The internet is weird.

Look what I found.

^ Click to enlarge ^

I'm scared for humanity.

And the wolves.

Tales from.. erm.. whatever day it is. *Edited*

Today is Tuesday a.k.a. Shrink Day so I went trundling down to see my person and talked for an hour about life, the universe and everything and ended up drawing how I felt today and it was pretty strange, I think:

The idea was meant to be that I felt like stuff wasn't so important. York could get bombed and people would still be eating pizza in Venice or hunting Justin Beiber for sport in Texas.

You heard it here first.

Anyway. I left the Shrinkses in a pretty good mood, for once. It was raining in an awesome kind of way, with huge raindrops that didn't fall too often but when they did it was like.. SPLAT, soaked, fuck you. It was AWESOME.

I went around pricing up piercings for a while before realising that there was only really one place I wanted to go to, so I ended up at my favouritest piercing studio EVARR for the second time in two days and got the lovely greeting of "'Ello you! You're here a lot aren't you?"

Awesome. I'm loved.

As I sat waiting for him to prep, I was reeling at the fact that my piercer (He's mine now. You can't have him) has approx. twelve piercings in one ear. TWELVE.

That's ten more than me! Shit!

So, today, on a whim, I got my fifth and sixth piercings.

I'm a bit iffy about needle piercings (you have needles and you have guns. Guns are baaaaad, but they hurt less) because my ears were gunned, my naval was done by needle and so was my nose and fuck if that didn't hurt like a blowfish TO THE FACE, so he told me he'd freeze over my ears (I just noticed that 'ears' is an anagram of 'arse' - vital information) beforehand.

Mayhem ensued.

*spraying starts*

"I suppose you'll charge me more if I get high of the fumes."

"Probably."

"Pleh.. Woah, it's in my mouth."

"You want your tongue pierced?"

"Not today tha- SHIT! I didn't take my other earrings out. Shit shit shit! They're FREEZING."

"I can't help you."

"Ffffffferk! Get'emoutget'emout!"

"If I touch them, I'll get stuck to them."

"Ah. Right."

"It'll wear off."

"Cool."

*Pause*

"..Ice cool."

*Huff*

And I've totes promised myself that if I save my money I can have four more at the end of the month.

I rock my own socks.

And for five glorious minutes, my bank balance was more than £1.

Today I bought my ticket for Sonisphere Festival.

Incase you haven't had the utter joy of hearing me rambling on about what is probably THE MOST INTENSE LINE-UP EVERRR, do feel free to take a peak here.

So, on top of Iggy Pop, Alice Cooper, Iron Maiden, Lacuna Coil, Placebo, Pendulum and forty or so other bands, Tim Min-fucking-chin (it had to go somewhere..) will also be there to make me giggle at inflatable dolls and distant wars and such.

Also I just noticed that Europe are playing and I'm 60% sure that they wrote The Final Countdown.

Crap. I've got that in my head now.

Also, you lost the game. Mwahaha.

I'm still considering tearing up the floorboards.

I woke up dead today. My throat was swollen, my nose was runny, I was dizzy because my body, brain and blood is screaming PILLS... PILLS... and making me go all black-out-ish.

I had plans today. I had to get hold of the place that called me (didn't work), I had to go food shopping (nearly didn't work) and I had to get a shower (definitely didn't work).

I had an absolute nightmare because when I was getting dry, the towel snagged my nose stud and pulled it out, it fell on the floor, bounced off my foot and disappeared into infinity. I searched, butt-naked, for the damn thing for half an hour before finding it under the floorboards when lying face down on the floor with a torch.

Called Mum:

"Mum? I need to pull up the floorboards and I'd appreciate it if you weren't totally unreasonable about it."

"No."

"You don't even know why yet."

"I don't care. Fuck no."

Humph.

Random-but-relevant piece of info: Nose piercings hurt like hell and without a stud to keep them open they heal really quickly.

I ran down the street to a Goth shop that I always used to shop in and yelled 'CURVED NOSE RING!' at the empty store. Someone came flying out of the back and helped me find a nice pale blue one.

It's too thin and curved wrong so it knocks the inside of my nose making me sneeze like a.. baby panda.. but it's nice so I'm eternally grateful.

So that's the epic tale of my nose.

I'm so pissed that my beloved, fitting, shiny nose stud is still under the floorboards in the bathroom.

I also bought some delicious pork pies, an apple pie, discovered TO MY HORROR that some scary people say 'erbs instead of herbs and nearly passed out in a restaurant.

Life, 'tis dull..

Woes.

I forgot to take my sanity pills yesterday and today and today I felt it, as in, crying in the storeroom, hating everything, wanting to be nowhere, cursing my manager to the fiery pits of Hades, etc.

It all started out good when I was really chatty to customers and I thought that, hey, this not-taking-my-pills lark was working because I feel floaty and talky. Then one woman started yelling at me because we didn't deliver to her house - a flat in the arse-end of nowhere - and started raving and ranting and stormed off to kill some puppies so, rather than being meek and whatever, I suggested to her husband that he should kindly remind his wife that I personally am not in control of the fleet that is home delivery, that it was an entirely different branch to me and COME ON, I'm lower than breakfast on the pecking order at work. LEAVE ME ALONE.

Then I escaped and went on my break to discover that a random York number had called me, I Googled it and OH FUCK, it was the job I'd applied for. I tried to ring them back a million times and had some serious network difficulties and then I went to my (evil, evil) store manager to ask if I could stop working weekends and then he turned it all around and said that I was jumping the gun and I am 'most likely going to be turned away' anyway.

Fuck him.

I ended up working alone in the upper stockroom where I cried, crooning about hating myself, and when the suicidalness swept in I realised that, oh fuck, I needed to take my pills PRONTO. A day and a half without them and I was a quivering wreck. And there I was, saying just last week that they didn't work as well as they used to. I was wrong, clearly. Apparently, things have just managed to get so much worse.

Now I'm calm again. I'm sat at my brother's kitchen table with a realllly sweet cup of tea (I can hear my mum spitting 'Blergh! Poison!') listening out for Chunk who fell of a swing today, cut the back of his head and ended up in Casualty, fixing Kel and Bunny's Hannah Montana flasks (Hannah Montana - a true sign on crapola) and making plans again.

Tomorrow I'm going to wake up, pick up the phone and hope to God, Loki, Allah, Anansi, Krishna, ALL OF THEM, that I've got another job.

Pleb pleb pleb pleb, a-pleb pleb pleb pleb.

My brain is mush, ladies and gentlemen. I don't know what's caused it, it's a toss up between watching the X-Men quadrilogy all in one go or going around the house singing stoopid, wordless songs about plebs. Either way, I have mush for brains and want to be a mutant.

Not much happens around here. Mum got her tattoo. Cleo has decided she's fat and both her and mum have enlisted me as a personal trainer because.. oh I don't know. I'm not exactly at the peak of physical fitness but I'm a total pro at WiiFit.

We're all broke so my auntie is paying for our next meal, little does she know that it is going to be THE MOTHER OF ALL KEBABS.

As you were, everyone. As you were.

The artist formally known as Nicole.

Yesterday I went round to my neighbours house and awwww'd over the tiny baby hamsters, the gorgeous rats (just.. trust me, here) the biiiiiiig snakes, the horribleblehblehbleh spider, the rottweiler, the bird and the tiny puppy whilst my mum got a tattoo from our neighbour.

The end result?

Not baaaad.

It designed it by accident - doodling whilst watching TV. It looks rough because that was literally a minute after we got home and the ink was all smudged on the surface because her skin had puckered up.

Still. I think it's super awesome.

Meet the Nicole-ites.

I fried my internet connection last night because my laptop breathes fire because I'm an adaptor with the wrong specs because the first one broke because I said so.

So, I'm here on borrowed time, posting nice photos because I'm in a desperate race against my laptop, who is winning.

Here are the cast of my life, in no real order:

Your beloved leader a.k.a. Me.

Anner, Mo-Balls and Lemon.

BFF Main Gay.5 and me.

Rach. We loves.

Kel, my oldest niece. Always loud, always pushing the limits. Doesn't understand the word 'calm' and is totally amazing.

Me, Chunk and Bunny. Chunk's the youngest and absolutely adorable. Bunny's the most lovable, cute, clever, funny little girl in the world.

Cleo. Rerrr... My sister and polar opposite. Found here once in a blue moon.

My brother, Golden Balls. Spawn of awesome.

My mamma. Formally known as 'Mum'.

And finally, my awesome dad, simply known as 'Dad'.

I honestly think I saw Ray Mears today.

Surviving on three hours sleep, today I went out into the wide world (Ahh! It burns!) and delivered my application forms to places.

I hate buses. They're warm and loud and I get travel sick now because our car is off the road this month so I've been walking everywhere but I have to go on buses because,

A. I live in the middle of York so everything that isn't in the city centre is VERY far away.

B. I have a habit of oversleeping so I run late for work a lot.

C. I work a few miles outside of York.

D. The stores I want to work at are even further away than that. On the other side of York and then some.

Anyway, after running into someone who looked, acted, sounded and dressed like Ray Mears and being ever so slightly bewildered by it, I jumped on the bus and sat still for 45 minutes as we crawled through traffic.

Blergh.

And then again, as we came back to York.

Blergh.

There's good news though. Mum's morgage came through so I can start my driving lessons soon and stop taking the damn bus.

There's hope yet.

Titles are for people with brains.

Today, walking back from the hospital, I made a new friend.

I don't know his name and he lives where he chooses.

He was a homeless guy sat under Monkgate Bar who was sat with another, much younger, guy holding a bundled scarf like it was an infant. He called out to me, sounded alarming like the vicar guy off of The Princess Bride and said "I know a cat who had a habbit.. of feasting on lots of tasty rabbits!"

I gave him the thumbs up and told him about how my mum's cat's favourite flavour food is rabbit.

"Do you want a Tarot card reading?" The younger guy said quickly, holding out the scarf, which made the possessiveness make more sense. To me, anyway.

I told him I couldn't, that I was in a rush, the usual jargon. The older man said that the Tarot readings were good and I told him that I knew, because I could read them too (Yeah.. about that..).

I stood and talked to the two homeless men for a good ten minutes before I left, feeling much happier that I had before.

It's nice how people do that.

There's a sparkling difference between 'overweight' and 'at high risk of being overweight'

I'm utterly obsessed with a Wii game called Just Dance, which is more fun that whipped cream and probably one helluva lot healthier too.



Absolutely B-E-A-Utiful. (if anything, it's the arse-over-tit dancing fails that make that advert come true for me)

I absolutely love my Wii. There was a time that I'd play on it every day, work out like mad and dance for hours. Today I got back into the swing of it by killing myself on Wii Fit Plus for an hour and a half. I've shed about a stone and a half since I started playing on it seriously (playing.. seriously.. it doesn't work somehow) and today something new happened.

I bet you can already guess what it was.

I went from being overweight to being at risk of being overweight!

WOOHOOOO!

(Oh, come on.. small achievements are good too..)

Worker Bee.

I'm dying inside and out. I had to walk/jog six miles to work and then start straight away because I was running late.. Then I was having a nightmare trying to find stock to put on display because we have NOTHING in stock, at all, ever. Three hours later I went on my break thinking I'd get a nice wrap from next door or something but NO. I had the joy of realising for the second day running, I couldn't afford to eat.

When work finished I was tired all over, my brain was tired, my feet hurt, I was hungry and felt slow. I had to walk another six miles home and when I got home, I just wanted to eat, watch crap TV and sleep.

Instead I ate, watched London Ink, London Ink, LA Ink, Miami Ink, Dancing Tweens, Miami Ink, Deadliest Catch... ate some more.. (shut up about my taste in TV.. I work hard)

My mum's car's off the road this month because she can't afford to tax it and my car's off the road because we can't find the insurance documents so I'm walking everywhere and I'm skint broke so I can't afford the bus and I work out of town so I'm running on my sentences and RARR.

I love my job, mostly. Getting there and back is a nightmare and I'm on my feet all day. I spent this morning being the duty manager and that wiped me out completely. When I'm this tired I don't want to take charge, I want to be told what to do, get it right and run in autopilot. Oh, and I like getting paid.

And now I've got all the references I need to apply for two more jobs. I like to work, I don't like to feel tired from working. I don't like feeling exhausted and doing a half-arsed job, pissing people off and feeling bad as a result.

Iiiit's a tough balance.

I'm gonna drop in my applications tomorrow maybe if I can scrounge the bus fare off of my brother, and then I'm gonna hope for the best.

I'm getting tired just thinking about it.

"We have reached the end of the line."

Today I very nearly didn't go job hunting. I didn't want to get out of bed, then I didn't want to get out of the shower, then I didn't have any clothes.

I eventually went out looking expensive enough not to seem like I was desperate for a job and had a nightmare  trying to find the right bus. Then I got there and I got LOST, then I found two lovely stores that are recruiting which was even more of a nightmare because I love them both so I've applied to both and if I get both I am going to be loaded but tiiiired.

Then I went to work and was yelled at by customers for a couple of hours before we all shut up shop, went onto the shop floor with coke and cookies and watched England suck at the World Cup.

So, my job hunting went well! And now I'm all aloney on my owney because my mum and my sister are at my mum's house and my dad is on holiday somewhere sunny.

Bastards.

This isn't working.

I'm trying to write a blog post, dear reader(s), really, I am.

You see, I made a plan earlier tonight..

And I'm TRYING!! SO hard. I want to apply to Matalan which someone said was recruiting (Ugh, awful sentence) and then this happened:

I'll be back tomorrow with something vaguely resembling a blog post, promise.

My neighbours include Sasha the rottweiler and Kenny the boa constrictor.

I think I mentioned once or twice that my newish neighbours have lots of animals.

Today I met them all and it was terrifyingly awesome.

I came outside to find everyone stood on the balcony with Tiny Pup (no name yet.. very tiny) who they adopted because his mum stopped producing milk when he was two weeks old and Sasha the huge, chunky, gorgeous BFG of a rottweiler. They have two other gorgeous puppies who love running around our kitchen. They have two house bunnies, a tarantula called Rosie, two rats and eleven snakes.

I shit you not.

Dan (neighbour who also happens to be a tattoo artist - WOOP! He let me look at all his design mags) said something about getting Monty, who I assumed was one of the rabbits or rats.

No. Not he was not.

Monty is a huge python. Monty the Python. I love Monty. He's good people. Or snakes. (He's one heavy guy, that's fo sho)

Theeen they brought out a couple of the smaller snakes. One, Choco, was tiny and looked like a bracelet on my wrist. Another, Kenny, was slightly bigger and I could feel by holding him that he was one strong little guy.

"Are they the same breed of snake?" My mum asked.

"Ohh, no. Choco's a corn snake and the one Nicky's holding is a boa constrictor."

REALLY?!

I would've done a happy dance if my hands weren't locked together by half a metre of solid snake. I took Kenny upstairs to show Cleo and straight away he struck out at her. She yelped, I burst out laughing and ran downstairs.

"Kenny tried to kill Cleo!! KENNY ROCKS!"

Mindfudge.

Never ever ever try to out-run a psychologist. They have powers.

I skipped out on an appointment with my shrink last week because she wanted me to get out of bed and that's just not on.

The office promotes insanity by playing a dazzling array of music varying from the dizzy heights of 'Dancing On The Ceiling' to 'I'm Going Slightly Mad' so that you feel nice and insane when you go to see people you go to see.

This morning me and a four-year-old were sat in the waiting room. It seemed bizarre. All four-year-olds are batshit crazy as a fundamental rule, so what had she done to clear the bar? Absolutely nothing, surely. She could've taught my nieces a few things about being a regular sane four-year-old. Maybe this shizzle runs in the family.

When my person came to collect me, it was my turn to be the four-year-old. She told me to mind my step (all of them, it was a flight of stairs.. d'oh), carried my drink for me incase I spilled it, talked like she was my best buddy, all the usual. And then it was my turn to talk for an hour, most of which she spent guessing what I was trying to say, because fuck if I know.

My head isn't a place for words, it's just thoughts, feelings, images, hunches and a sort of black, blank, empty space where things randomly click into sequences that make sense and fall out of my mouth. I'm no artist and I'm not a particularly gifted speaker. Nothing's particularly easy to put into words or anything anyone else could gain insight from, so as far as shrinks go, I'm screwed.

My person is fairly new, she doesn't guard her facial expressions particularly well so I'm forever back-tracking and correcting what I'm saying, which does sod all for my confidence which is the thing that keeps me from being on a massive downer all the time.

My person also thinks that I'm schizophrenic because in my head I refer to myself as 'you' and also I kept hearing a noise whilst I was talking to her which kinda freaked her out, much to my twisted, delicious delight (oh come on, if you can make a shrink nervous you've really achieved something).

Generally, shrinkage always makes me feel worse, as do doctor's visits, dentist appointments and pop tarts, so it's always good to do something to perk myself up before I get home where I can wallow uninterrupted in self-pity/loathing for a good six hours. Walking back through town, I noted that the mental hospital is only five minutes' walk away from the shrinkses, I bought a godly smoothie from Xing Smoothies (om nom nom), a delicious cookie whirl from Millie's Cookies (om nom nom) and then came home and rocked out on Guitar Hero and Just Dance, and it was good.

Small steps, people. Small steps.

It takes skill to make decent gravy out of an Oxo cube and instant mash. I have that skill.*

*Factual but irrelevent.

I'm taking time out of my über busy schedule of cooking/sobbing down the phone to some poor rep from PC World/The Sims 2-ing/did-I-mention-the-sobbing?-ing to tell you that rhubarb is the most soothing thing to peel EVER. It actually is. I've never felt so relaxed with a knife in my hand. Heh heh..

My poor baby (my laptop) is without a working adaptor so I called PC World to beg for a new one, which should've been easy because it comes with the warranty, but nooooo... They wanted to steal away my laptop for further tests for upto-and-including-48-days-in-which-time-we-are-not-responsible-to-damage-to-any-of-the-information-on-your-laptop which I agreed to, hung up, went into auto-pilot for five minutes and then dived across the room, snatched up the phone and yelled "CANCEL IT! DON'T TAKE IT AWAY!" and then started crying because being shot in the face is preferable to having my laptop taken away for any reason.

So, my poor baby's future is uncertain for the next few weeks. I'll have to buy a new adaptor because £30+ is much better than being without a laptop.

..Yeah. I'm sane.

And now I have to go see if my world famous (as of forty minutes ago) Rhubarb Guestimation Crumble has exploded or not.

Erm.. whups.

So.

I brought just enough money to get me reasonably pissed without taking it *too* far but noooo, people started buying my drinks like the awesome lovely things they are and when I got into my taxi, I couldn't walk.

It all started with the goosing of the coke, then the WKD, then the strongbow, and then ANYTHING ELSE THEY COULD GET ME TO DRINK. Bastards.

Still, it was a good time. There are some.. memorable (ironically, not remembered at all).. pictures of my manager on Facebook.

It was a good time though. I came back to my mum's house absolutely fucked and then woke up on my mum's sofa the next day feeling strangely serene.

And then my fucking laptop broke and the whole day went to pot.

Can't win them all. Oh well. =)

Doomed.. like frog in a blender.

So, after six hours at work I must go out feeling ROTTEN with all my peeps from work try not to die a lot.

Epic.

I'm only posting this because of NaBloPoMo. NaBloPoMo is eviiiil.

I've earnt the right to be mopey.

Today I dropped into that-store-that-I-applied-to to ask for another application form and was told that 'sorry, we stopped recruiting yesterday'.

I was grouchy for the rest of the day. My poor manager didn't know what had hit him.

I stood with my arms crossed, glaring at the tills, daring customers to come along wanting to pay for things. Then they did and I was charming. It's easy to be charming, it's hard to get their attention away from the stud (Shiiiiny) in my nose though. People always stare at my nose.

The World Cup kicked off at 3.30.. the store was dead quiet and there were no jobs to do, so there were six of us stood doing sod all. England is playing tomorrow so we get to wear football shirts to work. My manager decided his mission was to cheer me up, which worked, ish. We're all going out tomorrow night for someone's birthday, t'will be awesome and almost worth the nightmare that was trying to find something to wear.

I really reaaaallllyyy love my job. Not many people have managers who let them start start work ten minutes late because they are enjoying a particularly delicious packet of Oreos during briefing.

Buuuut I really do need another job, so the hunt is on. I spent an hour making lists this morning (yeah, okay.) and this is what I came up with re: jobs:

1. Ninja assasin - I'm serious. Mostly.
2. Bartender/barmaid - I don't know why I like job as much as I do, but I do.
3. Argos Gremlin - I got there first, bitches.
4. Clothes store person - I love clothes, I hate buying them.
5. Starbucks barrister - It's STARBUCKS.

Job searching is going to be a perky trip, I can tell.

Let's go, I wanna go, all the way to the horizon.

I love making plans. LOVE. Even small ones like listening to a certain song/album one night, or planning to go into town. I love making things I can look forward to.

I'm gonna set up a savings account. I'm gonna get more piercings (four or six more and I'm done, promise). I'm gonna get this tattooed just above where my heart was is. I'm going to buy these beautiful beasts.

These are small things (except for the boots and tattoo, which I'm totally stoked about).

I'm also trying to get people to come with me to Sonisphere Festival (Iron Maiden, Muse (possibly), Alice Cooper, Iggy fucking Pop, TIM MINCHIN!!!!) in August. I've applied for a second job, I'm re-doing my bedroom, I'm gonna learn to drive my car and pimp it out (maybe)..

Today I made more plans. I'm gonna try and study from home, I'm taking the sociology exam, I'm going to lose weight LIKE NEVER BEFORE (which is saying something considering I've already lost a stone) and then make more plans in a couple of months.

Plans are gooood, people. Plans don't actually involve doing anything. Yet.

A bit... objective, maybe?

Good question. Bad question. Let's face it. All exams are are bad questions.

So I have an exam in two days that I can't find the motivation to to any work for. I tried for three hours earlier, and as a result I reverted back to my still-in-school self: Grim, morbid, angry, breath-y (seriously, I physically can't breath when I try do this 'school' thing) and generally just RARRRRR.

And who can blame me really? Look at the evidence. (Yeah, I totally planned this post whilst pretending to read a textbook)

There is no escaping the obvious in this exam.

I haven't been in school for.. oh.. four months and I've missed E V E R Y T H I N G, so I really don't know what the exam is about.

And.. judging by my epic newfound lack of ability to absorb information and write neatly, here's another question that I can't answer:

So, I guess the moral here is that I'm gonna be here tomorrow whilst I try to pass this exam with no prior knowledge whatsoever.

Bon chance, Nicole.

Not my day. Because 'My Day' sounds like it went as I wanted it to.

I woke up at two in the afternoon, feeling less like rough and more like ill-fated hedgehog rolled into the road.

Why? You may ask. Why are you so damn lazy?

I'm not lazy, I'm tired. I sleep when I don't want to be awake and when I'm tired. I don't sleep just because I can. I'm tired all the time these days. That's how I'd describe a bad case of clinical depression. It feels like being thoroughly tired, like.. all over. Everything you feel is exhausted and everything you do is exhausting. Commiting yourself to doing anything when you don't feel like it feels like an emotional hazard. There aren't any strong emotions, not really. More like tiny breezes or sparks next to a tidal wave - hardly the most noticeable thing.

Those are the bad days, anyway.

Today wasn't a bad day, I suppose. It was a day that I'll forget about by the end of tomorrow because it'll blend in with a whole army of other days that amount to nothing glorious.

I spent last night nursing a God-awful headache whilst doing the whole 'Jaded' thing. I watched TV without taking any of it in, listened to sad music, looked at photos of times when I actually saw my friends - or anyone - more than once every three weeks, re-read old conversations that made me smile and let out a big. sigh.

This morning? I woke up and baked a cake without any of the pleasure I usually get out of cooking. I watched the end of Marley & Me with Cleo and had a little cry because it reminds me of Zebbie, who I miss more than anything. I cancelled an appointment with my psychologist (yeah..) because talking doesn't help in the slightest, I sat in my room and stared at the ceiling, made plans that made no sense. Nothing much of anything.

The plans were my favourite part of the day.

Easier said than done.

My house is right in the middle of York. It's a stone's throw away from Pavement a.k.a. the city centre. My mum's house is the last place in York that you can be without not being in York. It's slightly uphill for the whole way. We can't afford to tax the car this month. I have a rusty bike that more or less works so I thought I'd bike down to my mum's today because I was feeling exercise-y (I'd just managed to fit snugly into a pair of jeans that hadn't fit me for three years - woop!).

Getting there was precious. My legs felt a little wobbly when I tried to walk around, get a drink, die on my arse, etc..

Getting back was something else entirely. I felt sick so I thought I'd get myself home before the skies opened because, this being York, it's always on the verge of rain if it's not sunny. I like biking places. I like going places fast, or faster than walking, though walking's good too.

It was all going alright until I got to halfway down my street. There's a hill there that takes a bit of work, and it's also covered in speedbumps because the council are sadists and there's also a river at the bottom of the hill that is realllllly good at getting driven into, so..

Anyway.

I tried to stand up on my bike to work my way up the hill but I couldn't manage it so I thought I'd just dismount and walk the rest of the way.

Des Down The Road was there, sat on a wall with his leg in a cast (motorcycle incident) watching my slow progress. It was an epic defeat, realising I was gonna have to get off my bike, but it only got worse.

You know on Bridget Jones' Diary where she is on the exercise bike and she tries to get off it and flops to the floor?

That happened.

My legs just folded. I tried to stagger upright but they just collapsed again. I crawled awkwardly towards the path, trying to keep my bike from falling on top of me with an air of dignity that I save for special occasions. Des Down The Road burst out laughing.

Joe.

I have a deep and profound connection with my local supermarket. It's the one that I vomited all over the floor in when I was six and dying of stomach flu. It's the one that I feel less like dying in because ZOMG I KNOW WHERE EVERYTHING IS!!!!11!!!1! It's the one that does amazing offers on Coca Cola that basically ensure my teeth are going to hell within the next four years.

It also has a skate park in the car park, rats in the trolley bay and smells of 'just-past-clean'.

AND the toilets are all lit in blue so you can't see your veins to inject The Drugs, it's THAT badass.

Anyway.

I usually go there when I'm going to make my world-famous lasagne, and I'm always served by the same person when I pay.

His name is Joe.

Joe is easily into his fifties, has a faded tattoo in his inner left forearm of a celtic cross, has some teeth missing, one ear pierced, cannot remember solid decades of his life and has the most awesome sense of presence that I've ever come across.

Joe is just golden.

JOE IS AWESOME.

But of course nobody sees that. No one goes to that run-down store that smells of 'just-past-clean' with tired, quirky staff and has a conversation with Joe, which really sucks because he's no regular Joe.

I don't think I have a conclusion here.

Love thy Joes.

I have nothing to say other than "Wake me up, before you go, go.."

I'm doing short, sweet posts because otherwise I'll burn out by next week.

So you know yesterday when someone asked for my number after they asked if I (on behalf of the store, I guess) had any jobs and I looked down at myself and said 'Uh, no, not on me.' like an idiot?

Of course you do.

Well, this morning he drove past me whilst I was walking to work and shouted/sang "WAKE ME UP, BEFORE YOU GO GO!" as he went flying past.

It was ferking awesome.

I also dropped into ASDA (literally Brit equivalent of Wal Mart) to beg for a job whilst wearing my work uniform and dying of sun-ness. It was surprisingly easy. One of my managers even helped me with the application form.

So here's a round up of the month so far:

1. Got many piercings.
2. Became irresistable babe overnight..
3. Applied for a second job.

Four days into the month.. Not bad, really.

Strange/awesome things that happened at work today:*

*Full of mystery, I know.

Mo-Balls's awesome mum took us to the retail park I work in, bought me an amazing frappacino AND was totally understanding when I had to bolt off to work three minutes before I was due to start, all before I started work. Ah-may-zing.
A man walked into the store and said to me "Rentakill, I'm here to.. uhh.. look around." I'd been on my shift for oh... ten minutes and hadn't had the childish enthusiasm drained out of me yet so I immediately squealed "OH MY GOD! NINJAS!!!!"

I got someone to apply for a store card for the first time in six months. I'm AWESOME.

Someone asked for my number. Scary fucking potatoes.

I considered getting a second job, like, working the early hours of the morning so I could balance the shifts out easier.

See, folks? Work still hasn't broken me.. yet.

News just in: My face hurts.

So...

I did it.

Today I went all around town and ended up with these muthas:

You can just see one of the earrings through my hair.

Barely even swollen. Yay me.

I'd say this was a triumph.

Now, let's see if I can dodge infection for however long they take to heal.

No, no. NOW you're sorry.

I'm gonna attempt NaBloPoMo again this month.

No, please... Don't cry...

Ahem.

The theme is 'now', so..

This month is going off with a BANG, or at least an OWW, because I'm dishing out a whole new kind of payback.

You see, I'm über pissed at my mum for getting off-her-tits drunk whilst I was in one of my black moods and Cleo was there (she gets stressed, she doesn't like not having someone in a solid frame of mind around), and then just being insanely annoying for all of it.

Sooooo...

I'm exacting my revenge.

Tomorrow I'm going to get a fuckload of piercings.

I could not tell you where, or how many, or how much it'll cost, or if I'll chicken out (I have no piercings)..

But tomorrow, I will come home (and then go to work - woe is me -) with more holes then I went out with.

(Hahahaha...)

Suck on THAT.