DAY 14 BITCHES!

Another purely gratuitous pic of the delectable Wentworth I know, but it is loosely related to what I'm about to say, I promise...

This weekend has been nothing short of hellish for no other reason than a lack of nicotine.

Fucking cancer.

I had foolishly thought that once I was past the first week, I would be OK. But alas no...

I don't know why it was so bad, but I assume the cravings that drove me to distraction and forced me to contemplate throwing myself under a bus were due to the fact that I wasn't at work.

Temptation was everywhere and I almost caved after the 13th newsagents I walked past. Everyone seemed to be smoking and all I could think was 'why do they get to smoke and I can't?'

I was miserable and I knew that it would all go away if I just had a cigarette...

But I persevered, worked through it and satiated my cravings with impure thoughts of Mr Miller (see, told you there was a reason for the pic! I swear to God, if I didn't have him to distract me, I would be smoking myself into a coma as I type).

In the end, I had to go home and literally hide. I drew the curtains in the living room and watched season 1 of Prison Break on DVD.

That may be the saddest thing I've ever admitted to and could constitute a cry for help but I don't give a shit.

I gotta do what I gotta do and you gotta do what you gotta do...

So I've made it to day 14, thank God, and I feel great...yay!

God bless you Wentworth Miller!

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Gratuitous Pic of Wentworth Miller

*feels better*


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Number 32: Forget to go to a gig

Is 'Buy tickets to a gig, get the day wrong and miss it' on the list?

No? I didn't think so. Thought I was going to see The Blood Arm tonight, but apparently that was last night.

Twat.

Note to self: start writing shit down.

Oh and PS, if this is what happens when you get older, then I want *no* part of it!

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No 31: Fix a toilet

Jesus wept, I've had a mother fucker of a couple of days and I need a cigarette so bad that I can't quite remember why I've given up. Was it a good reason? I hope so...

Awoke yesterday morning to find a leak in my Handbag Room (yes, I have a Handbag Room in my house, doesn't everyone? *blinks*). There was a huge wet patch on the ceiling and water was coming through the light fitting. Joy!

Cue mild panic, crying and hair pulling.

It was one of those situations when it takes you a couple of moments to decide what to do, so there I was, staring at this water thinking 'WHAT THE FUCK??!! Should I call 999?'

My first thought, of course, was for the safety of the handbags and quickly moved them all to my bedroom, where they would be safe.

I then began to think a little more clearly and called the insurance company instead, who despatched a plumber. He was round within an hour and quite possibly one of the moodiest men I have ever had the misfortune of letting in my house (although not *the* moodiest, it pains me to say).

Clambering into the loft, all I heard was a muffled 'Jesus Christ!'

Cue more panic, crying and now wailing.

What was it? Was the ceiling about to collapse? Had the roof blown off in the night and I hadn't noticed? Was it a dead body? Were there a family of gypsies squatting in my loft?

No, the cold water tank had overflowed. A minor problem that took less than 15 mins to resolve and will cause little or no damage. All I have to do is let the ceiling dry out and all will be well again.

So not really something that warranted such a reaction.

I'd hate to live with the man. 'Jesus Christ there's something on my foot! No wait, it's just a sock...'

Cunt.

Today hasn't been much better. This morning I awoke to the toilet not flushing. Joy!

Called the moody plumber, who couldn't come around until 2pm so I told him not to bother (not wise I know, but it was the lack of nicotine talking and I'd rather die than admit that I need a man. Reason number 147 why I will die alone...)

So I decided to fix it myself.

Lifting the lid off the cistern (I think that's what it's called) I looked into the tank and quickly realised that without seeing a button that said 'Press here to fix', I had no fucking idea what I was doing.

But being the logical soul that I am (translation: I more or less told the plumber to get fucked so had no other choice), I went to the toilet downstairs to compare the two.

Taking a photo on my phone (technology 'eh?) I went back upstairs and realised what the problem was: the tank wasn't filling up with water.

Locating the pipe, I turned the head to get the water running and the head promptly fell off and water started gushing *everywhere*!

Cue blind panic, screaming and nausea at being doused in toilet water.

After struggling with it for a bit, I not only got the water to stop gushing but I only fucking fixed the thing! Don't ask me *how* I just did!

Get me, I'm Handy Andy! Can I call myself a plumber now?

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13. Ask a boy out

Blogger is shit. It was bust on Monday so I had to post all of the below yesterday, which wouldn't normally be a problem but they've robbed me of my 7th day of not smoking celebrations...damn them! *shakes fist at Blogger*

Anyway, I realise that I mentioned the boy in the office I fancy nearly a week ago and haven't mentioned him since because I'm a big old tease. But I shall fill you all in now...

Can't mention any names for obvious reasons, but he sits next to me and he's just started. When I first saw him I thought he was hella cute (yes, I know I'm 29!) but he's v.v.v.quiet and I'm not so I didn't really think about him much after that. (For me to fancy someone is a finely tuned balance between looks and personality, too far in either direction and I go off the boil. This of course may explain why I'm still single and why I will probably die alone...)

However, as the weeks have passed, he's obviously warmed up and has been chatting a bit more. We've got some banter going and I can feel myself at simmering point again...woo and indeed hoo!

It is at this point that a normal person would test the waters to see if the attraction is reciprocated and maybe even ask the object of their affection out for a drink.

Not I! I consider it for the briefest of moments and then convince myself that he isn't interested and promptly obsess about him from a distance until I lose the will to live and/or shag someone I shouldn't to distract myself.

By the time I've come to my senses, we're usually in the 'Friends Zone' and it's too late.

*sigh*

It's a vicious cirlce that I've perfected since the age of 15 when I developed my first proper crush on Neil Taylor, who was two years above me at school.

NOTHINGEVERCHANGES...

So in keeping with this whole list idea of doing things that I wouldn't normally do, I should ask him out, right?

*thinks about it properly*
*SCREAMS*
*hides under desk*

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Day 7: IN YOUR FACE CANCER!

I AM A GOLDEN GOD!

7 days smoke free.

7 fucking days.

Oh yes!

43 Things

Told someone at work about this blog and they told me about 43 Things, which is a website where you go and make a list of all the things you want to do before you die.

Aside from the fact that it pisses all over this blog and reinforces the fact that I've never had an original thought in my life, it's actually a great site!

When you post your list it links you with other people who are tying to do the same thing and you can post messages encouraging and helping people with their stuff. For example:

722,283 people in 10,292 cities are doing 768,182 things including...love unconditionally...Learn to Salsa...read sixth Harry Potter book...Be more sociable...Practice Wicca more...Learn to read Binary...be remembered...sleep for a long time...Live on a lake...grow flowers...complain less...

So, like I said, it pisses all over what I'm trying to do here.

I recommend you ch-ch-check it out though!

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