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mmm
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Ah.
Right, now, remember the job I didn't get last week? You know, the one with the interview that went like this:
em: so, when will you be letting people know?
bloke: we're only interviewing 3 or 4 of you, so, by the end of the week, hopefully.
em: 3 or 4? Wow - so will it be going to second interview?
bloke: no, I don't think so - we need someone as soon as.
em: that's great [ shakes hands] look forward to hearing from you!
- time passes -
em: [ to no-one in particular] man, that job is in the bag - they totally loved me! but I'll still go to that one in the scary tower, just for the view.
- more time passes -
em: no, I haven't heard yet, but they're probably really busy. They don't have any admin staff. So, you know...
- more time passes -
e_b's ex-housemate: why don't you call zem, and see why zey did not call?
me: they didn't call because
they hated me! I'll never get a job!! Everyone hates me!!! Life is
terrible!!!! I might as well go on the dole and become a heroin
addict!!!!!
e_b's ex housemate: errr....
- more time passes -
today, I discover, cowering in my inbox, an email saying 1) would I like to go back there for a second interview? (you know, the ones they wouldn't be going to) and that 2) it's between 3 candidates now! (so, like it was to begin with then?)
WHY. DO. THINGS. HAVE. TO. BE. SO. COMPLICATED?
So I guess I'm going back there to try and weasel my way in. I did
really, really like the place. And the guy. Anyway, you might as well
cross your fingers. Again. I'm seeing them on Thurs.
In other news: I guess
Tarquin/Mirada/Jonquil/Philip weren't allowed out to Trick or Treat, so
our most excellent pumpkins were sadly ignored. And my note on the door
saying to knock. And all the treats we bought. Stupid ass kids.
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1.11.04 14:25
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A world away...
me: yeh, so then we went round to watch the election stuff and that...
my mum: ...what election?
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3.11.04 14:14
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obviously,
I should be having a nice lie down, but if I do there's every chance
I'll slip into a coma, so I'm listening to American Pie and blogging
instead.
Firstly, I just got back from my minterview, which was not with cool
laid back dude, but with scary corporate lady - she was still perfectly
nice, but I wasn't able to skate over the unfinished degree business.
Or in fact the not working since July business. Which is fair enough.
And that flustered me, so I think I might have fucked it. But she asked
me to send over my refs, so... we'll see. I went in to see an agency
yesterday and they were uber-nice, so I am not too screwed if I don't
get it.
In other news: Last night I thought it would be fun to see Dazza on his
day off, and head back over to Reading together to see my old mates.
Needless to say I arranged that before I found out I'd got a second
interview. I was a little tired, having stayed up til 2ish boozing
gently the night before and then having to go to the agency at half
eight in the morning. But I really wanted to go. So I went. It was
great, such a laugh. We went to The Bar, which was same old same old,
and I met Em2's new boyf who seems really nice. But I am pretty rubbish
at sussing other folks boyfs out (usually its - em: oh, he's great isn't he? friend: he's been seeing someone else for the past six weeks em: ah.)
T(e)BS and T came out too, so we decided to go up to The Local then. It
was... weird. They'd taken down the curtains and repainted the walls a
funny, dusky pink. None of the locals were in there. No one was in
there, apart from Justina (the polish barmaid) drinking with some
friends. There was someone new behind the bar and she didn't know what
my drink was. But worst of all (and also, I guess, why the locals
weren't there) they had taken away my baby, my jukebox. The new one is
all computerised and shit. I didn't know how to turn it on. I didn't
know where the good songs were. It was horrible. Horrible horrible.
But I stayed and got hopelessly pissed anyway. I went over the road at
one point to get some more cash and was rewarded by 1) the guy from
'perfect pizza' banging excitedly on the window and shouting 'hello!
hello! we miss you! come back!' 2) the guy from mr cod coming out of mr cod to
ask how things were and (absolutely best of all, ever) 3) the gorgeous
gorgeous guy from the corner shop coming out from behind the counter
and giving me a huge bear hug. Yeh, I know, they all miss my custom,
but I was really touched. The whole time I lived there (on that street
with the ex) I felt so cut off and friendless. I never thought those
people would even recognise me, let alone be pleased to see me. So,
yeh, that was nice.
I stayed at Ts, and she smokes, and now I live in a non-smoky household
I really really noticed it. It hit me right between the eyes when I
woke up - and jaysus, her flat was HOT. Sweltering. She decided to give
me a lift into Reading to show off her new car, but after a mile it was
em: fuckin... stop the... i'm gonna be sick... T: no you're not, don't be daft em: ooooooh.... I am... I am! T: (incredulous) but you hardly drank at all! em: jus... lemme out the... fuckin... ooooh... so she let me out and I was sick down a drain. I. am. classy.
And then, a man came up to me and for the umpteenth time this year
assumed I was pregnant, and did I need taking anywhere etc. I was so
ashamed I lied and said I was just getting over flu, and he told me I
should take the day off work, so I said I would (and even worse) said
'ooo, I just hate to let everyone down, you know...' I mean, ffs, what
was that about?
Anyway, I got my bearings and decided to get a sausage roll and a
lucozade at the bakers and then sit in the park til I felt better. I
don't know, it seemed so big that park before. It isn't. A zillion dogs
came up to me, and I smiled at their owners and instead of waving my
sausage roll in explanation I informed them I had last nights dirty
pants in my bag. WHAT? I shouldn't be allowed out. So I walked round
the field a bit, remembering when everyone from the local went up there
and played rounders. And how the footie team trained there sometimes.
And how the ex claimed to have spent a night sleeping on one of the
benches (did he? I guess I'll never know...) And some of the naughtier
things that had been got up to there.
Well, I was on a roll then. I walked to where T used to live and
thought about N (who is now, apparently in Australia, tho according to
my reliable sources he is also married to a ladyboy and living in a
kangaroos pouch, so.) And thought, how mental, that he was sooooooo
important to me (lest we forget, no N = no best mates with Dazza and
Em2, no Bar, no blog, no new friends, no move to London, etc) and I was
absolutely nothing to him at all (apart from maybe a very silly little
girl.) And I got to wondering how many times it's happened the other
way about, and how it's sad life is like that sometimes. I mean I was
nuts over him. Nuts. But the person I had in my head bore little
relation to the actual real life guy. They looked similar, I guess, but
that's it. He wasn't arty or poetic. He was just so completely what my
life at the time was not. So other. I kind of half thought I would
email him, but I doubt I will. What will I say? No point really. He
knows where this is if he ever cares what I'm up to.
I took a long look at the pub, and was upset it had changed. And I
thought I was so angry that it had changed because it used to be so
important to me. It was as though nothing and nobody is allowed to
change at all if I'm not there. Christ knows how I would manage if I
went back to Derby. I probably wouldn't. And for the first time, I
suddenly really and truly grasped that I am not important. And that it
didn't matter. Nobody's important. We all do our thing and then one
day, we're not there to do it any more. And that's okay. I first
started realising it with the election - we went round to a partyette
to watch it, and it just happened I'd been reading about some dudes
having a party in the seventies or whatever when all that shit with
Nixon was going down. And I kind of figured out - it seemed dead
important because we're all old enough to appreciate the importance of
it, worldwide. We weren't old enough or alive anough to give two shits
about Nixon, or the Cuban Missile Crisis, or Ronnie Ray-gun, or the
Russians bombing the crap out of us, or the Troubles, or... whatever.
All of it. So now this seems like the most important thing ever. But
it's not. Nothing is. Things just happen, and time passes, and things
happen, and time passes, and there you go. That's all.
Now I'd reached this existential crazy ass buddhist zen feeling I prolonged
it by going to see the other guy in the corner shop and then walking
past my old house and seeing someone else's washing hanging in the
window. Then I got a train and came home. And the funny thing was, the
whole time I had this... feeling, right behind my heart is probably the
best way to describe it. This really strong feeling that I'd never left
Reading, and I'd never met e_b, and that I didn't really live in
London. That I would get to the station and start thinking 'eh? what am
I doing?' and realise I should be at work on the other side of town. It
was bizarre. There's nothing like a night destroying your brain cells
to totally rearrange your mind the morning after, is there? At least I
wasn't paranoid. That'll probably kick in later.
And now, I must go and meet beautiful uni friend in Soho. I sense she
wants a mad one, but I am shattered. And skint! And then out again on
Friday. And Saturday. Who was it who said events are like cowards, and
they spring out in packs? Neil Gaiman, that's who.
Sorry this has all been a bit long and nonsensical. I'm tired. Tired and happy.
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4.11.04 18:22
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dammit.
I should be sleeping in, but I can't rest. Alcohol, that's what that is. Hmph. I'll probably flake out this afternoon.
I saw Beautiful Uni Friend last night, and she is still as beautiful as
ever. And she met e_b, which was tres exciting. She said he was the
nicest boy she'd ever seen me go out with, and was a little confused as
to how I'd managed it. I tried to say I'd been out with plenty of
lovely guys, but then I remembered that I hadn't. And I accidentally
made her eat chicken, when she is veggie. D'oh.
Anyway, we weren't really sure what to do, it being a thursday, and not
even the third thursday of the month. I suggested we go to Push Bar and
see what night they had on. Maybe it would be good. And it was good,
but not because they had a night on. It was just the bar dude, and some
crazy dancing black guy. They were playing whatever they fancied and
drinking cider. But ostensibly they were open, so we bought drinks, and
I basked in the glory of looking as though I knew a super secret
drinking establishment. It was ace.
And somehow, we've half arranged going back up to Derby for a weekend.
I don't know how I'll feel once I get there - being in Reading was odd
enough. e_b sat there quietly drinking whilst we shrieked and reminisced.
We came to the conclusion we must have been the most obnoxious girls in
the whole of the university, I'm so glad we can be friends again now.
We fell out so badly, in a blazing row in the middle of the street.
That's what I remember. But she remembers I went round her house and
threw a glass against a wall. I've no idea. No memory of that at all.
We were all so fucked the whole time. And we spent every waking hour
together - I'd forgotten just how much time we spent together. BUF
summed it up by reminding me how we became great mates:
BUF: D'you remember that first
night you came out with us, and I had a massive screaming row with my
sis [who also went to Derby] and ran off into the toilets crying?
me: shit, yeh! I'd forgotten that!
BUF: That's because when I
called you the next day to apologise, you said you had a cool time and
we should go out again that night. And we did. And then every night
after for the next two years.
My life in Reading is mostly blurry, but I'd forgotten just how
completely off the rails we all were at uni. I have my rose tinted
glasses on hard when I think back. I mentioned The Geordie to her, in a
'oh, bless him, I hope he is okay' way and she was like 'em, he destroyed you, he was awful awful awful'.
And he was. But I only remembered the good bits. Poor old e_b, having
to sit through us going 'ah! remember when you fell out of the
podium?!'; 'ah! remember when you pulled that guy in navs?!'; ah!
remember when you went home and found a house party going on and your
bedroom full of people?!'; 'ah! ah!! ah!!!'
Dreadful.
But fun. She is so cool. I've been so lucky with friends this year, whether it's been rediscovering old ones or making new ones.
Now I think I'll have some scrambled eggs.
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5.11.04 11:10
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week on/week off
I have been trying to work out just how much booze I got through last
week. I was out on tues, weds, thurs, fri and oh, saturday too. Unk.
Haven't been on a bender like that since I left Reading. Worth it
though, because it was a different set of mates every night. Though
that's no consolation for my liver.
Friday started out well, with my first box from the chocolate tasing club
arriving. The plan is, I'll order a box of these once every couple of
months (or once a month once I get some spondoolicks behind me) and I
won't allow myself to buy a mars delight / milky way / bag of
malteasers /other chocolate I have personally designated as 'almost
healthy' on the spur of the moment. Thus saving money. And eating
better (man, dey is good chocs.) And being ethical. Go me.
Then I noticed I had a letter. Another rejection letter, I knew as soon
as I saw the envelope. But check. it. out. It is the best rejection
letter, ever. Don't spoil it by saying they sent it out to everyone.
It's from the dudes in the tower. How nice? Observe:
Check it!! Clearly I am metamorphosing from scruffy hungover idiot into
confident organised professional somewhere between the tube and the
interviews. I am, of course, assuming everyone turned me down for the
same reason. And I'm a lovely person! Look! It says right there in
black and white. I am skill.
Friday night was a barrel of laughs for TSM's birthday. It was such a
cool bar. I am desperately trying to think of an occasion so I can hire
it too. Needless to say, we all got trollied. So it was a little
confusing to be woken up in the morning by this:
disembodied voice: hello?!
em: hnnnh? [ starts to wake up]
disembodied voice: help! can anyone hear me? I need help!
man: [ before em gets a chance] what-ho! I can hear you!
disembodied voice: I am at ***, Cathles Road, and I am trapped! The builders have taken my door knob! Do you have any pliers?
man: oh, I say, bad luck! I'll get some!
em and e_b: we're in!! bring them over!!
So lovely man brings some pliers round to our house (and his adorable
daughter. Like, hello? Did she not want Hallowe'en candy. She missed
out there) and me and e_b took them out into the back garden. Our
upstairs neighbour was hanging a mop (yes, a mop. Why did she have a
mop in her bedroom?) out of her window. We looked at the mop. We looked
at the pliers. Eventually we decided to gaffer tape them onto the mop.
Only. We are tiny people and couldn't reach, even with jumping.
Luckily, we'd had the foresight to bring a Chauncey back from our night
out, so we roused him from his nest and forced him to help us. Then we
made him help us change a lightbulb. It's a trial being a shortarse.
I've captured the event in the medium of paint for posterity:
That afternoon we checked out The Hannahaha's new flat (and a couple of
bottles of wine) and then we went over to see a house that had actually
been bought (!!!) by some of our buddies in Greenwich. How strange that
none of us are in skanky studentesque places any more. Then we went to
see the fireworks on Blackheath. They were really good. I even cried a
bit, but this blog has gone on for long enough so I can't be arsed to
go into why.
I spent all day snuggled on the the sofa under a duvet yesterday. All in all, a successful weekend.
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8.11.04 14:06
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I blame Bobble
I was managing okay. I'm near to home here, half an hour to kings
cross, 2 hours home. Then for some reason every song on the radio,
every programme on the telly, and every blog I read is making me
homesick. Now escape to the country is escaping to MY VILLAGE. So much
for me saying the area was dying, it's being overrun by city dwellers.
I'm h ooooooooooooomesick. More than homesick. The welsh have
a word for it: hiraeth.
And I feel it. Oof. My lovely moors.
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9.11.04 16:51
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don't judge me
Oh my god - this is the best song I have heard ALL YEAR. I'm not even
joking. Forget your Zutons and your Libertines and your Scissor Sisters,
Ah, I feel sorry for those of you at work who can't hear it. Wait til you get home then try it. God, it's good. Go here and press go.
I can't actually believe I've found somewhere I can listen to it on a
loop. At least I can get a job now I don't have to be in at 3.15 every
day to listen.
He can make your engine go ( a bus driver) he can make your engine go!!
Seriously, man. Seriously. I've been singing it at e_b non-stop since I
first heard it. Man, they should release it. Christmas number one. Ant
'n' Dec, whodda thunk?
... a bus driver ...
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10.11.04 16:39
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