Sweet Dreams are made of peaceful lunchbreaks

So maybe it will only annoy my boss to see me procrastinating online when I actually have work to do, and when it’s not lunchtime. Apart from now when she’s messaging me about it :s

I’ve been gearing up in a writerly sense for a new project called “Sweet Dreams” – we’ll see how that goes.

Oh, and kitty is sick. sadface: both for her illness and me having to clean it up at 4:30am.

Meritocracy

Amendment: did I say “demotion” in my last post? I meant redundancy. Sigh.

Still, not me. I’ve had my official debriefing with heavy emphasis on the “none of this was personal” aspect and detailed description of how all our work has been assessed on various catagories for the last few months. It is reassuring to know that I am working in a meritocracy, as any workplace should be. It means that web use and desk naps are not taken into account, just the quality of the work we produce. Strangely the changes, scheduled for Oct 1, will create an almost total gender balance in our part of the office from the existing mostly male writing team with female project managers. I don’t know if this will make any difference. Probably not. Personalities are far stronger than gender characteristics, but there are some people here of very limited understanding.

Since most of the housefolks moved out me and partner have been spending more time in each other’s pockets. I find this interesting because although we’ve been living in the same house for 2 years we’ve only just started formally sharing a room and with our only other housefolk little more than a cackle at the top of the stairs it is much more like living alone as a couple. A final stage of adjustment/trial of if we could or should live together. So far we have spent half this time with me ill and him nursing me. At the moment we are still in the transition phase, one night we couldn’t think of anything to do and moped about, last night we were full of giggles and ate noodles in bed while watching DVDs. I’m sure it will balance out.

An interesting thing that came up while watching said DVDs was a discussion about American dating practices as represented on TV. I was wondering if the multiple dating concept was as prevalent as TV makes out of if it’s a middle class urbanite thing, and partner said he didn’t like the idea at all and preferred the “once you ask someone out that’s who you’re dating” method, aka the British method. I told him that that was just a part of our culture to think that way and he looked concerned. I’m sure to him it feels as natural as cheese on a pizza but it is just a concept of our particular society. I think his concern was that I might believe that and want to date someone else. I do believe it, but I am quite happy being monogamous with him. Meritocraticly I believe he justifies this choice.

Win

Two things of Win: first that they finally got back to me about a shiny new career advancement test at work which I shall be taking shortly, second that apples have come into season and I can now buy British again: screw you Belgium with your icky sour jongereds.

Bolognese extract

Bolognese, my latest story, first draft, which I am aiming to polish and submit to a competition by the deadline 6 days from now. It should be ok. I will leave it a day or so and come back to it. I kinda feel bad; my last story was about an awful dumping and this is about remembering an abusive ex. Not all the men in my stories are bad. Tony is an ok guy. And the first story of my recent revival, the Electric Dude Interlude, is about a nice guy. I really like him. It’s a shame his story was so short. Maybe I’ll bring him back if I need him later.

“He’d left pans and knives out where I could find them but I had to root around for a strainer. Flipping open the cupboards I found a quarter bottle of whiskey – Bell’s – the same kind Eddie used to have. It’d been two years but I’d always remember. Number of times he threw those bottles at me I’m surprised I’m not still ringing. But Tony…”

Do women taste their own virginia?

This is one of the searches someone typed in that found my blog yesterday. Do women taste their own Virginia? I think Virginia Woolf’s prose would taste of semicolons. I think her corpse would taste dry and old and leathery.

But I’m sure that’s not what the questioner really meant, though the absurdity of their malapropism detracts from the offensiveness of the question. It’s not the kind of thing you can find a conclusive answer to on google, and I doubt there is a wikipedia page about it. It reminds me of yesterday afternoon when I am certain I heard a guy say something about tits as he drove past me. That was intimidating as well though, and reminded me that it has been a long time since I went anywhere other than to work and back by myself.

Trying to find out if women like the taste of their vaginas is just weird. It implies that all women will have the same opinion on the matter. It implies that the questioner is planning a sexual encounter with a woman and while on the one hand it may be seen as considerate to do some research first it isn’t going to help in the slightest as it won’t take her preferences into account. I sigh at the hopelessness of this misguided individual and hope that if things start getting daft in the bedroom they have a little laugh over it and have a good time.

I will assume the questioner is not a woman, otherwise she could just taste her own juices without the aid of a search engine (unless she was checking if it was a good idea first). I’m guessing he is young, shy and inexperienced from the typo and … well the need to ask the question at all. I’m hoping he was researching in order to avoid a faux pas while getting creative in the bedroom and wants to please his female friend(s) genuinely and earnestly.

I am really hoping he is not a creep, looking for weird descriptions of finger-licking fun because his web-browser is banned from accessing the pr0n. Access the pr0n elsewhere, my dear, you’ll not be finding it here.

I have hunger

Ich habe hunger. Yes I do, burning a hole in my belly and my head. After last week’s no snacking at work between meals success I am now struggling as I enter the huge appetite phase of my hormone cycle. It feels weak to admit that my hormones have influence over me but their impact is impossible to ignore. Last night I ate a 150g bag of kettle chips after dinner. At the time I blamed the goodness of sweet vinegar.

I don’t usually read the Metro on the bus/train but I may start. In the last few weeks two headlines have grabbed my attention, one about unreported harassment of LGBT people and today’s follow-up on the guy the police mistakenly threw to the ground and pointed a gun at. I can’t say if they were doing this to show that young black men can be middle-class Oxford graduates or to show that racial profiling is ineffectual and wrong. I’ll keep my eye out for future headlines.

In more personal news the downturn of the economy has made it unfeasible for our landlord to sell our home so we don’t have to leave just yet. It will be a lot easier to house hunt when my dear one has a job. I still don’t want to stay in our current house for too long though, as certain factors make it an uncomfortable living space. My reaction to Housefolk Epsilon is getting worse. I think I am developing pronounced retard intolerance, like lactose intolerance, which makes anything he says hard for me to digest. When you are struggling to even make small talk with a person it’s easier to just steer clear. I usually only see him now when I’m cooking and am trapped in the room with his fearsome odour. BO that can overpower the smell of freshly chopped onion is extreme.

I don’t like feeling this way about a person. For predominently selfish reasons. Any time I have tried to reconsider he does something that makes me feel my dislike is justified. Any time he states the obvious about a film or tv show we are watching I cringe. Any time I try to make an excuse for him like only child syndrome or poor parenting I remember that he is an adult man and has control over himself. Any time he says anything right wing I want to simulatenously laugh and vomit about the stupidity and falseness of what he has said. I cannot live with this person any more. If I end up staying in my current house a while longer I will be counting the days until I can say goodbye to him forever.

Oh the shame

After my last post complaining about the terrible food smells from someone else’s cooking I am deeply ashamed to say my food last night was awful. At first it didn’t smell so bad, just a bit ripe, but it remained until the spices were added and tasted a little rancid. I am amazed we didn’t get ill from it. My stomach has superhero levels of indestructibility – its only nemesis is milk.

Generally I don’t have to much to be ashamed of or embarrassed by. I was a little embarrassed when reading Anais Nin on the train. I was a little embarrassed by the sound of the vibrator so we put the TV on. I realised I would be embarrassed wearing a bikini in front of my mum, but I checked and I don’t have to do that. I find cooking for people intimidating.

I think I must be losing my mind – for an entire 45 seconds I considered moving to Milton Keynes.

The delicious scent of roadkill

As I do not drive I’m not talking about actual roadkill. I am glad of this, as corpses make me sad.

I am of course referring to Housemate Epsilon’s culinery exploits which smelled suspiciously like roadkill. Usually a bad smell is a sign that you should not eat something, but I guess you never can be sure where canned meat comes from. I may not have the best diet but I would put money on me living longer than him. Also: spicy bean burgers for the nom – I don’t understand why some people willfully ingest gross things that give them heartburn and constipation. Bizarre self-destructive behaviour.

I was also upset last night when after watching pointless violent britflick Outlaw conversation drifted from comedy violence to sharing mugging stories, of which some people seem to be proud. I do not like to think about the time I was attacked. I do not like to consider what my reaction would be if I was attacked again – probably the same uncontrollable screaming. I do not like to be reminded that more than half the people I pass in the street could overpower me if they wanted to.

I am glad that I have a lovely man who gave me hugs after this conversation, and stroked my hair and made me laugh.

Decisions

I have decided to open a second blog called Parody of Virtue for better thought out pieces of writing. This is after reading the comment I got about my ‘personal beliefs’ entry which made me realise that yes, this is a largely pointless and meandery blog, written for myself to clarify my thoughts in an attempt to maintain sanity and improve my mental agility. And vent, but that’s so obvious a thing to do with a blog it’s barely worth mentioning. On the one hand it’s my personal blog and although I am happy for people to read it I don’t write with an audience in mind. On the other hand I’m not helping myself as a writer if all I do is spaff out a train of thought every day. Writing quality reviews and opinion pieces will serve me much better and provide a better product should anyone happen to read it. Whether it will actually be any good or not I don’t know. It will probably begin somewhat subparr and improve with time.

This is breaking my brain somewhat as my motivation is being diverted from work ie the things I actually get paid to do. It doesn’t help that I find it harder to concentrate with menstruating but that’s usually fixed with a cup of coffee. Sidenote (and further indication of my hormone driven ADD) I discovered last night where I can buy frozen pig’s uterus. After all those stories you here about people chowing down on pig’s penis and it never once occured to me that pig’s uterus would be just as tasty. I wonder if it tastes different if the pig has had a litter?

Peanut butter jelly time

If I had a choice, that would be my lunch. As it stands (or as I sit) lunch is beetroot soup. It’s good soup, I really can’t knock the quality of it, I just fancy a bit of PB&J.

After yesterday’s massive expulsion of energy trying to get as much work done as possible before asking for an extension today I have been unable to do anything. Untrue, I wrote one line that finished a section which allowed me to tick off one box. I wanted to or rather I should do five boxes today but it’s fairly safe to say that ain’t gonna happen.

Damn this apathy. It’s probably repressed concern for the cat’s pyrotechnic stomach – I woke to the sound of chunder, while I breakfasted she politely declined in favour of a bumsplosion, then before I left she reversed (cats don’t reverse btw, they turn round or fall over) between the recycling crates and brought up some bile that looked very similar to the parsnip foam I had once at a wedding. One of her eyes was a bit weepy but that may have been from the smell. She is a poor sickly baby. I am glad I can rely on my partner to fawn over her all day and try to feed her water and flakes of tuna. I hope she is well enough to leave alone for a few hours this evening as we are planning to go to the cinema. I have chosen to believe that she has eaten something foul and is not ill and will be back to her annoying face-poking-at-5am self shortly. After all, if you’re going to get up at 5am it might as well be in June when the sun is out.