I’ve been busy…

Actually, my current temp placement doesn’t let me on WordPress

In case you were wondering what I’ve been up to, apparently, I can’t say ‘no’ to a man with a video camera.  Enjoy my awkwardness…

Bangs, also good for…

Hiding a puffy left, top eyelid.

Yeah, not sure what’s going on there but I noticed that I had an extra puffy ‘fold’ in my left eyelid before bed last night, which is still present today. It’s kind of itchy and feels…weird (it’s not a bump, like a sty, but just a general puffiness and pinkness). I might drop into the clinic tomorrow since I don’t start work until 1:00. Here’s hoping it just goes away on its own accord, although I have a feeling this won’t happen because, apparently, the universe is out of bones to throw at me at the moment. I feel as though I must also mention that as well as the puffy eyelid, I woke up with a scratchy, sore throat, two nasty zits (that my bangs cannot hide ’cause they’re on my freaking chin), and a bad attitude.

*sigh*

This calls for a hot shower, flannel pjs, and an early night to bed. Tomorrow will be better.

Wait a second…

Last night my sister, Alayne, and I went to go see 500 Days of Summer. It was interesting and funny and sad and full of colourful things to entertain the eye. And I recommend it, but I’m not really a movie reviewing type of person,  so I’ll just let you go see it for yourself. 

Anyway.

Before the movie started, I decided to go to the loo because about 8 months earlier I had a traumatic cinema experience where I almost peed my pants. I’m not sure why I didn’t just take a toilet break during the movie, it wasn’t even good (Yes Man), but I sat there in agony waiting for the credits to roll. Since then, I’ve had a pee before every movie policy, even if I already went before I left the house.

So I exited the theatre and quickly found the sign for the toilets, I entered the toilets and picked my stall: the second one from the left.  I thought it was a little odd that the toilet seat was in the up position, but  I just put it down and did my business. I also wondered why the bathroom stank so strongly of urine, but again, I dismissed this as just another gross public toilet occurence. I did up my zipper and made my way to the sinks. As I’m washing my hands, I noticed something strange behind me in the reflection of the mirror. Heh? What are those strangely familiar looking porcelain things? . . . GAH! Urinals! I quickly realised that I was in the men’s toilets! The horror! I hurriedly dried my hands and got out of there, luckily, without being detected.

Unfortunately, this isn’t the first time this has happened to me. I think it’s time I book an optomitrist appointment.

Also,

Would it be wrong of me to get a boyfriend just for the free massages? Of course, for this plan to work, I would have to make sure that this man, firstly, enjoyed giving massages and, secondly, was actually good at them. I’m not sure how I would figure this out before I commited to being some dude’s girlfriend, but I’m sure it’s possible. I only ask this because my back is hurting something fierce this morning and I can only stretch my hands so far to knead my stiff muscles myself. Plus, I’m sure it looks awkward and a little strange on the CCTV directed at my reception desk. Yeah, I’m on camera right now.

Cheese!

It’s times like these that I recall those blissful few weeks in Thailand when I was getting an hour long, full-body massage almost on a daily basis. I was also 5lbs lighter and sun kissed. Real life is so much shittier than vacation life sometimes!

As you may have noticed the ‘mood’ has stayed with me till ‘noon and it’s not looking like it’s going to lift anytime soon…even with the sun coming out.

So there!

Hi, my name is PMS. Nice to meet you!

I woke up in a ‘mood’ this morning. A bad mood to be more precise. I had gone to bed around 9:00 last night in attempt to get 8 hours of sleep. Instead, I tossed and turned. And then at 11:00 I got up and rearranged my duvet just to toss and turn for another hour. Just as I was drifting off to sleep around 12:30 am, the doorbell rings. I thought I was going to pee my bed because 1. the doorbell makes an awful noise 2. I pee my bed a lot and 3. who the eff is ringing the doorbell at half past midnight? Turns out it was just one of my flatmates, but it definitely got my heart racing, ensuring that sleep would continue to elude me for at least another half hour.

When my alarm started chiming at 5:45, I felt like I hadn’t slept for 1 single minute. Nothing really pissed me off during my morning routine though, so yay.

Then on my walk to the bus, my bangs kept being blown in all directions and I had to wait 5 whole stinking minutes before a bus arrived.

When I got to Shepherds Bush Market Station the straps on my stupid purse kept falling off my shoulder and my hair kept blowing around in the wind, so I let my bag fall and just sit on the platform, because if I had to adjust that goddamn stap one more time I would be throwing that stupid £8 piece of junk market special in front of the train. Luckily, it behaved once it was off my shoulder.

When I got on the tube, the lady sitting to my right kept looking at me and let out a disgusting garlic burp that then confused me because who has garlic burps at 7:45 in the morning? Gross.

I’ve had one coffee since arriving at work this morning and life seems to be a little more kind.

But my purse is still on notice.

As per your request…

I CUT MY OWN HAIR

This is what happens when I have too much free time…and scissors.

Freaky Friday

Today, has been one of those days when I all I can do is shake my head and smile.

On the journey to work this morning, three young men in suits got on proudly carrying cans of Red Bull. They looked…rough and loudly chatted about the shenanigans from the night before; going on about getting into the VIP lounge, laughing at the black club stamps on their hands that were now incriminating smudges, sunglasses hiding their presumably bloodshot eyes. When I caught the eye of a fellow female passenger we just smiled and shook our heads. Oh, boys.

When I got back from the pub lunch (which, in itself, involved a lot of smiling and head shaking and an awkward incident that left me feeling as though I hurt someone’s feelings, albeit very unintentionally, and am now not sure how to rectify it without giving the wrong impression (again!) and perhaps causing more hurt…or, I could just be over thinking this? Hmm…yes, I am being sort of cryptic here, eh?), the electrician for the 5th floor toilet renovation hands me a huge bouquet of flowers to thank me for being so sweet and accommodating to the renovation crew this week. I am hoping that his story is true and that it was from the crew and his boss and not from him alone because then I would have an awkward situation on my hands. I am going to believe that it was just a ‘thank-you’ and nothing else. Even though 5 minutes later he returned to give me his number, ‘just in case there was an electrical emergency and we needed to contact him’…yup, I am taking his story at face value and that’s that. All of the guys in the office have been taking the piss when I tell them, though. Cheeky buggers.

The bouquet

Here’s something that just makes me smile and, to be honest, ridiculously excited. Actually, it is also a freaky coincidence because just last night my sister and I were chatting about various bloggers that we would love to meet. One of them was the very cool and wonderful Melina . My current temp placement only allows partial internet access, letting me on a very limited amount of blogs.  Luckily, one of them is Melina’s. I’ve spent hours this week going through her old posts from years ago re-living the Drk crush months and the beginning of her relationship with her husband John (so if you’ve noticed someone in London spending a stalkerish amount of time in your archives recently, it’s me!). She just left a comment that she and her husband, John, might be coming to London! Yay! Pints are on me!

I’ve been invited by one of my flatmates, Dan the man, to a roller disco tonight, but all of today’s excitement has left me a little more knackered than usual on a Friday afternoon. I think the boogie in my booty needs an early movie night tonight. Have a great weekend!

Hello, Fancy Man

One of my favourite things to do is people watch. London is fantastic for this. Although I’ve learned to be stealth in this past time since my “white c*nt” experience.

Before I moved to London, I lived two blocks from my office. I left my apartment at 8:27 am and would arrive with one minute to spare before my 8:30 start time. Although, this was ridiculously convenient, especially for those times when I arrived at work wearing something that just didn’t “feel/look right” and could quickly nip back home during my break to change, I did miss public transit commuting. As long as I could manage to get a seat, I always enjoyed previous commutes to work. I could read, listen to music, and check out the masses.

Since moving to London, commuting has been an inevitable part of my work day. And, at times, the most enjoyable. My journey from West London to East London takes around 30 minutes. Armed with my iPod and current novel, I spend the entire journey checking out the people who get on and off the train. See, that’s the wonderful thing about it, it could be a pretty boring commute and then BAM(!) a fancy Englishman gets on at King’s Cross St. Pancras and for the next 10 minutes or so I observe his expertly styled, floppy hair, perfectly pressed pink shirt with gold cufflinks and tailored suit, pointy, fashionable shoes and signet ring on his pinky finger. Vancouver doesn’t have many ”fancy” men; a term I use to describe the business men in London who most likely spend more time on grooming than I do, which is saying a lot. They fascinate and amuse me. I think I would be too intimidated to actually date one, since I’m pretty sure that not all of these fancy men are gay. I’ve also been warned by Alayne to avoid men with pinky rings…not quite sure if she’s ever told me why, though?  

 Tourists are my other favourite. I try to figure out where they’re from and where they’re trying to go next. They usually have their London tube map out with their London map (Joey style) and are constantly looking up and down at the larger map posted above the seats. Head up, head down, head up, head down. I remember when I first arrived in London how intimidating The Underground seemed to me. I usually feel a sort of kinship with these fellow foreigners, but at times, they piss me right off. Usually when in large, loud groups, which prevent from getting a seat on the journey home after a long, hard day of…sitting behind a desk, looking cute.

I wonder who will entertain me on my way home from work today? I’m in the mood for tourists or a lady with funky hair to ponder.

Oh, to heck with it…of course I’ll marry you! Just let me ring my mum to tell her the good news

The building maintenance man at my current temp job just proposed. I suggested a Vegas wedding. I knew that someone would propose soon after I declared eternal singledom…works everytime, my friends.

Also…I had a very Bridget Jones/Daniel Cleaver moment just before the proprosal (butI’mnotgoingtoblogaboutitjustyet). I just want to tease you a little.

My sister, Alayne, and her fiance, D-man, arrived back in London yesterday. I am no longer a lost little orphan wandering the cold, damp streets of London looking for someone to love me, or at least give some scraps of food.

Options

So getting a longer contract has turned out to be harder than I originally thought. I am still getting reliable temp work, but in order to make plans for the future (I have two big trips planned for next Spring/Summer to attend two weddings of two very important people in my life), I need a reliable income. So, I am now considering being a Nanny.

Yes, from a woman who has decided that she doesn’t want children, this may seem a little strange, but I do love kids. And I have a lot of experience. And…it surprisingly can pay very well. A LOT more than the Reception/PA/Secretary positions that I’ve applied for recently. I saw one position for £800 npw. That’s like, $1,600 Canadian dollars per week, or $6,400 per month or $76,800 NET per year! I would be pretty happy with half that.

I’m still not sure if I’m up for it, the hanging up my heels and skirts for diapers and bottles, and would definitely want a live-out position, but it’s an option. And, in this economy, a woman needs options.