There's a bounty on my head....

Well, that's being a bit hyperbolic, I'll be frank.  But I've been headhunted for a new restaurant, being opened by, probably, the most premier restauranteurs in Belfast.  Only problem is....I'm not sure I want it.

As the famous saying goes, this is a game of two halves.

Firstly, it was earlier this year, on a night I blogged about actually, that I met this restauranting couple.  Having lent the wife a Vogue cigarrette, we proceeded to chat about work.  Animatedly, I told stories of ridiculous customers, difficult providers and so on.  I don't really know what happened per sé, only that they seemed to really like me.  They told me which restaurant they currently ran (which caused me to emit an inward gasp of appreciation) and told me of their plans for the new one.  We swapped contact details and kept in touch.  Last week, I went down to the current restaurant to chat about the new build, was asked to be a part of it.  IF ONLY IT WAS WHAT I WANTED!!

The second part of this tale was at a druid party this summer.  Come on....It was a druid party.  I kissed a boy.  We've kept in touch and flip, he's really doing it, you know?  Living the dream.  He's a trained doctor and currently completing a diploma in tropical medicine with a view to someday working for an NGO or something.  Jesus Christ.  I am SO jealous of him.  This jealousy, completely ridiculous, is what has made me readdress the dither dather approach I have been taking to my own life.

Hospitality no more.  Even the finest of hospitality jobs.

I'm applying for some jobs with a very large and well known charity.  I feel obliged to take the other job, but only out of politeness. Out of politeness, I mean, good God woman. Its just, is it not a bit like flirting outrageously with someone, then not putting out?!

Hell Is Other People

So flying in a hurricane is childsplay. Turns out the real challenge presenting itself to me last night was the brutes I was sandwiched between. One chap, 50 if a day, a grey mullet (super styled, not redneck. Still shit obviously),a nice tight waistcoat and jeans combo (boke) was sitting beside me reading Nuts. What? Is it not solely seventeen year olds masturbating furiously in their bedrooms who read that?

Then,a businessman squished in the other side, and pulled out 'The World According To Clarkson'. Oh jeeeesus.

I had no book.

Hell is other people.

(n.b Nuts man also read The Daily Mail and Viz. Viz!!)

The Worst Chatting Up Ever

So this weekend, I trotted back over the Irish Sea to visit some pals in Reading and London.  


I know I've been neglecting this blog, but it was broached by some on Friday that I ought to blog more, so...here we are.  I probably could write about a lot of things, but in the spirit of reflecting reality, there's only one event that is sticking in my mind.


On Saturday, I went to London to see a friend's band play.  They were called Move and Fire, and were super awesome, in The Good Ship in Kilburn, North London.  Unfortunately, amid the sea of smiling waving faces when I entered the bar, one smiling waving face stood out.   My stomach froze and my heart did the congo.  I never react to people like such a geek, but this particular boy- I met him once years ago and just thought he was IT.  I mean, he's a nice boy and certainly not unfortunate looking, but my reaction to him is totally irrational.  


I mentally cursed that he was there on Saturday because I knew it would turn my (already slightly) drunk self into a gushing idiot.


Oh, how well I know myself.


Within very little time I had introduced him to my friend with what I can only imagine was a very loud stage whisper 'Yes, and this is the boy I will marry one day....'.  These sort of stage whispers, coming from me, who is always such a quiet girl...yeah.  Frig.


 Were that not bad enough, we got to chatting.  The stupid boy indulged me.  Come ON!  You never indulge the dickheads!  We got to chatting about his course at uni- architecture.


Me: So, How's it going at school?
Him:  Yeah, really well....*blah blah blah*
Me: (gazing earnestly and blearily up at him) You should work for Kitsuné though.  
Him: Ehh... is that an architecture firm?
Me: Oh no.  Its a record label in France.  Very cool.
Him: ?
Cat:  (lost in my soft focus view of him)  Yeah.  Definitely.  You're....you're handsome enough to work for them.


I swear to God, I shouldn't be allowed out.  I NEVER get on like this, its just this boy makes me go crazy.  Frig.  What a complete tosser I am!  Surprisingly, this didn't sink like a lead balloon, in fact, it was only the following day when I remembered the word 'handsome', that I recalled with horror what a schmoozy tool I am.   I also woke him up later that night at about 5am with the whispered words "Hey [   ].  I'm bored, tell me a story?".  TELL ME A STORY?!  Ugh JESUS.  I clearly have ALL THE MOVES.  Thank God he's English and so dealt with me politely.  I know plenty of Irish lads who would've lobbed at pillow at my face and told me to piss off!


Wan


Ker.


Seriously.  Thank God I only see him once or twice a decade.  Maybe thats my lifetime quota filled, and for his sake, I hope it is.  I don't like being a buck eejit!

Not ready...

Something unbelievable, which had frankly left me exhausted, happened last night. I'm not ready to talk about it just yet. I met up with Miss B today for coffee and bumped into a friend who frankly,i was rude to. No reason, other than my head is entirely messed up.

But one thing I will say.

Lady Gaga. Are you following some sort of controversy manual?! First, rumours of severely being a man. Secondly,arriving in a meat dress. Thirdly a song about being in love with Judas.

Oh PLEASE. Whats next? Sodomy?!

Sigourney Weaver (no thanks!) and Memory Loss

Yawn, what a bummer last night turned out to be.  Upon rolling in to the festival marquee, Wally (my usually spot-on barometer of the quality of the night) trotted over.

"You working tonight?  Mmmm its going to be so gorgeous tonight, there's such beautiful piano work..." he oohed, before skipping away.  I was sceptical.  Fair enough, it looked like an okay line up- Rainy Boy Sleep (A Derry act) and John Grant.  [I did notice that once again it was an American folk singer, complete with beard and booze problems. Spot a pattern?!]

In accordance to these booze problems, John Grant had requested that the bar shut before his act.  To me this smacked dually of-

1- If I'm not drinking, no one is!
2- Diva!!  The night before, the act had also given off that people went to the bar during her set.  COME ON GUYS, it's a festival.  That really bugged me.  You're on stage! How much more attention do you need?!

Rainy Boy Sleep though, absolutely lovely.  Many of the bar staff, with our somewhat obscured view (not especially, but that was their excuse) thought initially he was a girl.  Right enough, he looks like a young enough wee pup, and his voice is on the higher side of tenor.  Who cares though- it was absolutely lovely.  He did do the now somewhat hackneyed Foy Vance-esque record, repeat, layer trick.  I'm sure that has a proper name but I don't know it. 

Definitely one of my highlights.  Rainy Boy Sleep and The Chipolatas- (a juggling group who pretneded to be from Germany....yeah I know....)

John Grant though.  Seriously.  I posted up on my Facebook profile that he was playing and got a gushing response from one of my friends, whom I accredit with good taste!!

"Just been listening to the Queen Of Denmark album. The man is goddamn genius. His band the Czars were incredible too."

Ok. So the guy had a few shitty relationships, drank a lot and struggled coming out.  Yeah, I get it, that is generally pretty solid material to make an album.  Certainly, the lyrics were...truthful?  I just felt that....How can I put this.  Wally was right, the piano was lovely.  But the shitty keyboard space effects were not.  Personally speaking, I do like a degree of distance in lyrics.  I mean, obviously I like to be able to relate, but when something sounds like it was literally chucked down on the page and recorded without a second thought...yeah not for me.  An example? 

And I feel just like Sigourney Weaver
When she had to kill those aliens
And one guy tried to get them back to the earth
And she couldn't believe her ears

I feel just like Winona Ryder
In that movie about vampires
And she couldn't get that accent right
Neither could that other guy

Christ, what?!  I dunno.  Maybe its some people's cup of tea (no, obviously it is, massive crowd in last night) but certainly not mine.  I know the bar staff are meant to stay behind on the last night of the festival to bond/unofficially drink all the kegs dry but I couldn't be arsed sitting to 4am in a windy tent.  As I said in the previous post- WHO KNEW?!

The Rest of The Weekend!!

Hmm.  Friday night I was convinced out by B.  We went round to her apartment, ate Chinese food, played Bowie, danced like fiends and DRANK.  Wine and gin.  Upon entry to Gigantic (click for a more conscious version of events) in town, we drank vodka and rum.  The rest of the night...well it basically becomes bullet point.

• Saw Stu B for a second and was delighted. [Reality- I seemed to spend quite a long time with him and spent a good amount of time stroking his hair and encouraging others to do so]
• Saw Jonny the DJs shoes. [Reality- I spoke to him much more and also encouraged him to stroke Stu's hair and told him about when I tried to seduce Stu B with a dead pigeon]
• Saw my housemate. Danced. [Reality- According to Miss B, I was offerd any number of free drinks and had (her words) men swarming round.  I really really do not remember any of this.  Quietly proud that nothing will distract me from dancing!

That's it basically.  Woke up the next day with possibly King Hawk texting me- and I literally could hardly move my head to reply.  Oh crikey it was so bad.  I couldn't move until about 1pm, at which point I knew I had to mend my bike...yeah.  I bought a puncture repair kit from Poundworld (where "Two Tribes" by Frankie Goes to Hollywood came on and I nearly boked with the stress) and when I returned, and flipped my wee bike over....well, it wasn't happening.  I rang my friend in a close-to-tears state, who laughed and said he'd fix it for me and went back to bed.

Somehow at 9pm, B persuaded me to go out again.  She was on a hunt for her dream man, a doctor at her work.  We went to the Limelight of all place, sober.  Ahh Christ.  No way.  Left and went back to Lavery's.  Had a totally awesome night, of which I remember it all.  Oh, and B met her dream guy!! He was there!!  Brilliant.  I told you, I can solve all my friend's problems.... 



Things I have leant this weekend

Good weekend. Longer blog following but first, what I have learnt or discovered;

#1. I now can literally not sleep without talk radio. I set the sleep function an hour ago, slept like a baby, and immediately woke up when it went off.
#2. Extremely cheap nights are completely possible.
#3. Reading trashy chick lit, instead of something great (like the Hemingway I was given as a gift recently) develops an unhealthy and over simplistic God complex-any one of your friends problems can be easily fixed, is part of a greater really funny/sweet/important plot twist and all within your power to fix in a flash.
#4. I can solve most of my friends problems. ;)
#5. When the company is bad, I will refuse kegs and kegs of free booze and all night drinking-WHO KNEW?!
#6. I seriously hate going out with people who say, 'mmm, yeah i'll have what she's having.' The number of people I said this to who looked at me blankly means I clearly only know people who order what their mate's having.
#7. Balsamic vinegar remains to be, like, the shit man.
#8. Gin destroys memory. And confirms hangovers.
#9. I am too easily wound up.
#10. There are still at least two people in Belfast who make me feel like I've been kicked in the stomach by an invisible horse when I see them.

Oh and while I remember...

... I was chatting to some lady friends lady night about my vague idea of trying stand up comedy. Pointed out an interesting theme would be my lifelong ability to attract nudity, often unwanted and unreciprocated.

We were giggling about this as I explained and indeed showed some examples. Next thing we knew,a drunk guy I had served at the bar came up...he seemed innocent enough until I went to leave, to which he squealed, ' No! You can't leave! You're my girl!'
*cue eye roll*
' I'm not your girl. I'm married!'

At this he glanced at my left hand, laughed, squeezed me just a little too tightly and said, ' No you're not, you're one of those independent girls. You're a Friday night type girl.'

Does that really translate the sleaze and very obvious subtext which led my friend Claire's eyes to widen and gasp, ' You really DO attract them!'?!?

Yuck. Dirty boys.

Double Take v2.0

Do you ever wonder that you may, in fact, be going crazy?

I have some time to kill in town, so decided to sit by the City Hall and read. I noticed two guys sitting by the grass, one bearded and fair, the other clean cut and dark. They sparked my interest initially because they had a guitar case, so I thought they may be in the festival. Within about two seconds, I noticed the dark one moved and looked just like my epic epic ex. He was like an older version. Or was he older?

From my viewpoint, I started to panic that it was in fact him. I mean really panic. I ran it through in my head, if he was over, he'd tell me, right? Like a psycho, I realised my weekend would be tortuous if I didn't find out, so like a freak I moved from my chair to walk, what,100 yards to a new one with a better view.

It is not him. In fact, movements aside, he bears little resemblance. I'm posting this confession of low lying madness up in the vague hope it might embarrass my insane subconscious enough to prevent a repeat performance...

Is it love or grief when you still, after...two and a half years, still feel like you've been punched in the stomach when you pseudo-glimpse your ex?

Kowlaski, RSAG, Not Squares and Cashier No 9

Last night at the festival, I was delighted to learn the line up included Kowalski, RSAG, Not Squares and Cashier No 9.  Well, that's a bit of a lie- I was delighted about all of them, except RSAG, who I had never heard of before.

First on stage was Kowalski.  I was ready to cheer 'em on, not least because one of their mums had come to the bar to express her nerves that no one would be present for the gig.  Rightly so- the gigs started really early and the sets were short.  That said, Kowalski played a solid wee set, and indulged in a bit more chat with the audience than any other act of the night (bonus points!).  I don't really know a lot of their music, but I enjoyed its upbeat poppy indie sound. 

Next up- to my amazement- was Not Squares.  I had heard them in sound check and as a bit of a fan in the making, I have to say, I think they did better then.  There were a few tiny wee tempo mistakes, but it seemed to be an emotional evening for them.  They dedicated a song to one of their friends who sadly died during the week from cancer.  So tragic. It was weird to see them third on a bill instead of headlining, but they delivered a fast paced and dynamic performance as usual. 

Next up was the mystery RSAG.

This was a performance and a half.  With really excellent video graphics, showing himself playing a variety of instruments, RSAG (or Jeremy Hickey) wowed the crowd on the drums.  His voice was powerful and deep, with a strong likeness to Ian Curtis or LCD Soundsystem.  Definitely would recommend him and definitely will endeavour to see him again in the future.

Personally speaking, Cashier No 9 have always been one of those bands whose name has been bandied around but I've never been entirely sure if I have seen them or not.  Clearly, I had not.  I was really impressed with how tightly they play- my friend John even muttered "It sounds like a CD is playing....".  The lighting was also really well done, which makes such an enormous difference.  A lot of their songs seem to be very haunting or ethereal, and the lighting effects really added to the atmosphere.  I was informed that they have recently been signed to the same label as Fleet Foxes, and frankly, I'm not surprised.

Behind the music....

Like the music was the only story last night.  Yeah right.  I actually rolled into work not knowing what was on the bill (as I keep doing, really wouldn't hurt to take a peek at the programme) so really was totally delighted to discover the line up.  I also realised that the gig would be full of people, not least my mates. 

As it turned out, the gig wasn't half as full as I thought it would be, which is nuts.  The tickets were only £5, and in a marquee with a capacity of 1000+, only 130 tickets were sold before the gig.  What!  Ridiculous. 

The stream of people who did come in, nonetheless, mostly were people I knew.  The ex I have referred to had informed me he had worked his last shift, but he rolled up (with gf in tow, what an arse!).  Also present were two other ex's (of varying...can I say calibre?  Thats the nature of the relationships, not the guys in question....) and a bunch of my girl mates.  When given the opportuinty to get off early, I did so- admittedly, this will cut down my sad little pay packet further but I wanted a night with good music and chat. 

That said....there wasn't that much adventure last night.  It was all relatively civilised, the most thrilling part being perhaps when I managed to wangle a second free cider.  Not cool guys.  I think I'm slowly slipping back into my drama queen behaviour....not that I am a princess type or anything like it, just that frequently, when things calm down, I drum up drama in the most unlikely of places to keep myself entertained.  Often, this drama (as is the case with any sort of high dramatics, let's be frank) quickly spins out of control and I find myself wishing for calmness once more.  Right now though- the ship is sailing too steadily!

Weird Women and Mystery Boy

So last night at the festival, Camille O'Sullivan was playing.  Her entry in the programme, looked really interesting, and certainly seemed hotly anticipated.  The main organiser chap, Wally, had previously told me he was most looking forward to seeing this woman - due, in no small part I suspect, to her photo involving a lot of leg and fishnet stocking.  

When I arrived, I called Wally over to ask about his excitement levels.  He arched a cynical eyebrow and muttered, "Well, the picture is certainly an extremely flattering one..." I spluttered a laugh and told him he was being a bitch.  He laughed again and said he ought to be used to it by now, publicity shots showing people as gloriously attractive, and in no way relating to reality.  He also added "She did come in like a whirlwind though.  I imagine she'd be the perfect girl to be stuck in hotel room with with several bottles of champagne and a few grammes of coke..."  Now that's a recommendation!

The bar staff arrive quite close to the doors opening as, well, its a bar in a tent, so there isn't drastic levels of things to do.  I was very surprised to see Camille was still sound checking, indeed, she continued to do so with the audience already in the enclosure and standing right outside.  It was at this stage we all started to see what she was really like-  at best you could call her a perfectionist, at worst a demanding bitch.  She kept on at one of her band members to "play quieter" insisting it wasn't the volume that was making him loud, but how hard he was playing.  Now, I know there is a degree of truth to this, but Christ, the way she went on.  

Before the performance began, a skinny ginger guy with a badly knotted tie came up to me and nervously ordered a half Guinness.  He then proceeded to tell me how he was friends with Camille on Facebook and had arranged for her to do a special shout out of some kind so he could propose to his girlfriend.  He seemed really uneasy and when I enquired why, he said he wasn't sure that she would have got the message.  As I've previously mentioned, my ex has been doing the sound at this festival, so I told him if he wrote a note I could guarantee it got backstage.  He did so (at first twitching and asking me what to write, before embarking on writing a small novel) and I trotted forward.  My ex leapt into action (though frankly I felt he was and had been ignoring me) and assured me he'd sort it out.  Lo and behold, halfway through the set , Camille dedicated a song and a wee poem to the couple, who later emerged as an engaged item.  This would be heartbreakeningly sweet, had it not been for the skinny ginger guy coming back to the bar to bitch at me- "Christ me girl's got a bake on her tonight.  She's in foul form.  I've told her to buck up as I've got a surprise for her [way to go keeping that under wraps Casanova] but like Christ alive.  She's probably on her period or something.  Swear to God, if she says no, I'll come over here and get your number."

Not quite so romantic huh?

As for Camille's performance, I found it awkward and weird, and not in a good 'kooky' way.  She seemed to be entirely full of herself as far as I could tell, without the goods to back it up.  Not my thing at all- I could imagine she might be the kind of girl who'd turn up at a party and declare she was "the mad one".  Each to their own, but when I was offered the chance to go home early, I took it.  As did about 50-60% of the staff.

On my way home, I was cycling past an area where I knew a guy I'd been texting lived.  Having lived off toast and dilute orange juice for a million years, I decided to send him a text.  To explain this- for a month around Christmas time I featured on an advert (well, several) for a popular soap opera.  Also at this time, I got accidentally texted by a guy in the city, who as we texted, we found out we lived very close toe ach other.  I still have to admit, I find it suspect that of all the UK mobile numbers you could accidentally dial, to get one in the same postcode as you is unnerving.  That said, he seemed like a nice enough chap.  He had suggested meeting up several times but I was never keen for it, but last night I just decided to do it.  I cycled round, and yeah, I was a bit nervous, but he was utterly  sweet and really nice.  I can post that I did this on this blog because if I told anyone in real life I am sure they would string me up!  We chatted and I drank a few tins of cider before alunching into a really self indulgent tirade about Al Quaeda and the media's messed up view of it....yeah.  Pure sexy!

Double Take

So last night at the festival was a chap called Stewart Francis.  Apparently he is some big deal (seemingly all you need is ot appear on a panel show and you're all set these days), but I didn't hang around to check him out.  Not that I don't enjoy comedy, I just wasn't on form for it.

What I think was the root of this was a horrifying second where I caught eyes with, not exactly an ex, but an old aquaintance (literally talking about 6 years ago here at the very least) who I'd always half liked, from a distance, about a million years ago.  It was utterly insignificant, and didn't create any awkwardness between us, but still, I reacted as if I'd been punched in the stomach.

Reasons? Twofold-

One- I thought the guy had left the country, which he had.  But I also found out this very weekend that something truly awful and frankly unbelievable had happened to him.  Its his business not mine, so I won't post it here, but still.  Bad.
Two- I realised that I always thought he was a bit of a looker.  Cheeky, in that Irish twinkly way.  It was with utter horror last night that when I looked at him, I realised whatever quality it was I was attracted to, was exactly the same quality the last guy I was involved with had.

How awful would it be, if we all kept going for the same prototype all the time?!  I'd be doomed, as my much mocked type is definitely dark, troubled and hairy.  Through in some alcohol abuse and we're talking true love.  Jesus Christ, I wish I was kidding.  I think it has to be because I'm, on the face of it, very different from that.  Everyone thinks I'm this cheery, happy-go-lucky girl.  For the most part, I play my role well, but yeah.  I like the messed up ones because I definitely connect, and possibly feel less guilty about unloading my own baggage on them then.  It becomes a fair trade.

Festival Frolics and The Man of My Dreams!

Thank CHRIST.

Went to see The Family Jams with C two days ago, restored my dwindling obsession with beards... Little did I know this would bear much fruit only one day later...

                              
Last night at the festival I saw Josh T Pearson, and whilst his music was maybe a little too low key for my personal tastes (I overheard one punter describing him as "an earnest man with a beard"), I absolutely fell in love with him.  He came over to the bar before hand and winked as he asked "You guys all boozing while you're working? I know I would be...but then again, drinking brings me out in handcuffs...."  Then later he cracked a joke about not being offered a beer, and when we all jumped to serve him, he chuckled and said he didn't drink.  I asked him to shout out to the bar, which he did, numerous times, as well as making us tip jars.  When he came back over, he leaned in to ask my name...When I told him, my heart skipped a beat when he purred "Oh, like the animal?  Well thats just perfect for you..."  Jesus wept.  Easy girl!
I offered him a drink then and mentioned that I couldn't figure out if he liked drinking or didn't.  To this he grinned and said "Yeah, thats the problem, I like drinking too much."  To which, in my infinite sensitivity, spluttered "Oh right, so shit, you really are an alcoholic then?"   In my defense, I then tried to rescue this awful verbal faux-pas by giving him a look of knowing cheekiness, like saying shit like that was just the usual for me....(it is, but its not like I do it on purpose, you know?!)

 An absolute gem, and hairy as hell, hahaha.

Also playing were the Drive-By Truckers, who were really much more lively and I guess, well received.Thank God, I was given more shifts at work....That said, the ex who also works there is being a prize chump, and keeps sending me mega watt inappropriate photos.  I think he is finally pissed at me cause I told him in no uncertain terms (well, for the THOUSANDTH time) that he's being a shit to his girlfriend.  What is with that?  I know he has no intention on leaving her, just seems content to fuck around on her.  What a wanker.  Glad I got out of that one when I did!

Anyway.  Off I go to try and apply for lots of shit jobs.  Wish me luck!!

Festival Fever

Yo, so after a period of general disarray and lounging, I re-enter the world of work tonight.  Its at a festival and I shall be pulling pints for the delightful folk who have enough disposable income to attend...

Last night, in a celebratory mood, I decided to drink a shed load of rosé wine.  Big mistake my friend.  In the middle of said jovial high jinx, I got an email from my ultra-hyper-mega ex which spun me out entirely.  I ended up, in my drunken state, telling him how I was "encouraged" [read tragically torn apart] that he was in a new relationship because it meant there was hope for me yet...Yeah.  DEFINITELY would not have said this had I had all my wits about me.  It is the truth of course, but he doesn't need to know that.  In fact, is it the truth?!  The truth is much more, I'd like him to acknowlegde that we are each others soulmates, but c'est la vie.  I ended it, so its my fault!  He told me to keep writing and not to "idolise" him. Ouch.

Anyway.  Festival time.  Another super annoying ex of mine is going to be there.  An ex who keeps propositioning me with distasteful activities despite having a new, and from what I can tell, super nice and very pretty girlfriend.  I really don't want to see him.  That said, I've been told that whilst I text him saying to, err, bugger off and call his girlfriend, it might be better being said in person.  THAT will be fun, no doubt!

What.
The.
Hell.

There's randomly been £150 added to my account.  Not sure why.  Bit scared!!

Rubbish Round-up Robin

SO...what a week.  In the vagaries of a Craig David song, lost my job on Monday, got a job interview on Tuesday, went on a test day on Wednesday....but then it all went tits up.  I got sent to Poleglass, and yeah, so help me, it was for door to door sales?! Are you serious? I walked out.  I've now walked out on two jobs in my life- once, an Italian restaurant about 6 years ago (cause, really, that food preparation was not cool.) and then this Wednesday. 

I'm not going to go into mega details but I do have work lined up for next week, and a big deal in a few months.  So I'm feeling cool.

NOT so cool in the old relationships front.  Have literally realised that I am cold and detached.  I may be nice, God help me, I'm nice (to the proverbial fault, seriously, got in trouble for that this week too!) but I just don't fancy anyone.  It's rubbish.  A la Dean Martin, its been a long time since the world seems to shine like its had too much wine.  But yeah, that's what the hawks like, I've figured it out.  I'm totally myself because I don't get nervous and shy, because I don't like them.  Ha. 

Went out with a chap and actually, yeah had a full on lovely time.  Couldn't fault it and if we were mates he'd be mega.  But he wants to be boyfriend and girlfriend, for like ever and ever (ahem).  Yeah.  God God God love him.  Worst thing to say ever.

Anyway, been taking it easy this weekend....partially to do with the financials, but also, I'm quite enjoying having time to myself.  Doing the family thing tomorrow, the works, National Trust property, barbecue, family friends, the works.  Aiiiii..... Crikey.  I'm not sure what the booze situation will be but...yeah.  God help us.

Catch A Break

Tonight, I am meant to be meeting up with a hawk.  I ought to explain the title of this blog.  Catch a pigeon is the way my good friend C has referred to the hawks (naughty boys) trying to catch me.  Its in reference to the Dick Dastardly and Muttley cartoon where they would try to catch the pigeon...who would always escape. 

This seems kind of funny, except for the fact that I am a bit notoriously emotionally dead (at least between myself and some close friends, we've discovered this) following a big bad heartbreak, ehh, what, two and a half years ago?!  Dear god.  But yes, seems like if you don't give a crap, its like catnip to chaps.  Which is funny except when this manifests itself as 4am bootie calls and dirty photos.  Which, frankly, beyond a certain point starts to make the proverbial pigeon feel a little skanky.


Anyway, this hawk is a particularly dangerous.  Will keep you posted.


And in other news....


Yesterday, I lost my job.  Obviously going into details is a little tawdry at this stage (no doubt I will do at some point) but needless to say- OUCH. 


The seven stages of grief are as follows-

1. SHOCK & DENIAL-You will probably react to learning of the loss with numbed disbelief. You may deny the reality of the loss at some level, in order to avoid the pain.
Reality- I spent all weekend at my friend Mike's house and with friends- distracting myself in a very major way...

2. PAIN & GUILT-
As the shock wears off, it is replaced with the suffering of unbelievable pain. Although excruciating and almost unbearable, it is important that you experience the pain fully, and not hide it, avoid it or escape from it with alcohol or drugs.
Reality- errr....I didn't feel any pain, but I did drink.  Ooooh yes. I fear the lack of pain may be because I veered quickly into stage 3....You may rail against fate, questioning "Why me?"


3. ANGER & BARGAINING-
Frustration gives way to anger, and you may lash out and lay unwarranted blame for the loss on someone else. 
Reality- Fact; Everyone thinks I've been stitched up.  So, yes, I was angry. Just when your friends may think you should be getting on with your life, a long period of sad reflection will likely overtake you.


4. "DEPRESSION", REFLECTION, LONELINESS-
During this time, you finally realize the true magnitude of your loss, and it depresses you.  You may sense feelings of emptiness or despair.
Reality- Not so much.  Did have a few very vivid moments of horror and fear that I was losing The Game Of Life.


5. THE UPWARD TURN, 6. RECONSTRUCTION & WORKING THROUGH and 7. ACCEPTANCE & HOPE--
As you start to adjust to life, your life becomes a little calmer and more organized.
During this, the last of the seven stages in this grief model, you learn to accept and deal with the reality of your situation.Well now, obviously there is more than a little hyperbole at play here.  But yes, always the overachiever, I've sped through the seven stages of grief. Ha.  Lost my job yesterday, first fresh job interview today. 

Little bit concerned its a horrible marketing sales job, an avenue I have meandered down before.  Not a good fit for me.  That said, money is money!