snippets

I received a text from a friend the other day telling me they hoped my days were getting better, and it occurred to me that, judging by what I write here, I sound kind of ... I dunno, sad? Maybe you're imagining me as some sort of unemployed saddo, spending the day in my pajamas eating cereal and watching the five fuzzy channels we get on our free TV, and I won't lie -- that IS how I spent yesterday -- but beyond that, life is rich and fun and vibrant and exciting.

Honestly, spending a Monday afternoon shopping at Primark is pretty sweet, even if it is plagued by the gently gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach that tells me that I better get myself employed if I want to keep this up. True, spending Valentine's day a thousand miles away from the boy who has my heart was tough. And I did have a lot more fun being unemployed when Melissa was around to head to the pub with me instead of working one of her now two jobs, but I'm doing ok.

....

When we put down the deposit for our flat, the one thing we asked for was a kettle. And when we moved in, surprise surprise -- there was no kettle. We complained and were told we would be contacted on Monday with a kettle plan. And still, no call.

So imagine my surprise, then, when I arrive home from my shopping trip to find that in our absence, we were supplied with another couch, a vacuum cleaner and two new matresses already places on our bed, despite the fact that we were more than fine with the old ones. Nice, yes, but slightly disturbing because when did it become appropriate for landlords to enter our flat when we're not there without telling us, even if it IS with generous intentions? Oh, that's right, it's not appropriate at all, especially considering we signed a lease that said we needed 24 hours notice.

I wouldn't be quite so bothered had it not been for the fact that I had stashed some cash under my old mattress. I found it --hopefully all of it because I'm not actually sure quite how much was there -- strewn across the floor, where I had also put my freshly-washed underwear because it wasn't quite dry enough for the drawer. Jesus.

I guess I've let my ultra-clever and super-secure money stashing scheme out of the bag. Shit. Someone send a small safe, Pronto. And a kettle. Any spare money you have sitting around.

....

Having found myself a gem of a guy, I tend to assume that I am good at spotting the run-of-the-mill dickwads from the heart-of-gold sweethearts when it comes to the dating game. But despite my good feelings about him, Melissa's Geordie loverboy turned out to be a frog. No, less than a frog. The bacteria that lives on the skin of the frog. No, the mucus that lives on the bacteria that lives on the skin of the frog. Does bacteria have mucus? Oh never mind. Point is, he's definitely not her prince. Because for the love of all things holy, he is someone else's prince.

In a text messaging conversation of epic proportions, she jokingly asked if the reason he couldn't hang out tonight was because he was hanging with his other girlfriend. The comment was meant in jest, obviously, because when you've been seeing someone fairly seriously for a few weeks and you have plans to, ahem, have a sleepover the next day, you assume they'd have said if it wasn't exclusive.

But in the case of this guy, you'd assume wrong. He casually mentioned that, yes, he was hanging out with his girlfriend. Oh, and sorry he hadn't mentioned anything. Oh, and could they still be friends? I don't fucking think so.

Thank god I have the boy in Calgary with the killer smile and the noisy truck -- pickings are obviously slim even in a city with millions of them.

Lesson learned? Melissa's Mom is always right.

....

Sorry to go all Jessica Simpson, but I saw a thing called Turkeyham at the grocery store today.  Is it turkey? Is it Ham? Can a meat even BE both?

Comments

[Lauren g]

Geordie should have been your first clue.

Fuckers (men that is, not Georgies... there's got to be some good ones out there... Geordies, not men).