of the Ghetto, where they have unisex toilets. I've heard them complaining more than once that they a) stink, and b) are disgusting, because they're obviously not as used to it as all men have to be.

And yes, I am a bit more of a clean freak than some other people I suppose, but I don't think being clean should count as a flaw, and it just comes down to showing a bit of respect for other people. I might start wearing a dress so I can use the ladies, I imagine it's all marble floors and classical music and a man in a suit offering you perfume in there.

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Matt Taylor IS cute god damn it

Someone has dared to suggest that my dishy weatherman Matt Taylor is not as cute as I have made him out to be. Clearly, they should seek the immediate assistance of a psychiatrist or optician.

However, in order to quell any further dissent, here are some more pictures of him looking yummy.

Not the sparkliest coin in the fountain

I am becoming concerned lately that I either have brain tumour or some form of degenerative mental disorder. This has possibly not been helped by Chris having said "I think you've got a brain tumour" several times in the last couple of weeks.

Of course, I'm not actually concerned about it, but I have had a couple of unexplained bouts of forgetfulness. They always follow this sort of pattern:

Chris says something about some previous arrangement or conversation.

Me: "What?"

Chris patiently repeats.

Me: "I don't remember us saying that, when was this?"

Chris: "Do you not remember us having a whole conversation about this? And you said yes?"

Me: "No, I have no recollection of us ever discussing this."

And the worrying thing is that I truly have no knowledge of it, it doesn't ring any bells at all, and I could easily believe that Chris made it up or dreamt it or had the conversation with someone else.

The reason I'm not that worried though is because, so far at least, all of these occasions have involved conversations with Chris (sometimes with third parties too, but always Chris, never just a conversation between me and someone else).

So, based on that, I think the most likely explanation is that I simply wasn't listening properly; that I got distracted by something else or by a different train of thought, and I rather rudely just tuned him out while managing to interject "Yes" and "No" at suitable moments on autopilot. And it's even easier to do when we're talking with someone else as well because then I don't even have to manage yeses and nos.

So I'm going to assume this is the case for the moment. If I find I'm wandering the streets with no trousers on one day or I start eating a chicken without actually cooking it, I suppose I'll have a rethink.

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Braindead and mildly schizophrenic

God yesterday was just the worst, most boring day I've had in ages. I've got very little work to do, and the work I have got is both pointless and mind-numbing. On top of that, our office is currently plagued by a million tiny black flies that are coming out of the pot plants. They are attracted by the CO2 you breathe out, which means they end up flying right around your mouth and eyes, making them impossible to ignore and causing me to keep leaping backwards and flapping my arms throughout the day like I'm having a minor hallucination.

So not only am I bored rigid, I'm also undergoing psychological torture, and it's driving me CRAZY.

On a lighter note, BBC weatherman Matt Taylor is gorgeous. I want to bite him.

An excessively alcoholic weekend

A while ago I decided I was getting far too hungover far too often, and so I eased up on the drinking for a while. I was still drinking of course, I'm not a nun, but I made sure I stopped at a reasonable point, and consequently I didn't pay for it too much the next day.

It seems to have crept back up a bit recently though, and this last weekend I was out getting boozed up three nights in a row, which is really quite unlike me.

I had a lovely weekend though - we had dinner with a friend then drinks out on Thursday, then we went for some more drinks out and then to Popstarz at the Ghetto on Friday (which was very good again - obviously that first dire week was some sort of blip), and then on Saturday we went for some MORE drinks out and then to Legends (whose wanky staff and owner always seem to spoil any trip there). And so by Sunday when we went out for some lunch I was really feeling quite sorry for myself, with a cumulative hangover from the previous three days.

So I'm going to try to cut down again a little bit I think, particularly on wine. I don't like being too drunk, and I don't like being sick the next day, so what's the point? It's just drinking for the rather expensive sake of it and because I like the taste.

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In the cold light of day

I'm not sure drunken blog posts at 1am show me in a particularly good light, so maybe setting up blogging from my phone wasn't as good an idea as I thought. I'm either going to come across as Angry Drunk (see 'Sometimes I just get so annoyed') or Horny Drunk (see post immediately after), or Wildly Erratic Drunk (see time difference between posts).

Or maybe I just need to learn some self-restraint. That might not be a bad idea in general actually.

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