Only 3 of us in the office today - bliss...have done absolutely nowt...very wrong of me I know

Off for drinks tonight with T, just to The Local...I feel sad, I remember a time, not so long ago, when I went out into town almost every single night, lunched with my mates every single day and just generally had a lot of fun and felt v supported and settled...until I decided I was going to kill myself and/or others if I carried on drinking the way I was, so left for a new town with a new man (The Boyf) to start over.

That's not to say there's anything wrong with the set of mates I have now, just that they're an incredibly different group of ppl. T sent me that forward with the earthquake (you know the one, taking the piss out of scuzzy parts of town. She sent it to me as 'The Whitley Earthquake' but I've had it as 'The Chapeltown Earthquake' and 'The [somewhere manky nr Derby I can't remember] Earthquake.) without a hint of irony...she seemed to have completely missed the point it was talking about ppl just like us lot in The Local...it took me a while to realise I had moved from never watching Trisha ('because it's disgusting'), to watching it for a laugh, to watching it seriously, to becoming just like a member of the audience, to being indistinguishable from the 'guests'...one of the reasons I fell for N was his 'differentness' I suppose, he stopped going to The Local altogether deciding that the ppl in there 'bored the bollocks' off him, at which point I thought he was a bit of a snobby twat (tho that didn't last long...)

...and I don't care if my boyfriend is a scallie (or a stig, or a ned, or whatever we're calling them these days) and my two of my best mates here dropped their sprogs when they were 17...that's just the place I'm at now, and I'm a lot better off mentally and financially than when I started my day with Richard and Judy and finished it in bed with some guy I'd met in Desperate and Easy*...(ah, Derby, such a classy town...)

So that's why I left, I hated the fact that I cried at least once a day, and that I never had any money in my purse, and that I was getting 'a reputation'. The Boyf needed a way out of a situ he was in accomodation wise, and I asked if I could go along for the ride. Told my mates, expecting them to be happy for me (after all, they were always having a go at me for being pissed/slaggy/self-absorbed). At which point they accused The Boyf of being "trailer trash" (honestly, they used this phrase - his dad does live in a mobile home but he's not trashy...and anyway, we don't live in small town america for fucks sake) and I was throwing my life away etc etc

Actually not everyone said that, just my two closest mates...I've tried (admittedly not as hard as I could) to get back in touch with one of them - we sort of succeeded, swapped a cpl of emails and I found out that the other one (the instigator of the rubbishing of The Boyf) had systematically stopped everyone from talking to each other, including two sisters...eventually everyone cottoned on to her emotional vampiry (that's not a word, I know) and booted her out at which stage she went completely bonkers and trashed their house...they're after her for criminal damage now...ridiculous that women can act this way isn't it? So I'm glad I left when I did, even tho no-one seemed to understand at the time why I was going.

Still - Sazmundo, Spandelle, Becky, Chan - goddamit even Kerryn and Babette - if you stumble across this, mail me and say hi. I miss those days, but I miss you lot more.

Emski xxMxx

*Destiny and Elite. Of course!

Enjoy the full pictorial experience for as long as it lasts. I've just joined up for the full friendsreunited package and I can't work out how to get my pic on there without nabbing it from here...

Yes, let me reiterate, I work in IT.

Okay, I'm a dumbass.

Cheers to The Spraggster for pointing me in the right direction - my gurning face is now plastered all over my FR entry (tho I can't get the thumbnail to work, grrr).

I even resisted the urge to write 'IN YOUR FACE' underneath, as figured all those I had run-ins with were probably dead or in jail and certainly wouldn't be capable of navigating the internet unless involved in a search for kiddie porn...god, I really hated school...

So have removed self from the side bar and popped the tight pussy back up. It's too cute.

Yay! Following my tips from Chic Happens I'm off to town this week to raid beauty counters and experiment...well, if the overdraft stretches enough - plan to have mastered technique and look like stunning goddess by the bank hol as have two birthday parties to go to and plan to frighten all competition away from Mah Man (aka The Boyf) By looking fit I hope, rather than like Raggedy-Ann...I will master blusher...I'm 23 for god's sake.

Ray (oh he of the jiving) had a heart attack on Friday night. He's getting a pacemaker fitted today so everyone send good thoughts/prayers/wishes/whatever you want to call them...I'm sure he'll be fine tho - I have to sit down first when we have a boogie!

So who went to The FlugTag yesterday? T called The Boyf at 8 in the morning to speak to me (her: Your phone's turned off! me: It's 8 o'clock on Sunday morning....) Boyf had wanted to go since they started advertising it back in May, but can't cos he's got footie and then a round of golf in the afternoon. So I say I'll go and of course he is well pissed off. Go round to T's and The Boyfs Sis texts so she comes along too. Anyway, it was tooooooo hot and we got there waaaaay too late (just as Brian and Tess were parachuting in..who'dda thunk?) We settled under a tree with a view of a big screen, but after the fifth lot to chuck themsleves in we were so jealous we couldn't get in the water we left and went shopping instead.

I bought nothing, having tapped the wrong pin number in for my account that actually had money in and letting the machine eat my card. D'oh. Needless to say, I'd left my other card at home to resist the temptation to use the overdraft. Double d'oh. We did all those Londony things, like watching a man balance a bike on his head, and rolling pennies down the sides of the escalators in The Tube (very naughty, don't do it.) In the end we just gave up and sat in a bar drinking overpriced voddy and lemonade til 7ish and then headed home. It was much fun tho - will def go again but be a bit more organised. So stupid we live next door to London and only go once in a blue moon.

Other highlights included: T asking, before we set off 'So, Hyde Park right - is it an actual, you know, park?' What?!

Us piling into first class as the train was so packed, with every intention of upgrading, but then never being asked. Felt a bit guilty tho as we stepped off at Paddington fresh as daisies and everyone else staggered off a bit wilted and sweaty.

Me suddenly bursting out -  'It's not smaller steps - it's a bigger slinky!!, I mean >ahem< nothing.'

The Boyfs Sis falling flat on her elbows (to save landing on her hands - 'my nails!' she shrieked as she went down) before we'd had anything to drink, and right beside an open deck sightseeing bus. Arf.

I spend too much time here

Lovin the Blogscars already tho...

**disclaimer** I don’t know everything about lads (despite my years of exhaustive research) but this is what I’ve figured out so far. The following are just generalities, naturally there will be exceptions to the rules, crossovers, cultural differences etc etc. I’m not implying anyone does this consciously – no-one wakes up in the morning and thinks ‘hey, I’m a player!’ And, of course, it is all equally applicable to girls.fficeffice" />

As far as I’m concerned there are three types of boy in this world – Players, Non-Players and Players-Who-Pretend-They-Aren’t. Henceforth known as Ps, NPs and PWPTAs.

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P = A boy who is really attractive and is aware of the fact. Ps are not necessarily fit, drop your ice cream, good-looking boys. They all, however, have the gift of the gab. They are charming. They know how to get in your pants, and enjoy the challenge. They know all the tricks in the book, either intuitively or by trial and error. They are wonderful kissers, dancers and shaggers because they have had so much practice. They go out to clubs with their ‘wingman’ (often an NP desirous to become a P) and feel unfulfilled if they don’t pull. They will tell you about the other girls in their life without shame, because they are not ashamed. It takes a while to understand that there are boys like this in the world, but when you do you immediately have the upper hand. It is perfectly easy to play them at their own game, if you really like them. This is known as Man-Whispering. (If you don’t like them then you are just being childish and manipulative - men should be respected just as much as women.)

A P is often the product of a broken heart; all boys start out as NPs after all. You will undoubtedly encounter at least a couple of Ps in your life. They hurt you like hell, but not on purpose, and once you’ve been bitten a couple of times it’s easy to just take the good bits and leave the bad to his other girls. Ppl often get confused and wonder why boys lie. Well. Ps don’t. They always tell the truth, but unfortunately it might not be the same truth half an hour later. So he said he loved you and shagged you and then did it to someone else. Doesn’t necessarily follow he didn’t mean it at the time. Otherwise he would be a PWPTA. Eventually Ps retire, or allow themselves to be tamed. I am a P (rtrd.) So is The Boyf (semi-rtrd.)

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NP = A boy who doesn’t believe he is attractive – even tho these are sometimes the most attractive boys there are. They met their first girlfriend either at school (and stayed together til marriage) or at college (and went to the same Uni) or at Uni (and move into a house together when they leave.) They are flummoxed when faced with a girl who fancies them, and often miss chances because they are too scared to actually do anything about and convince themselves they’ve got the wrong end of the stick. They are cheated on, often, because they provide a real sense of security. No girl knows what a P will do next, therefore you could either keep your options open or (if you really like him) stay faithful and hope this act will inspire him to think the world of you over those cheating harridans he is also shagging. But an NP, well, you know he will always be there waiting in bed for you, possibly armed with a compilation tape and a teddy with ‘gimme a hug’ written on it. Ps take you out for dinner, NPs make you dinner, and serve it to you in a candlelit room they have covered in rose petals, which they plucked from the roses themselves. Some girls could probably stomach this for the rest of their lives. Others may get vertigo from the height of the pedestal.

Because NPs haven’t quite got the hang of girls (lack of experience) they can sometimes read the signals completely wrong and become kind of scary and stalker-ish. Some fellas hear your casual remark upon the weather not as :’blimey, it’s a scorcher’ but as ‘I’m up for anything me, look  I’m talking to a boy I don’t even know, so I must fancy you’. Of course, if you’ve gone out and got off with an NP and now he won’t stop txting that’s your own fault*. You should have checked the type before embarking on snoggation. A good NP is hard to find, espesh if you yourself are shy, because they will be too shy to broach the subject, and will ultimately get snatched from beneath your nose by a ballsy slapper they were to scared to say ‘no’ to.

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PWPTA = Exactly the same as Ps but more bitter and manipulative. They don’t particularly like women and certainly don’t respect them (whereas Ps do, they love the company of women and have many girl friends, tho some may be fuck buddies) but they pretend that they do. They are disdainful of Ps, and will trash them for sleeping around, wondering out loud why women let themselves be treated so badly. They create the illusion of being an NP, will have deep and meaningful philosophical discussions with you and shower you with expensive gifts. They will never call you, mail you or text you, unlike a P who will do a lot of the running himself (and once the ice is broken, you may find it difficult to stop an NP getting in touch – they’re the sort of boys who call you at work to say they love you.)

The main difference b/ween a P and a PWPTA is how seriously they take themselves. A PWPTA will never dance (unless it’s a black tie event), eat takeaway in bed or watch Trisha. They may even utter the phrase ‘that’s so, urgh, council estate’. All PWPTAs have been Uni students (tho not all Uni students end up as PWPTAs.) They are under the impression this gives them some sort of cachet – even if they went to an ex-poly and are from a council estate themselves. They have no respect for anyone. They’ll either make you feel amazing, take you on a few dates, shag the knickers off you a few times before disappearing with your best mate, leaving you wondering what went wrong and blaming yourself. Or, they will see your life as a rich resource to be tapped and you won’t realise this until it’s too late. At which point he will have ingratiated himself with your entire social circle (and even slept with a few) and made you feel so worthless you are unsure of your own judgement. Should you manage to remove him from your life, you will discover that he has convinced everyone how wonderful he is and that you are a little bit mental, which is ‘a terrible shame’. Boys like these are a cancer, and nigh on impossible to spot. You may end up being in love with one for years, with no clear idea how it happened. The older they are, the more they will have refined the disguise. I have the sneaking suspicion N was a PWPTA.

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Of course, figuring all this out is entirely pointless, as any one who is in love will not pay any attention to it. Including me.