Just realised something very scary: on the 13^th March, Not Like Paris Hilton will be a year old. The big 1! What should we do? Party at mine? I’m thinking, for one week before the big day, I will publish my email address (not my regular one, so all weirdos / ex-boyfriends will not cause too much upset…), and you can send WHATEVER YOU WANT TO SAY on this here space to me for publication. NLPH has always been about other people as well as myself, so I think it’s only fair. Obviously I’m not going to choose “ I hate crippled lesbian immigrants” or anything, but whatever is important to you at the time may be submitted. Novelty fonts will be utilised, and I may even resort to the odd emoticon. Why yes. I might even choose my favourite pictures from the past 12 months for a fun retrospective, blog-stylee (ie: this is my cat. Isn’t it cute??).

Get set and go for NLPH’s big 1. It will be fun. There will be cake. But probably only for me…

 

Bloody Hell, a year!!

 

Oops, better go – my Easy Rider poster has just plummeted to the floor. Balls.

 

Laters.

xx

 

So here I am, thinking: Valentine’s Day. What the hell is the point? I spent all of last night inflating balloons and spending thirty three – read it, thirty three – squids on food, so that wonderous boyfriend could announce that he hates the whole shebang, never celebrates it, and doesn’t like risotto.

Still, he’s here and we are together and despite the brief foray into Sky Sports territory which was ended with a quick evil, we are having a nice time. Well, at least until I decided that writing this would be a good idea. The risotto was lovely, and entirely worth the twenty – count it, twenty – minutes spent stirring, but too rich and I now feel sick. I have, however, proved that I can cook. Three months of eating nothing but pre-made food had made me wonder. Although if it cost this much every time, I’m sure I can manage another tin of spaghetti hoops.

But really, Valentine’s Day – quell point? I would rather have flowers bought for me once in the year for no real reason than because my beau feels compelled to every Feb 14^th. Surely the whole point of romance is unpredictability? Why not take October 14^th off work and go for a walk on the beach? Or go for a slap up meal on June 14^th, simply because it’s a Wednesday? (It is, by the way – marvel at my research skills…) my point, and yes, there is one – hooray! I finally have a point! – is that a shitty card and a bunch of garage-bought flowers with the “£1.99!” sticker still on them will not make up for the bad bits, and certainly won’t supersede the good bits. And hey, let’s not for at that this is yet another saint’s day that we have entirely forgotten the meaning of, and allowed to become a field day for the card companies; the inane women’s press; and the molly-coddling, home-grown, brown bread internet-snugglers peddling “craft ideas” and “favourite tips”. A trip to the Metrocentre ‘other day was like walking through Soho – bras, pants and suspenders EVERYWHERE. A baby in a pram was sat contentedly beneath a poster in the window of Ann Summers advertising the “Rampant Rabbit Thruster”. Nice image. I’ll treasure it.

Right, I sound like Mary Whitehouse and I suppose I’m going to have to do the washing up.

 

Love and snugs for Valentine’s Day. And all that crap.

 

Laters.

xx

I communicate with you tonight from my new laptop. I'll not go into details, but a generous benefactor donated it on the provisio that my spare room be wallpapered with rejection letters by early 2007, so at least they can see I've made the effort. I LOVE it.

 

Well, I last night met the lovely Chris and almost hugged the poor bugger to death in my cheerful cherry beer haze. Trillians always does that to me. I spent the next hour talking to a bi girl who thought that because I'd said sorry to her in the toilets when I stood on her foot, that I was in want of a long and meaningful sapphic relationship. I have to say, that in my experience, a lot of lesbians are like Jehovah's witnesses, in that they will see you standing with your boyfriend discussing blow jobs (obviously my friend would be explaining what they are to me, Mam...) and wearing a t-shirt bearing the legend "I fancy men", and appoach you with the phrase "have you ever considered having a relationship with a woman??". Short of pamphlets, I'm sure they can't get more sex the old fashioned way. (Beth, you aren't like this.) Still, it's the only time I ever get chatted up, so musn't grumble...

 

But last night was really all about the booze, and by the time Wayne turned up fresh from a night of making "speciality" cakes with his little friends, I was more than ready to head off into the sunset (see also polluted black fog), get a pizza and head home. It is perhaps indicative of my state, that my last memory of the night was trying to stuff a whole pizza into my mouth whilst putting my pyjamas on and pouring a glass of water. If only I could multi-task at half seven in the morning; my life would be so much easier.

 

Work is work, but I have made the discovery that I can piss about a lot more now. Worringly, I'm still bored, but at least I get a couple of laughs a day. I also discovered on Friday that I have "skills" which are lacking in the office, and I think I'm going to be pulled back on to the old section periodically because they are, frankly, shit. And I can waltz in, do their outstanding work in a couple of hours and make it look easy, and then waltz back to my hole-punching. *smug*. But I now know that when I leave they will have a few problems. And this makes me smile.

 

Right, I'm off to look at the fridge, which has food in it for the first time in two months. My mother raised me right...

 

Laters.

xx

This is the voice of Xine, Lady of the Hole Punch, and Master Treasury-Taggist. Hear me all ye Servants of the Civic and despair! Rise against your oppressors! Unshackle your aching arms from the vile bonds of EDS programming! Run to the filing cabinet and there unleash all Godly Hell upon it! FIGHT THE POWER AND DESTROY THE MAN!!!!

 

“ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ…………..”

 

Right, I am now awake again, and I promise that I will not mention work again in this entry. We all know that they are horrible and that I am hideously wasted in my current position, but I was giving Wayne a lecture the other day, and realised that I should be following my own advice. My destiny is my own. If they expect me to enjoy putting legal paperwork in order and I don’t, then why don’t I leave?

 

Exactly.

 

So I’m going to shut up, because I have actually managed to achieve a rather special level of existence and start to do my own head in. Something not even Julie Birchill has ever achieved. Go me.

 

So, other news, which mostly involves pretending to write, going out, getting astoundingly drunk, and watching a lot of shit TV. Hurrah.

 

Firstly, pretending to write. Yes, yes, that’s exactly what I am doing right now.

 

Going out, then. Well, I did, and I got absolutely steaming and had a fine old time. I made friends with some people who I generally claim to hate, leading to an all-pervading sense on Saturday afternoon of “well, what do I have to fill my days in with now? If not copious amounts of bile?” A small breach of confidence later, and they were back to being on the “oh, no, actually, you are a bit weird” list. We have normality. I don’t remember much about Friday, except it involved more vodka than I had ever seen and Legends. Which often makes for an interesting night if with the right people. I was, and spent most of the evening wearing a large (I mean it. Large enough to cover even my ample 36G-ness…) sticker which read “I’m Gay and 50 Today!!”. I received a lot of comments from people who didn’t think I looked 50. I think the other bit might have been a moot point. I’m not sure. Quite a few blokes spoke to me in Legendsies, though. Anyway, I felt like hell on Saturday so I think I’ll try and be a bit more sensible in future. *ahem*.

 

TV: mostly Gladiators on Challenge (which The Suze thought was sad till she came over for tea and actively participated in a spot of “3! 2! 1!” with me.) I used to have a thing for Trojan when I was 13. I’m fairly glad that it died along with my love of Garth Brooks and leggings. It’s the harnesses. They do nothing for the groin area….

Also top of my happy list this week is WWE, which I’m not going to dwell on because I spent so long dissing Wayne and Chris for it. Suffice to say I have subscribed to Sky Sports 3. I don’t watch any of the soaps, so it’s nice to follow something. Even if current plots do seem to involve worm-eating voodoo spirit-y things and a dead man who’s after a heavyweight title. Note: THIS TOTALLY BEATS EMMERDALE BY A MILLION MILES. So I have a thing for sweaty men at the minute? Who doesn’t?!

 

Erm… I like biscuits and made very impressive spaghetti bolognaise on Tuesday. Aren’t you glad to know all this?

 

That is all.

 

Laters.

xx