You can force it but it will not come…

Jesus Harold Christ. Awful grotty news today. Ali’s dog killed her cat. She found the cat on it’s last legs and made a mad dash to the vets to try to save it. As she was driving there, Psi crawled into her lap and died. What the hell do you say to someone when something like that happens? The vet says poor old Psi sustained injuries in line being shaken and crushed by a large dog.   I’d been really snappy all day anyway and it was only around 3pm that I remembered I had two pills left in my pack with means I’m all crazy with the hormones. Listening to Ali sob down the phone to me was enough to tip me over the edge. Floods of tears in the bank of all places. Fuck knows what the woman behind the counter thought was going on as I was trying to pay my cheque in before closing time.

Even a few hours later I still feel awful. Crying seems to have this effect on me that wipes me of all brain power. It actually exhausts me. I get scary aquamarine coloured eyes and a big red nose. I learned many many years ago that crying was something to be avoided at all costs. Too bad I had to stumble my way to the bus station without any tissues and looking like John Merrick eating a Pot Noodle.

How the bloody hell does anyone go about making someone feel better about something like this? There’s nothing. Losing an animal is always horrible but it’s easier to deal with when it’s old age or sickness. This is just horrific.  I just don’t know where to start.

You go there once and you don’t come back…

I hadn’t planned to go out on Friday but got talked into heading out for last orders. No tea, one pint and a shot of Jager was enough to unleash the Barney Gumble boozehound within. We all ended up going to a dive of a club and dancing to thoroughly horrible music. I was followed around all night by a bloke I kissed a few times when I was 17. He turned out to be a bit of a mentalist and was dropped like a hot potato. However many years on and not a lot has changed. He kept telling me how wonderful I looked and as I was waiting outside for a taxi, he approached me in front of all my mates to ask me out. He actually asked me if it would be inappropriate to ask me out, and I told him it was. Cue a little bit of pleading on his part and lots sniggering behind palms by my mates. He was banging on about it being fate or some other shitty line that I fell for when I was 17. My response? “If it’s meant to be, you’ll work out my number.” Consider yourself kicked to the kerb sunshine.  Still, I got lots of nice compliments from people I haven’t seen since I lost the weight. Schhweeet!

The rest of the weekend was pretty lazy. Had some food and chat with Alex, after he left, I watched films, took the hound out and had my dreams shattered by the outrageous exit of Jedward from X-Factor. I had such high hopes for them showing the the show up for the steaming pile of turd that it is. Gutted. Proper gutted. Little toerags lost me £250 too. 

I found out why Ali didn’t make it over to mine last week. Turns out she was in the middle of being proposed to over a bag of McDonalds. LULZ. If ever there were a sign to NOT marry someone, that would be it. Lets put aside the countless number of times he cheated on her, being shorter than her, collecting Alien airfix models and thinking a long black trenchcoat is groundbreaking fashion… A proposal over a fucking Big Mac? Did he get the ring out of a gumball machine too?!   Next time I see her, I’m going to perform my own rendition of this classic. On repeat until the end of time. Dance moves and all.

Lay down, play dead for Di and Fergie…

I’m going to wallpaper the interior of my whole house with this.

Behind it’s door, there’s nothing to keep my fingers warm..

It’s just been Dashboard Confessional hour! It’s probably the first time I’ve listened to DC since seeing them at Reading Festival in 2001. Standing in the crowd with a bunch of emo wankers all singing along to the songs made me want to puke my own ringpiece up. It was excrutiating to watch and made me realise how clichéd it all was. My only consolation was meeting the fitty singer backstage later but it wasn’t quite enough to win me back. Still, it was interesting to revisit that moment in time for an hour tonight.  I’ve now moved on to a slightly less whiney and more sinister Death Cab for Cutie.  My attention span for most songs is around 3 minutes before hitting skip. I Will Possess Your Heart has an intro over 4 minutes and 30 seconds and you’d think it would be tiresome but it works. It’s actually better than the stalkeresque dialogue in the song. I’d post a link to it if Warner Bros weren’t a stack of chumps deleting it from YouTube, forcing dire rip off videos and tinny live versions. 

I had a super efficient day today. Up, dressed and out the door by 8am to take the dog out and then go on a mission to find some trousers. Too bad this anus of a town only has one bus AN HOUR around my way on a Sunday and I missed it so I came home and pottered until the next one. I crammed in some power shopping, stocking up on everything I needed toiletry wise, tried on untold amounts of skinny jeans, bought a few tops and then set about finding another pair of proper work trousers. I bought a really nice pair the week before I started but had to get them taken in two weeks later because they got too big. This week it became really obvious that I had to get a new pair, wandering around like MC Hammer and constantly yanking them up is not a good look on anyone. Hammer will tell you that, I’m sure.  I had vouchers from M&S to use up and they would normally go on undies but I have more underwear than makes sense right now so I bought boring, safe and not in anyway fun at all, black trousers.  Ugh.

Then I went straight to the pub for a beer breakfast and a roast lunch with Poppy. No boyfriend in tow so I didn’t have to put on any airs and graces or feel like an outcast. Yay. I listened to her being all floaty light about her new boy. I stuffed myself with roast chicken and sticky toffee pudding for pud. I think I went a bit crazy on the sugar. We tried hatching a plan for Tim Lovejoy to spend christmas day at my house but all plans made me sound like a mentalist. As does writing about said plans, but hey ho, it’s my first Christmas day off in 9 years – I’d like it to be a good one instead of sitting around in my pants with a tub of Pringles or something.

After recovering from the food wooze we went to check out a empty industrial laundry building. It was sealed up tighter than a gnat’s chuff. I bet there’s some delights to be had in there. I need to get one of those Dremel hand tool things, arf!  Then it was off to find an ugly christmas jumper for Poppy, y’know with raindeers and snowflakes on. No such luck.  Life can be a real shit sometimes.

Ali was due to come over tonight. Oh yes, some other emergency cropped up to prevent her from making it here. The dog ate her homework probably. I wasn’t really expecting her to turn up so I’m not that bothered. It is comedic though. I really don’t know why she bothers asking, to make herself feel better perhaps?  I’m far too tolerant for my own good. 

Finally, Jedward have made it through to next weeks X-Factor. I’m not surprised to be honest. The shiny suits, the Queen/Vanilla Ice mash up and out of time dance moves. Brilliance. Give me my money Mr Bookmaker, it’s a done deal surely. Hand it over, cough it up, pay the piper, gimme gimme gimme!