It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas..

Purely because I'm doing my Christmas shopping a few months early this year.

And so far I've bought stuff for me and stuff for Cleo and that's about it.

Sorry guys, there won't be a Christmas this year.

Believe it or not, that is all.

Just sleeping.

It's my first day off in five/six days so today I had one of my trademark duvet days which more or less involves me sleeping, eating, sleeping some more and then listening to music until dawn and being totally dead the next day.

It's never a good mirror day though. My hair's a mess, I have eyeliner I forgot to wash off clouding my eyes, my eyes are bleary from sleeping, I slur my words, I move slowly, I don't get dressed and I'm a total asshole to all who approach me.

They're good days.

It also helps with the overall mood of the day that I'm a few days south of pay day. It's the same every month, around the 25th I start getting restless and zoom around Amazon UK adding and subtracting from my wishlist, putting all sorts of things in my basket (TWSS) with pretty much no restraint.

I made a cool investment this month though.

.Shot glass chess set.

I'm fucking awesome at chess. And drinking. And spending.

This is obviously meant to be.

Frick.

Alors, Rach has been and gone (awesomeness all weekend long - probably more on this later).

My birthday was good. I tried to get the lovely Anner drunk and only succeeded in getting wasted myself.

Went climbing around some waterfalls and did so without getting even a tiny bit wet. That takes skill, yo.

Today I dropped Rach off at the station and went bra shopping, which in itself is a mammoth task. I don't like shopping outside of Asda (UK equivalent of WalMart) or Sainsbury's because seeing clothes that I'd have to work for two days straight to afford just pisses me the fuck off. See? Like that.

Anyhoodle it was waaaaaarm today so I was wearing only the bare essentials, and after about two hours in town I looked in a window - Note: not the clearest reflection either and I still saw it - to see that, Oh, Fabulous, my top was see-through, like, all the way through.

And I had to get home. Through town. With lots of people. Some of which probably knew me.

Cue loud internal FRICK followed by frantic tweeting:

And God knows, I tried to text my insignificant other to see if he thought the situation was too dire for me to carry on living, but my phone and his phone hate each other so the picture got lost somewhere in the cosmos, so now there's a picture of me wearing a see-through top floating around in infinity waiting for someone to find it and take it home.

You have to understand, to a freshly-turned seventeen year old, this shit is the height of mortal embarrassment.

I did get 30 cans of coke for £5.70 though. To a freshly-turned seventeen year old, that's the redeeming factor.

How I lost my soul in Morrisons supermarket.

One of my pet hates is when supermarkets change their layout. My local - Morrisons - has done it and I keep forgetting so I always leave with only half of what I meant to buy and a pulsing urge to slap some bitches sideways.

Today I went shoe shopping with BFF Main Gay.5 which is actually more agonising than clothes shopping with him. I was wearing my mutilated old work shoes and was feeling it after an hour or so. In the evening, I went into Morrisons looking for burgers, sausages and bacon. Not that much to ask, no? But still I ended up stranded in Morrisons after circling the place five times, pacing the aisle and glued to my phone.

I called my mum for back up because she's generally very calm in these situations (other than the time she abandoned the trolley and stormed out of Tesco) but instead I got the worst possible answer:

"Hello Mofo." said a strangely accented voice.

"Cleo?! What the fuck? Put Mum on."

"She's not here."

"Why? What have you done?"

"She's gone into the store."

"And why have you got her phone?"

"I dunno."

"So how am I supposed to call her?" Panic stricken by this point.

"I dunno."

"Fuck it. I'm hanging up."

"Bye Mofo."

*click*

So I ran around Morrisons looking for my mum, my shoes flapping and my feet killing. Two minutes later someone calls my attention, I'm so stressed out I don't even think notice my feet feeling slightly cold.

"Excuse me! You've left something of your shoe here." A nice man said, pointing to a black mess of tortured rubber a few feet away.

I looked at it. I looked at him. I looked at my basket, which was empty, and said:

"Yes I expect that'll be the sole of my shoe."

I said thanks and walked out of Morrisons with my shoe doing rings around my ankle.

I hate that place so fucking much right now.

Hey, for a moment there I was better at your job than you were.*

*Harsh but true.

You know how I suck at shopping? (Exhibits A, B, and C) I'm feeling a sort of onset of wisdom.

Oh wait. That was the nits.

Kidding. No. Anyway.

I'm in the middle of decorating my mum's house and because I'm a hermit I have seemingly endless amounts of money because I don't go out enough to make a dint in my wages, so I'm totally financing my mum's house right now.

We'd gone to one of the stores that works under the same company as the store I work in to get some paint the other day but we bought wayyyy too much because I've got eyes bigger than my belly and a brush bigger than my bucket too apparently (that's what she said, but she's insane).

The duty manager served us at the till. I know the procedure like the back of my hand because I can spend up to four or five hours at a time working those damn things. I know lots (my managers would disagree but they're insane too) about refunds, returns, sales etc, but I didn't expect me, a mere customer advisor, to be better versed in it than someone who specialises in this kinda shit.

Manager Guy now to be known as Lucky Joe: So I need to erm..

Me *to myself*: Put it back onto the card you originally paid on..

Lucky Joe: put it back onto the card you originally paid on and, erm.. because you, erm.. got it in a sale I- uhh..

Me: Need to refund it at the lowest price.

Lucky Joe: *echo* need to refund it at the lowest price.

Mum: Shit. When did you get so good?

Me: I'm a fucking pro, yo. Though don't tell anyone at work I said that. They think the customers just pity me.

---

No offense to this guy, he was doing fine and I was just being cocky because mostly all the tales from work that my mum hears involve punching, falling and building card towers.

Which reminds me, today at work I stabbed myself in the hand with a pair of scissors because the guy who wanted to view an item was fucking terrifying, so I rushed, the scissors slipped and I nearly lost a finger.

Thanks, Mr. Customer.

This makes me look like Jesus.

Zut alors...

I'm a bit of a martyr, you know that, right?

My lovely husband (political marriage, don't ask) came to me in a state of near despair last night.

EVIL COMPANY* had sent him the wrong DVD.

The poor love had been looking to enrich his mind** with Ray Mears' Northern Wilderness and instead received 'Allo 'Allo Series Three***.

After the initial argument over which was better I said I'd phone the next day and get it all sorted out for him because I'm awesome like that and also because getting to phone a company and say "I'm calling on behalf of my husband" aged 16 seems kinda thrilling in comparison with my somewhat mundane life.

It took me a solid hour to find the contact details for this company. They're not a small company either. UK and Europe-wide.

Today I phoned up foolishly expecting a person to answer the phone but instead got one of those automated receivers who talk in a really soft voice like in a 1960's porn film. It gave me a list of things to do, but in the end said 'for all other enquiries, please hold'. What could this mean?

People people! Talky talky!

Within two minutes I was put on hold again.

And then again.

And then finally when they tried to put me on hold again I yelled "NO DON'T PUT ME ON HO-" and then Yellow Submarine started playing.

I suffered for this.

Eventually it all got sorted out, and it was an unexpected confidence booster because half of my job is customer services in store.

I pretty much deserve Hubs' soul for this.

---

* Not calling names. I doubt that it happens often of else they'd be easier to bloody contact.
** Hahahahaha...
*** Which, personally, I think rocks.

Falling off the social ladder - oof, that was awful.

I'm 75% sure I've broken my foot.

We use ladders at work to reach the top shelf and some gosh-darn fool ordered something that was on the top shelf because they are mean and instantly the kind of customer I don't like picking items for. But I really shouldn't complaining about customers on the internet.

It's not the customers that I don't like, it's the tickets. Please don't Dooce me.

Anyhoo, I was at the top of the ladder and I was talking to someone, then I forgot I was stood on a ladder and stepped back and took my full weight (half a whale, give or take a horse or two) on one heel and it's been aching like a bitch ever since.

I wouldn't mind having a screwed foot if it wasn't for the fact that I already have a bum leg from summer. I don't have a good leg to stand on. I tweeked the tendon in my right knee whilst trying to limbo under an automatic garage door earlier today and now I just feel rather crap.

In other news I did more Christmas shopping today. It was AWFUL. Uno, I couldn't walk, then my wallet was raped of £30 leaving me with half of my shopping done and no money to do it with, and then I couldn't buy Anner the after dinner penises (little mint fondant-filled chocolate penises) that I wanted to get, keeping in key with our relationship's firm, penis-shaped food-related foundation with delights such as penis pasta (Bonus: Jassie's Penis Cakes), so that trip was just doomed from the start, really.

Anyhoodle, I'm going to go watch one of my favorite films now: Bridget Jones' Diary.



I was so born to be her.

Seriously. If you haven't seen this film, or the film's sequel (Bridget Jones: The Edge Of Reason), do so, immediately.

And I just totally forgot that I have a bottle of WKD next to me. Weird night.

I always remember Christmas shopping for walking around town in the dark in my school uniform, looking around for presents for everyone whilst freezing my nads off.

Different this year... It didn't get dark so quickly, I don't wear a school uniform anymore and I wasn't shopping for everyone.

There are only four friends I'm buying Christmas presents for this year: Lemon, Hooker, Anner and Mo-Balls. I lovelovelove shopping for these guys. On my birthday I dragged Lemon around town with me and bought her lots and lots of stuff which left her despairing over how much I'd spent on her (to be fair I bought stuff for Mo-Balls, Anner and Hooker as well). I went clothes shopping with Hooker and discovered that yes, shopping with a gay is a rare delicacy, but shopping for a gay is an absolutely Nightmare with a capital N, even if he's only half a gay.

Mo-Balls is especially hard to shop for because she's like... vintage and stuff, and likes strange things like old opera glasses and garters (her dad bought her boyfriend a garter a few months ago for The Rocky Horror Picture Show - très amusant) so I asked her and got THE most ambiguous reply ever: "Just get me something cheap from the Borders closing down sale."

Excuse me for a moment... AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

Ahem.

I trecked across down in the fog and cold for two hours and found lots of little things for other people, but Mo-Balls? No. I ended up heading towards Cath Kidson, which is a big mistake if you are on my somewhat limited budget.

Cath Kidson... Very twee, quite nice and most of all very expensive. The first time I went past I stopped myself before I went in, but then I decided I might as well take a look...

Tiny weeny rubber ducks - £4.99 (normal price, 75p, tops.)
Strange tacky hair clip - £7.99 (I've had people give me them for free on the market)
A single hair bobble - £6.50 (Normal price, 30p for 20)

What the hell is wrong with that place?

And of course I couldn't have a shopping trip without having a run-in with the staff of one store or another...

Imagine the scene: Scruffy teenager stood in Cath Kidson - high-end, v.plush shop - with hoodie bought on sale at H&M, jeans that were bought in the UK's equivalent of WalMart and are now ripped and worn beyond repair, shoes that are faded and scuffed and a bag that has definitely seen better days. The staff - pretty, primped and straight-laced twentysomethings who had a humour bypass at birth and have a silver spoon rammed up their arse. One of the clerks sees me looking at a flowery tape measure and sniffs. My eyes narrow, she goes bug-eyed. I put down the tape measure, bury my hands in my hoodie, scowl like I mean it and say "I wouldn't be here if I was buying for myself."

The lady doesn't even try to look apologetic. Stuck up bitch.

And I have a full day of working in a shop and extra Christmas shopping tomorrow to cause more problems. Yippee...

Moral of the story: Don't fuck with me or I'LL WRITE SHIT ABOUT YOU, BITCH.

There has never been a point in time where I have been technology's bitch. Ne-verr. This may be because up until the age of 12 I talked to computers. You know, just in case they could hear me (IT COULD HAPPEN).

I stayed up late on my 11th birthday too to see if Hagrid or Dumbledore or even fucking Harry Potter would come along and tell me I was a witch or a goblin or something.

This is actually true.

But that's beside the point. I was an... imaginative child.

Anywho, for whatever reason, computers love me, and I love them... mostly.

I have this one computer which I got for my 12th birthday (I rock a laptop these days) and it's now home to every "The Sims" PC game that was ever released.

Every. Single. One.

I have a lot of time on my hands.

And I happen to be in love with The Sims.

Except I can never play it properly because my computer is s-l-o-w. And now The Sims 3 has been released (don't judge me. No, seriously, stop it) I'm in a pissing crisis, yo.

Something HAD to be done.

(NOTE: I've been saying that for four years.)

So after suffering a mini-meltdown over compatible parts and other technical gumph witnessed by my BFF Main Gay.5 who is just an absolute computer bastard because he knows everything, I headed down to the local suppliers.

Enter "Man", formally known as Computer Jackass.

He was the kind of guy who thought he was better than everyone else because he had a shiny badge on his shirt and SO WHAT, HUH? SO DO I! SEE? IT SAYS BON JOVI ON IT AND EVERYTHING.

He slimed up to me, actually ADJUSTED HIS FUCKING BADGE and asked if I was lost.

"Erm... yes. I'm looking for a RAM memory board, 1GB, DDR?"

He takes me to a stand I must have missed.

"I'm afraid we don't have any of those."

"Is this not it?" I ask, picking out exactly what I needed.

"Umm, yes. That's £49.99." He tells me.

FIFTY FUCKING QUID?!

"Why?" I toe the edge of a spaz attack. "It was £35 on the website."

"Well yes..." He says like it was blindingly obvious. "But that doesn't cover installation."

"I can install it myself, can I have it cheaper?"

"Are you sure you know what you are talking about? Because we don't do refunds."

I'm slowly seeing redder and redder.

"Good, because you won't be seeing me again." I snapped.

And then he gave me the look. The look like I'd kicked him in the balls the week previously.

= HOSTILE.

He huffs and says "I'll take you to the till." And storms off. A victory dance would have totally appropriate right then.

I owned that bitch.

And better yet, my computer runs smoother than a baby's butt.

You better believe that babies' butts can run. My sister's did it once, it landed on my foot.