Tuesday, 6 October 2009

This blog writing session has started off dreadfully, my spotify aint workin and I want to listen to Donell Jones ‘u know whats up’. Whats a girl gotta do to listen to some early-noughties RnB innaplace, eh? Oh, perhaps paying for internet instead of bein a fucking pikey whore and stealing my neighbours might be a start.

Anyway, life update. Im still stuck working at Cat Case, simply because when I finish work I cant be arsed with the soul destroying task of job hunting. 2 days off this week and a WHOLE FUCKING PAID WEEK OFF NEXT WEEK will be spent job hunting, I am determined to be out of that joint before Christmas. Meanwhile, Im spending my days dressing up in kids clothes in the fitting rooms, flirting with old men, jumping out of shelves in the stock room to scare my managers and singing Neneh Cherrys ‘Buffalo Stance’ in my head to get me through. It aint bad y’know?

I also had the pleasure of meeting the Hour Stealer last week. Shes a little poisoned dwarf and I despise her already. Shes rude and patronising and up her own abnormally tiny behind. She wouldn’t swap a shift with me cause she had to take her cats to the vets, she doesn’t ‘do’ Saturdays so I have to do them all and she eats canned sardines for lunch. S’wrong wif you bruv?! Whatever, everyone hates her and my boss told me shes trying to get rid of her anyway, I’m gonna be runnin that show in no time. I even had a meeting with my boss where she promised me at least 30 hours a week until the end of December and begged me not to leave cause I’m the bomb-dizzle at selling mac-in-a-sacks. Am I bragging about being really good at retail sales? Yes. This is what my life has come to.

I have made one rather large change to my lifestyle recently. Instead of spending all my spare time eating chicken, drinking beer and abusing my neighbours from my bedroom window, I have started running. Yep. Two feet on the ground moving fast running. Its fucking hard. I didn’t realise how unfit I was before I started. I knew saturated fats and dirty living wouldn’t have a great effect but really, wheezing like one of those women who smokes through their throats in health films and coughing up blood after running for 60 seconds? Shit aint right. Anyway, 2 weeks into my regime and Im a fuckin badman of the running world. I’ll be running marathons in no time (aiming for 2030) and that Bolt dude will be chasing my ass, asking if my sports bra has magic powers.

(on a totally serious note, anyone who wants to get fit and likes the idea of running, follow @Austinslide on twitter. Good dude and total machine. I also feel that I should now point out that spotify has started working and I’m listening to En Vogue, pretending to be Dawn Robinson. Sha-wiiiing)

In my last post, I mentioned the new love of my life. Bus boy. I hadn’t seen him for quite some time and I was getting worried. What if he noticed I wasnt around and thought I was catching a different bus to avoid him or summink? He needed to know that I’m still in love with him. Should I send a gift? Maybe a muffin basket?

To Bus Boy, c/o Currys/Jessops. Love from your ample breasted and upsettingly easy stalker xoxo’?

Just when desperation was setting in, me & my lovely friend Becka were doing some shopping in Zara early one Saturday morning and while coming down the escalator, I almost died. There he was. Putting some trousers on a hanger in the doorway to the fitting rooms. When I say I almost died, I really mean it. I almost fell of the escalator, there could’ve been a horrible scenario where my hair got caught and I got eaten by it or whatever, and Bus Boys last impression of me would’ve been of him pulling my bodily remains from the escalator. Aaaaanyway, I composed myself and swiftly left the shop. I proceeded to bend Beckas ear about him all day, talking about how much I love him and how we totally made eye contact while I was looking like a fucking dick, trying not to have a seizure.

Later that night, we went for a dance to Laverys. Alas, he was there again! I know I know, ‘MEANT TO BE!’ I hear you cry! We spent ages standing outside beside him and his group of incredibly attractive friends while I tried to look as cool as I could when my skirt was blowing up every 30 seconds and I hadn’t shaved my legs properly. I managed to get a stealthy photo of him on my iphone that I now like to zoom in on and place beside my face, imagining what our wedding photos will be like. Just when I had plucked up the courage to talk to him, he was gone. My bursting heart was crushed. But seriously, before he left we totally had eye contact again. Granted, it may have been him looking at me and thinking ‘why the fuck is that mental whiskey whore making eyes at me, cant she tell I’m at least 5 levels of superfly hotness above her?’ but whatever. I think he loves me.

I have also managed to find out his name, which I wont disclose on here incase of some horrible incident where he may actually find out how ridiculous my levels of stalkerdom have reached. I know his full name, where he works and roughly where he lives. This isn’t right. Still, something has to happen. I am very much a try-hard. I don’t mind not getting what I want, as long as I know I’ve done every single possible thing to try to get it. Therefore, bus boy (who is also apparently single, cha chiiiiing!) must be mine.

This weekend, me and the lovely FlopsiLopsi have made plans for a stalking session in Laverys. If hes there, I WILL make my move. If not…well I’ve decided that drastic action needs to be taken. This is where I need advice from my male followers. I have the following options…

A) the ‘confident and sexually liberated woman’ approach

I go in to zara, obviously lookin fierce as hell *fingersnap*, talk to him, tell him I’ve ‘noticed him around’ (understatement of the entire century blaaad), give him my number and tell him to call me if he wants to do something.

B) the ‘my mate fancies you’ approach

I get Amy to do the above for me. I’ll go in with her, do a lap making sure he sees us then she does the speech and gives him my number.

C) the ‘waiting game’ approach

I wait it out. I wait until I see him in Laverys again and make sure I make my move then.

All of the above have problems. With option A, I can end up looking like a fucking tool, he could be terrified of me, and how do I give him my number? Is it pre-written on a little piece of paper? Do I tell him to get his phone out? It seems awfully complicated. With B, its all a bit juvenile innit? And Amy really isn’t the best example to send on my behalf, she’d put any bastard right off. And with C…well I just cant wait, can I? A man of his rugged beauty and…erm….great…personality(???) will be snapped up sooner or later.

So boys, what do you think? If a girl approached you would you be flattered and feel like a supapimp or would you run a fucking mile? Answers on a postcard/tweet please.

And on that note, I’m off to fetch some icecream and get back to trying to find bus boy on social networking sites. Peace out bitches