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LiveJournal for Jennifer.

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Friday, January 20th, 2012

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Subject:Stupid scenes from my life, volume spoonerism
Time:10:30 pm.
Mood: amused.
Berian: Have you seen my pants?
Me: What did you do with them?
Berian: I flung them off in a pit of fashion. [pause] No, wait, that's not right. [pause] Stop laughing at me.

Saturday, December 3rd, 2011

(1 glance | notice me)

Subject:Stupid scenes from my life, volume confused boyfriend
Time:5:37 pm.
Mood: amused.
[sitting on the sofa, watching tv with puppy]
Berian [coming in through door]: Ooh, Have I Got News For You. They must have filmed this before he died.
Me: Before who died?
Berian: Giles Coren.
Me: Why?
Berian: Well, he's on this show.
Me: Uh, that's not Giles Coren. And Giles Coren's not dead.
Berian: Oh, no, sorry. I meant what's-his-name Freud.
Me: What are you talking about? That's Gyles Brandreth.
Berian: Oh.
[there is a brief silence while show-watching takes place]
Berian: Giles Coren is dead though.
Me: No, he's not.
Berian [slipping into man-explaining-to-silly-girl voice]: No, Giles Coren is actually dead.
Me: Since when?
Berian: Since quite a few years ago.
Me: The bloke who writes twatty restaurant reviews for The Times? No, he isn't.
Berian: Oh! No! Alan Coren! Alan Coren is dead!
Me: [merciless piss-taking]

Tuesday, February 8th, 2011

(notice me)

Subject:Stupid scenes from my life, volume technology
Time:9:28 pm.
[in a restaurant with my father]
Me: Oh, by the way, Mum definitely wants an iPod this year.
Dad: She wants her... knives... this year?
Me: No, no, an iPod. iPod?
Dad: Oh, an iPod. Not an iPhone or an iPad.
Me: No. Just the iPod.
Dad: Right. And what does an iPod do?
Me: You put music on it. And you carry it around.
Dad: Ah. You know what's good? This Dongle.
Me: ...what?
Dad: That's technology, isn't it?

Friday, November 19th, 2010

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Time:11:19 am.
Mood: ecstatic.

Everyone thought it was going to go to Tian, but no, I got it! And so I have to move to London pretty much as soon as possible!

Monday, July 19th, 2010

(notice me)

Time:4:32 pm.
Mood: okay.

I have less than two weeks til I leave for Italy, and less than seven weeks until I go to Las Vegas and New York.

We're still looking for a third girl to move into the house. I've asked Jess (kind of jokingly), but she reckons she won't have six hundred pounds to take to America if she moves in.

Jess and I are going to go on a helicopter ride over the Grand Canyon.

Berian has said we should get married in Vegas.

But we're not getting married.

We might be getting a dog, though.

The other day I went into the back garden and found Fred upside down in a puddle next to Kami's cage. I don't know how he got out there, but I'm not getting any more pets until the vengeful spirit of Kami has faded.

I have paid off all my outstanding bills and such from Ethel, but I'm convinced I'm forgetting something.

By Friday I should have the internet, so I can stop writing journal entries on my breaks at work.

I'm here til six. And then I'm going boxing. Yargh.

Thursday, May 20th, 2010

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Subject:Pre-holiday preparation according to Vogue
Time:10:27 pm.
Mood: cranky.
12 weeks before: Start doing machine-based Pilates. What is machine-based Pilates? Can't tell, but the website makes it look expensive.
8 weeks before: Dry skin brushing. This actually doesn't cost much.
6 weeks before: Get all your body hair lasered off. On the price part of the website, it says "Choice of earlobes or fingers or upper lip: £55" (and you have to pay for six goes). Who the fuck is getting their earlobes lasered?!
4 weeks before: Get something called a "permanent blow dry" which costs two hundred quid. Also, spend another fifty quid on bum-firming cream.
3 weeks before: Start taking tanning pills. Yes, TANNING PILLS.
2 weeks before: Add the fake tan on top of your tanning pills.
5 days before: Get a £50 manicure and something called a Strength and Seal Ritual, which I swear is a spell I once did. Wasn't for shiny hair, either.
3 days before: Get a pedicure, which for some reason you must do two days after your manicure, and go on a three-day juice diet.
1 day before: Get a blow dry so you look nice on the plane. This thing is aimed at people who want to look dolled up on a PLANE.
Oh, and there's a spa at Heathrow, too.

This right here is why I only look at the pictures. The words are not written for me, or anyone I would willingly associate with.

Wednesday, April 28th, 2010

(notice me)

Time:10:53 pm.
Mood: bouncy.

I won!

Thursday, April 8th, 2010

(notice me)

Subject:Stupid scenes from my life, volume grandmother
Time:12:24 am.
Mood: sleepy.

Gran: How are you getting on with your soups?
Me: I'm still trying to find a decent tomato soup recipe.
Gran: Oh, I get all my soups from Phyllis. I was supposed to see her on Wednesday, actually. She was going to pick up Mary, my cousin, and we were going to go for lunch. But Mary called me and said Phyllis hadn't come to get her and did I know where she was. It turned out she'd been walking in Bath, tripped over a loose paving stone and fallen face first - FACE FIRST - on a grating.
Me: Oh, my God.
Gran: She broke bones in her nose, her cheekbones, cracked her skull...
Me: Ouch!
Gran: I spoke to her yesterday, but she can barely talk, barely eat...
Me: Wow, that's awful.
Gran:  And she makes all her own soups.

Friday, January 1st, 2010

(notice me)

Subject:ranting: letter format
Time:10:08 pm.
Mood: infuriated.

Dear Internet Pillock,

STOP IT. GO AWAY. A couple of months ago you used your giant brain to work out that as I hadn't replied to your last three messages, it probably wouldn't do you any good to persist. You have been showing up on my stalker list every couple of days since then (seriously, you must have the whole thing memorised by now, you don't need to keep looking at it. And in case you'd forgotten, IT TELLS ME THAT YOU'RE DOING IT), and now you tell me that "the least [you] can do" is to "say hello" and see if I want to "start over". How dense are you? I clearly don't want to start over. I was repeatedly and consistently rude to you, and then I stopped replying. Why are you even interested? Jesus fucking Christ, there are millions of women on OKCupid. Go freak out somebody else! THIS IS NOT TRUE LOVE. I AM NOT YOUR BEAUTIFUL FAINTING PRINCESS. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, LEAVE ME ALONE.


Tuesday, December 8th, 2009

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Subject:Stupid scenes from my life, volume OKCupid
Time:10:53 pm.
Mood: amused.
"You are an exciting, loving, sexy, feminine, tempestuous, beautiful woman - or you are ready for me to find her in you. You hold no fears of true intimacy - or you are ready for me to overcome them. ... entangled. Together we take on the world and make its booty shake. Our time together is fiery and passionate as we grow through each other. I accept no less. You may contact me when you are ready."

HAHHAHAHAHAHA! I literally cannot stop laughing.

Monday, November 30th, 2009

(1 glance | notice me)

Time:3:05 pm.
Well, it's over.

Tuesday, November 24th, 2009

(1 glance | notice me)

Subject:Is it possible...
Time:7:18 pm.
Mood: creative.
...to write 30,000 words in five days? When at least one of these days will be spent in London?

Monday, October 26th, 2009

(notice me)

Subject:Stupid scenes from my life, volume Facebook
Time:4:52 pm.
Mood: amused.

At the top of my Facebook news feed right now is:

"[name] became a fan of my warm cozy bed, Santa, and death sentences for paedophiles."


Thursday, July 30th, 2009

(notice me)

Subject:We don't have no time for no monkey business...
Time:9:51 pm.
Mood: giddy.

I put down a deposit on a flat yesterday. I'm moving in on Wednesday. It's called Ethel House and it has a yellow door and a secret passage. I just couldn't pass it up.

Longer entry to follow, but my creative energies are currently being sapped by a couple of extremely lengthy and in-depth email conversations.

Saturday, July 25th, 2009

(notice me)

Time:2:34 pm.
Mood: cheerful.

Plans to move out are coming on apace. I have a flat viewing later today. It's quite expensive and it's not in the best area, so I've not got my hopes pinned on it, but it's as good a flat as any to get the whole moving-out ball rolling and let my parents know that I'm serious.

Mum is working with me now. That's fine; we email each other and I go down to talk to her and Jess on my breaks. Not a problem. But working with Mum and living with Mum is already too much, and it's only been going on for a month. She has been so exhausted, having been out of the 9-to-5 for about twenty-five years (bloody hell) that she's been going to bed at crazily early times and banning me from exercising after that time because it wakes her up. It's driving me nuts. I'm also getting sick of having my meals and mealtimes planned for me, and only being able to have what I want when Dad is out. I can't tell him to stop cooking for me, because it'd really upset him. He sees it as one of the things that he does to be helpful, especially now that he's the only one without full-time occupation. I need my independence. If that means I'm criminally short of money, fine. My sudden penchant for expensive clothes needs nipping in the bud as soon as possible anyway, before I start considering it a necessity and claiming, like Jess does, that I can't afford to move out (she can afford to move out. Three hundred quid a month will get you a shared house with all bills included).

I want my own place. That's much more important to me than a car. I want somewhere that's mine, where shelving isn't rationed and communal areas aren't conflicts of personal taste. I want to invite people over when I want to see them, not whenever the house happens to be empty.

I am meeting a shiny new person off t'internet this evening, and am in the process of arranging to meet another one. But I've pushed romance down a few places on my priority list. I don't want to end up with a "just because" again, so even though it feels like the whole world is coupled up at the moment, I shall remain cheerfully single, prioritising my job, my hypothetical flat, my travel possibilities, all that stuff, until I get knocked off my feet. No more settling, which may mean a longer wait, but I can deal with that. I'm happy now. I'd like to stay happy.

I have contact lenses in. I got them on Wednesday. They've been fine so far, but my right eye is protesting at the moment, for reasons I cannot work out. Grrr. I have to be out the door in half an hour.

Thursday, July 9th, 2009

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Subject:Stupid scenes from my life, volume baby names
Time:9:03 pm.
Mood: WHAT?!.

I swear I am not making any of this up.

[[at my cousin's house, pregnancy photos a-go-go]]

Me: So, what names are you thinking of now?
Rachel: If it's a girl, it'll be Nya. If it's a boy... we both really like Brooklyn.
Me: Brooklyn?!
Rachel: Yeah, everyone reacts like that, they go on about the Beckhams, but we like it.
Me: Please don't call it Brooklyn.
Rachel: The other name I really liked was Memphis, but Andy said no.

[[Rachel's phone rings]]

Rachel: Hiya, alright? Oh,she's had it, has she? Was it a boy? What have - Tiger? TIGER??? No! That's just mean! Tiger! That's really cruel.

Tuesday, July 7th, 2009

(notice me)

Subject:Communication from Tanzania
Time:1:31 pm.
Mood: curious.

"We're staying at the camp tonight and going to the project site on Tuesday. I just performed Billie Jean in front of thirty Rastafarians."

James seems to be doing well over there. He and his engineering nerds were apparently honoured guests at the opening of a cathedral and shook hands with the prime minister of Tanzania. I'm not sure if they've lied profusely about who they are and why they're there, or if Tanzania just doesn't get many visitors. He's running with his opportunity, though. I envy him.

Two months til Mexico! I'm far too travel-buggish at the moment - I'm half-seriously wondering if I can get a fourth trip in this year, and Jess and I have started planning next year's jaunt round America. New York, Las Vegas, LA, San Francisco in any order. Well, that's the idea. It may be a little too ambitious for our finances, especially if I keep blowing so much of my money on clothes.

I'm doing Rachel's pregnancy photos on Thursday, and I'm getting paid for it (not a huge amount, but it'll cover the dress I bought last week). I'm a little nervous about it, since I'm still not too experienced with photographing people who aren't me. Hopefully it'll be OK, if I shoot high-res RAW images and then edit the living crap out of them. If I can get rid of her stretch marks, she'll be happy. It's been quite surprising to me how many people have responded, when I mention the shoot, with sheer disgust: "Ew! Why would you want photos of that?!" Because... it's a special time in her life? Because she wants to document the life of her baby right from the early days? Even because she's interested in the changes to her body? I find it bizarre the way people have been reacting. It's like I've said, "I'm doing a photoshoot for my cousin. She, her partner and her kids are going to shit on the patio and smear it all over themselves, and she'd like a photo of it to put on the mantlepiece." In this day and age, do we really still think pregnancy is gross? Weird.

I have a decision to make. It's only a little one, but I think it'll tell me what sort of person I am now. And I'm not telling you what that decision is, because this a public entry and I'm a tease. Sorry.

I went on a two-day training course last week, and I learnt that I'm not supposed to use the word "sorry". Or "actually". Or "unfortunately". Or "but". I bloody hate customer service.

Friday, June 26th, 2009

(notice me)

Subject:I have no romance in my soul.
Time:9:36 am.
Mood: bitchy.

When I switched on my computer this morning I found that some bloke had written a poem, apparently about my eyes, and sent it to me.

I feel faintly disgusted.

Sorry, poetry guy.

Thursday, June 25th, 2009

(notice me)

Time:10:02 pm.
Mood: overwhelmed.

I've learnt a lot in the past week. I know about contracts of employment and varying contracts and breaches of contract and when one can and cannot take one's employer to tribunal for such matters. I know about fair dismissal and unfair dismissal and wrongful dismissal and constructive dismissal. I know about written statements and pay statements and continuous employment and occasions when a week's pay is not, in fact, a week's pay. This forms the first half of my first module. I have four modules.

You know employment law? There's a lot of it.


Wednesday, June 17th, 2009

(notice me)

Time:12:49 pm.
Mood: amused.

My promotion officially starts next week. They have hired my mother and a man named David Brent to take over my current job.

No, really, they have. My mother and David Brent.

I wrote a really disgusting, horribly crude and tasteless diary entry the other night, and though I have taken steps to ensure it will never be read, ever, I still feel the need to apologise to a few specific but nameless people. Sorry. Sorry. And, er, sorry.

LiveJournal for Jennifer.

View:User Info.
View:Website (A Shiny Photoblog).
You're looking at the latest 20 entries. Missed some entries? Then simply jump back 20 entries.