If I hear the phrase 'in the current climate' once more, I'm going to smack someone silly. How boring is this credit crunch shit? 24/7 ad nauseum. OK, it's a story, but it's not the only story. And it's not the end of the bloody world. All those folk with masses of money saved up and all it does is cause them stress. Octogenarians queuing at the banks to move their millions. Why are they still saving? They're queuing and complaining about the cold and they won't even part with some of their cash to buy themselves a coat. What the hell is going on?
I'd be the worst person to have working in a bank branch at the moment. With people lining up to take their money out, I wouldn't be able to resist doing my best Jimmy Stewart impersonation and saying: "Well, I don't have your money ... it's in Bill's house... and Ted's house." I'd think that was hilarious, but I'm not sure anyone else would find it funny.
My gran called me the other night and was asking if my job was safe. "Gran, you don't need to worry about me. I live two doors down from a sauna, I'll never struggle for work."
I was walking along the street today and The Scotsman headline board had the headline "Is Jenners feeling chill of Icelandic collapse?" Oh for fuck sake. Calm the parochialism. HBOS, RBS, Jenners... no doubt The Scotsman will relish in telling us the next victim of the credit crunch is Sean Connery, haggis or the See You Jimmy hat. Oh no, not our comedy hats. I say again, for fuck sake.
I went out to the cinema with 'date guy' last night. I still like him. The cinema was really busy but I spied a couple of seats. However, when I got along the row I noticed that a girl was sitting with her legs stretched out across the seats - effectively taking up three entire seats. I looked at her and smiled but she just gave me a 'challenging' look. I said "excuse me, can you move your feet please?", but still she just stared, daring me to do something. I love a dare, so I smiled and sat on her shins. She quickly changed her mind and withdrew her feet. Don't mess with me little girl. After the film,'Date guy' and I went for some drinks and he walked me home again.
Showing posts with label cinema. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cinema. Show all posts
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Not so Keane on Jesus
Okay, so no Keane. They have decided to cancel their concert in Princes Street Gardens on account of exhaustion. Big bunch of girls. I prefer Snow Patrol anyway - so there!
This week has been busy but not necessarily with anything particularly exciting. For that reason I should probably stop this entry right here. But I won't because, well, it's never stopped me in the past and I'm here now - writing stuff.
Work has been good. Very busy, which keeps my mind off fun things and my eyes off the clock. I've designed a suite of posters to promote the marketing department internally. I wanted to get across the idea that the department now had the staff and the time to do some proper marketing. That we are 'open for business again', so to speak.
The first poster I came up with said 'Back again' with a nice smiley picture of Jesus. I loved it and think Jesus is an underused marketing tool in the financial services sector. However, I opted for self-censorship and relegated 'Jesu' to my drawer. He has now been replaced by Dirty Den in one poster and Bobby from Dallas in another. Quality.
I was asked to come up with some creative ideas for a short movie file promoting pensions. I'm actually quite excited about this, which is now depressing me. How bad must it be when I'm excited by pensions? I think I'll go slash my wrists with my Coldplay CD. (Repeat to self: my job pays the bills!)
Leanne and I had dinner at David Bann on Tuesday night. It was so good we didn't bother going to see a Festival show as planned. Instead, we ordered the Amaretto Marscarpone cheesecake and took our time over it. It was an excellent night made more so by the realisation that food, wine and chat with a good friend is preferable to a professional comedian.
On Thursday evening, I endured my first hockey training session. Two hours, three minor injuries and a static wheeze later I hobbled home. Truly knackered, I immediately drew a hot bubble bath and indulged my desperate muscles. Hopefully, the addition of fitness training on Tuesdays will mean the sessions get easier. I live in hope.
I treated myself to an afternoon showing of 'Easy Living' at the Filmhouse during my lunch hour on Friday. I expected it to be quite empty, but Cinema 1 was rammed. It was top-quality screwball and I loved every minute of it. When the boy and the girl get together at the end, his long disapproving father gives him a job. He tells the girl she has a job too - "cooking my breakfast." What a proposal! I returned to work in a delightful mood for the rest of the day.
The office summer BBQ on Friday night was really quite pish. It was pouring with rain, there was a poor turnout, I was about the only one dancing and I left my umbrella in the club at the end of the night.
Saturday was much better. Another great film at the Filmhouse (The Laughing Policeman) and dinner with Sinead afterwards. I was ravenous and longing for a steak, so we eventually ended up at the Smokestack in Leith. My medium-rare fillet steak and chips went down an absolute treat. We chatted deeply for hours until we realised that Sinead might miss the last train. A taxi to Waverely meant she was just in time for her rowdy journey home.
Today I depressed myself by reading all about the Horn of Africa. (How much for that Russian AK-47? Why sir, that'll set you back three cows. And the US M-16? Oh, that'll be five cows. Well I'll take that then since there's no vegetaion to feed my cows and an M-16 will do a better job of shifting the 6,000 desperate souls who are sleeping on my football field-sized plot of land. Maybe it'll convince them to head for the port and try to secure passage to the Yemen in a death-trap steel container on a rickety ship that's likely to sink with the loss of all life before the appearance of the Yemeni officials forces the smugglers to toss their human cargo into the carnivore-infested waters or maybe they'll join me in a war with the Ethiopians across the desert. That Bin Laden guy sure speaks a lot of sense.) It's a mire of such complete desolate hopelessness that I don't think there's even the hint of a solution. Governments aren't talking about it - not so much because they don't care (which they don't), but more so because their shocking impotence would be laid bare for all to see. The Middle East is child's play compared to this.
But that's too depressing a note on which to end this entry. Sinead said to me last night: "When something doesn't go to plan, people have a tendency to set themselves in a pessimistic frame of mind. They think things can only ever be worse, but a lot of the time things turn out better than they could have imagined." From the long list of personal success stories I've been acquiring, I know that's true. She was talking in the context of a personal issue rather than a global one, but it would be pretty damn skippy if the world got a break too.
This week has been busy but not necessarily with anything particularly exciting. For that reason I should probably stop this entry right here. But I won't because, well, it's never stopped me in the past and I'm here now - writing stuff.
Work has been good. Very busy, which keeps my mind off fun things and my eyes off the clock. I've designed a suite of posters to promote the marketing department internally. I wanted to get across the idea that the department now had the staff and the time to do some proper marketing. That we are 'open for business again', so to speak.
The first poster I came up with said 'Back again' with a nice smiley picture of Jesus. I loved it and think Jesus is an underused marketing tool in the financial services sector. However, I opted for self-censorship and relegated 'Jesu' to my drawer. He has now been replaced by Dirty Den in one poster and Bobby from Dallas in another. Quality.
I was asked to come up with some creative ideas for a short movie file promoting pensions. I'm actually quite excited about this, which is now depressing me. How bad must it be when I'm excited by pensions? I think I'll go slash my wrists with my Coldplay CD. (Repeat to self: my job pays the bills!)
Leanne and I had dinner at David Bann on Tuesday night. It was so good we didn't bother going to see a Festival show as planned. Instead, we ordered the Amaretto Marscarpone cheesecake and took our time over it. It was an excellent night made more so by the realisation that food, wine and chat with a good friend is preferable to a professional comedian.
On Thursday evening, I endured my first hockey training session. Two hours, three minor injuries and a static wheeze later I hobbled home. Truly knackered, I immediately drew a hot bubble bath and indulged my desperate muscles. Hopefully, the addition of fitness training on Tuesdays will mean the sessions get easier. I live in hope.
I treated myself to an afternoon showing of 'Easy Living' at the Filmhouse during my lunch hour on Friday. I expected it to be quite empty, but Cinema 1 was rammed. It was top-quality screwball and I loved every minute of it. When the boy and the girl get together at the end, his long disapproving father gives him a job. He tells the girl she has a job too - "cooking my breakfast." What a proposal! I returned to work in a delightful mood for the rest of the day.
The office summer BBQ on Friday night was really quite pish. It was pouring with rain, there was a poor turnout, I was about the only one dancing and I left my umbrella in the club at the end of the night.
Saturday was much better. Another great film at the Filmhouse (The Laughing Policeman) and dinner with Sinead afterwards. I was ravenous and longing for a steak, so we eventually ended up at the Smokestack in Leith. My medium-rare fillet steak and chips went down an absolute treat. We chatted deeply for hours until we realised that Sinead might miss the last train. A taxi to Waverely meant she was just in time for her rowdy journey home.
Today I depressed myself by reading all about the Horn of Africa. (How much for that Russian AK-47? Why sir, that'll set you back three cows. And the US M-16? Oh, that'll be five cows. Well I'll take that then since there's no vegetaion to feed my cows and an M-16 will do a better job of shifting the 6,000 desperate souls who are sleeping on my football field-sized plot of land. Maybe it'll convince them to head for the port and try to secure passage to the Yemen in a death-trap steel container on a rickety ship that's likely to sink with the loss of all life before the appearance of the Yemeni officials forces the smugglers to toss their human cargo into the carnivore-infested waters or maybe they'll join me in a war with the Ethiopians across the desert. That Bin Laden guy sure speaks a lot of sense.) It's a mire of such complete desolate hopelessness that I don't think there's even the hint of a solution. Governments aren't talking about it - not so much because they don't care (which they don't), but more so because their shocking impotence would be laid bare for all to see. The Middle East is child's play compared to this.
But that's too depressing a note on which to end this entry. Sinead said to me last night: "When something doesn't go to plan, people have a tendency to set themselves in a pessimistic frame of mind. They think things can only ever be worse, but a lot of the time things turn out better than they could have imagined." From the long list of personal success stories I've been acquiring, I know that's true. She was talking in the context of a personal issue rather than a global one, but it would be pretty damn skippy if the world got a break too.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Work-Life balance
Admittedly, the first week back from holiday is always an uphill struggle. I, however, am 'touching the void' (i.e. my flexi-time has just plummeted through a crevass and my broken-spirit is in no state to pull it back.) Last week's working hours look like this - M 4:45, T 6:24, W 6:38, T 7:01, and F 5:13. It makes me feel slightly better that my inability to drag myself into work before 10am was due more to my busy social calendar than my lazy lard ass.
Sunday night was the first chance I'd had to see Mog since I got back from New York and, quite frankly, the withdrawal symptoms were more than I could take. Sometimes I think I depend on Mog - she's like Jekyll to my Hyde (NOT jelly to my hide as one perv who shall remain nameless once suggested). We dined at La Favorita before heading off to see Prime at the cinema. It was a good few cuts-above the usual offerings of the chick-flick genre and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.
The family dinner in Fife on Wednesday was also significantly better than usual. My little cousins, being older now, have better chat and made for a most enjoyable evening. Although, one of my uncles did say he "preferred my hair when it was white". I'd like to state for the record that my hair has never been white. Very, very blonde yes, but never white. I also thought it was nice of him to tell me this now that my hair is no longer blonde. Eh ... cheers.
The midweek late-nights continued into Thursday when I met with Moranna at the Living Room for drinks, dinner and a much-needed catch-up. Moranna was half an hour late so I spent my time praying that no one I knew was in there to see me sipping a lonely champagne cocktail in true 'stood-up' fashion. The nice waitress took pity on me and brought me some olives and houmus to numb the pain. Once Moranna arrived, we proceeded to have a great night. I had a fantastic plate of baby squid with wasabi slaw. Oh baby!
On Friday, I stayed in and ordered the best Indian takeaway I have ever had. It was from Shapla on Easter Road. The mango chutney was really fresh and had great big chunks of fruit in it, while the raitha was thick and had freshly sliced cucumber strips on top. Annoyingly, I then remembered that I was going out for an Indian meal on Saturday night. D'oh.
In the afternoon, I drove out to Leanne and Craig's for their BBQ. I met lots of their friends and had conversations about whether it was acceptable and wise to eat king-prawn shit; cosmetic surgery for women who want the skin surrounding their vaginas to appear younger, puppetry of the penis and, most socially unacceptable of all, Big Brother.
I drove back home, had a quick shower and raced up to Native State to meet with the Ladies for a girls' night/Helen's hen night. We ate in Khushis and I had some amazing prawns (whose shit I didn't even think about). The meal was excellent and we then headed on to Negociants where we hoped to see Helen complete all the dares we'd listed for her. Sadly, Helen was having none of it and ended up farming her dares out to the rest of us, who were all so merrily pished that we happily obliged. As a result, I kissed all the girls and made two of them cry. Then I was persistently chatted-up by a complete random with fido dido hair.
On Sunday, I felt a little worse for the wear and lounged about for ages before walking down to Ocean Terminal. I bought myself some Greek yoghurt and Cherry Compote from M&S and almost giggled with indulgent pleasure at my newly hatched plan to head home, put on my jogging-suit (a misnomer if ever there was one), watch Calendar Girls and eat my yoghurt dessert very, very slowly.
My fantasy became reality and I was happily indulging when the buzzer went. My first thought was the same thought whenever my buzzer goes "It won't be for me." I ignored it until it buzzed again. I buzzed the person in and waited behind the door to see who it was. I heard heavy footsteps bounding upstairs and then I saw Alex. This was most unexpected and now I was caught in my jogging-suit (which I don't feel comfortable with anyone seeing me in, hence the fact that it has never been for a jog - except to the fridge and back during a break on CSI:Miami) with a dessert in my hands - the picture of a sad fat-fest surely? It could only have been worse had I been eating a tub of ice-cream, the jogging-suit was too small and I'd spilt ice cream on it.
Anyway, Alex had popped round because he was in the area and he'd wondered if I'd heard from Sam. I filled him on Sam's latest email and then he invited me out for a few drinks with him and his friend Dave. Caught in full-flow sad git mode, I felt embarrassed enough into agreeing to meet him at the pub after I'd got changed and pulled myself together.
After a lengthy catch-up, I was invited to Pivo but, with my flexi balance (and complete physical, emotional and mental exhaustion) in mind, I sensibly declined.
I woke up on Monday morning feeling like I'd been hit by a truck. At 10am, Mog sent a text inviting me to the pub for some Gin after work. Needless to say, Tuesday was a late start too.
Sunday night was the first chance I'd had to see Mog since I got back from New York and, quite frankly, the withdrawal symptoms were more than I could take. Sometimes I think I depend on Mog - she's like Jekyll to my Hyde (NOT jelly to my hide as one perv who shall remain nameless once suggested). We dined at La Favorita before heading off to see Prime at the cinema. It was a good few cuts-above the usual offerings of the chick-flick genre and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.
The family dinner in Fife on Wednesday was also significantly better than usual. My little cousins, being older now, have better chat and made for a most enjoyable evening. Although, one of my uncles did say he "preferred my hair when it was white". I'd like to state for the record that my hair has never been white. Very, very blonde yes, but never white. I also thought it was nice of him to tell me this now that my hair is no longer blonde. Eh ... cheers.
The midweek late-nights continued into Thursday when I met with Moranna at the Living Room for drinks, dinner and a much-needed catch-up. Moranna was half an hour late so I spent my time praying that no one I knew was in there to see me sipping a lonely champagne cocktail in true 'stood-up' fashion. The nice waitress took pity on me and brought me some olives and houmus to numb the pain. Once Moranna arrived, we proceeded to have a great night. I had a fantastic plate of baby squid with wasabi slaw. Oh baby!
On Friday, I stayed in and ordered the best Indian takeaway I have ever had. It was from Shapla on Easter Road. The mango chutney was really fresh and had great big chunks of fruit in it, while the raitha was thick and had freshly sliced cucumber strips on top. Annoyingly, I then remembered that I was going out for an Indian meal on Saturday night. D'oh.
In the afternoon, I drove out to Leanne and Craig's for their BBQ. I met lots of their friends and had conversations about whether it was acceptable and wise to eat king-prawn shit; cosmetic surgery for women who want the skin surrounding their vaginas to appear younger, puppetry of the penis and, most socially unacceptable of all, Big Brother.
I drove back home, had a quick shower and raced up to Native State to meet with the Ladies for a girls' night/Helen's hen night. We ate in Khushis and I had some amazing prawns (whose shit I didn't even think about). The meal was excellent and we then headed on to Negociants where we hoped to see Helen complete all the dares we'd listed for her. Sadly, Helen was having none of it and ended up farming her dares out to the rest of us, who were all so merrily pished that we happily obliged. As a result, I kissed all the girls and made two of them cry. Then I was persistently chatted-up by a complete random with fido dido hair.
On Sunday, I felt a little worse for the wear and lounged about for ages before walking down to Ocean Terminal. I bought myself some Greek yoghurt and Cherry Compote from M&S and almost giggled with indulgent pleasure at my newly hatched plan to head home, put on my jogging-suit (a misnomer if ever there was one), watch Calendar Girls and eat my yoghurt dessert very, very slowly.
My fantasy became reality and I was happily indulging when the buzzer went. My first thought was the same thought whenever my buzzer goes "It won't be for me." I ignored it until it buzzed again. I buzzed the person in and waited behind the door to see who it was. I heard heavy footsteps bounding upstairs and then I saw Alex. This was most unexpected and now I was caught in my jogging-suit (which I don't feel comfortable with anyone seeing me in, hence the fact that it has never been for a jog - except to the fridge and back during a break on CSI:Miami) with a dessert in my hands - the picture of a sad fat-fest surely? It could only have been worse had I been eating a tub of ice-cream, the jogging-suit was too small and I'd spilt ice cream on it.
Anyway, Alex had popped round because he was in the area and he'd wondered if I'd heard from Sam. I filled him on Sam's latest email and then he invited me out for a few drinks with him and his friend Dave. Caught in full-flow sad git mode, I felt embarrassed enough into agreeing to meet him at the pub after I'd got changed and pulled myself together.
After a lengthy catch-up, I was invited to Pivo but, with my flexi balance (and complete physical, emotional and mental exhaustion) in mind, I sensibly declined.
I woke up on Monday morning feeling like I'd been hit by a truck. At 10am, Mog sent a text inviting me to the pub for some Gin after work. Needless to say, Tuesday was a late start too.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
The art of ...pleasing oneself
This is perhaps the hardest art of all to conquer - especially if you'd like to remain on speaking terms with people. It's taken me many years, but I now consider myself a master.
It feels wonderful to skillfully avoid ever again being caught in the 'I so don't want to be here but can't ever say' trap that has dogged me most of my life.
On Friday night I was doing some work for my "uncle".
OK, so actually he is really my uncle. I just added inverted commas to make it sound more exciting. Hey, I said it was the "hardest art", not the most exciting one.
Anyway, I was looking over and editing his biography for his CV. You might think this doesn't sound much like someone who is pleasing herself, but the fact that I told him I could either invoice him for £60 (family discount rate) or he and my aunt could take me out to dinner is a big step forward for me.
By Saturday I'd really gotten into the swing of things. I took myself off the gym at 10am, enjoyed (no, seriously) a vigorous workout (pulse rate of 80%. Burn that chunk baby) and was getting changed when Mog called me. I fumbled about in my bag and finally answered my phone.
Me: "Hey. Hi. ... Hello?"
Mog: "Hello?"
Me: "Yeah. ... Hello?"
Mog: "Oh, hi, sorry did I wake you?"
Me: "Did you what me? Wake me? No! I'm at the gym. I've just finished my work out!
Mog: "Oh!"
Me: "Oh yes!"
After a somewhat stilted and mildly offensive start, Mog explained the arrangements for her birthday night out. For a change, she wanted to keep things informal and low-key (must be her age kicking in). She'd decided to go to the 7 o'clock showing ofThe Squid and the Whale at the Cameo, which pleased me greatly as it was a film I've been eagerly anticipating, followed by food at Coconut Grove (I've never had a bad night in there yet). So, with Saturday evening taken care of, I took myself first to Waterstones for a good old browse and then to Celeste for a luxury manicure.
Celeste is aptly named. Every single appointment is a heavenly experience. As the nice lady was massaging my hands in such a way that I was on the cusp of doubting my sexuality, I was reading their brochure to see what else was on offer. And they do Decleor. Oh yes. Decleor facials, Decleor massages and, best of all, Decleor tanning. Bring on the summer.
Looking over the waxing options on offer, I got a fit of the giggles. (Technically, it's not a good thing when someone is painting your nails and your shoulders start going like a road-digger.) There were those old tried and tested chestnuts, as follows:
REGULAR BIKINI WAX (£14)
The area around and under the pant line is waxed. A basic wax if you wear regular knickers.
BRAZILIAN BIKINI WAX (£26)
By far the most popular. A landing strip is left neat. A must for all who wear thongs.
BOLLYWOOD (£30)
In between Brazilian and Hollywood. Not all off but nearly.
HOLLYWOOD BIKINI WAX (£36)
The whole area is waxed. We guarantee it will be the best and most thorough wax you've ever had. Our most popular and requested treatment ever.
Plus one ridiculous addition:
TIFFANY BIKINI WAX (from £40)
This is a whole Hollywood wax with diamontes artistically placed for that special date!
Yes, that special date when you want to scare him half to death. Can you imagine?
Him: "Jesus Karaoke Star Christ! There's spiky things all over your ...you know ... thing."
Her: "That's right darling."
Him: "They spell out something. Yeah, it looks like your ... you know ... thing is trying to tell me something. I'll need to get closer to make out the words."
Her:"Go right ahead darling."
Him: "I... told you ... not ... to put your ... wet towel on ... the bed. You bastard."
Her: "That's right darling. And remember, these babies cut through glass. Any wrong moves and you could be in big trouble."
Yet again, Diamonds prove they really are a girl's best friend.
After my indulgent experience, I went to the Cameo to buy tickets for the film we were going to see that evening. I did so and noticed that a French film called Hidden (Cache) was about to start. I decided just to go ahead and buy a ticket as my day was open to go exactly as I desired.
The film was very French in that it had lots of scenes that added nothing to the plot. French films are funny like that. If an American film showed someone getting undressed for bed, closing the curtains and lying down you'd probably expect them to be murdered, or at least to die peacefully in their sleep or something. Not so with the French film. It also ended abruptly with almost no resolution, which I enjoy because I get to spend the rest of the day pondering over what happened, why it happened and what the future looked like for the characters involved. It was very, very good. Afterwards, I took myself off to a little deli called 'Made in France' where I did my pondering over a goat's cheese and saucisson baguette. It was sheer bliss.
Annoyingly I arrived at the Cameo that evening at 10 past seven. I had all the tickets and everyone was waiting. I'd had a nightmare with taxis and ended up having to drive. I got grid-locked at the bottom of Lothian Road and then had to park almost on Strathern Road because there were no spaces nearer to the cinema. I hate, hate, hate being late for films so I was really pissed off with myself. I had to hot-foot it across the links, going back for my shoe twice. Anyway, we took our seats in time for the last trailer, which was pretty good timing considering it was actually so woefully bad.
The Squid and the Whale was excellent and I highly recommend it. Jeff Daniels' pompous assertions on literature, people and more are worth the ticket price alone. I now want to describe everything as "the fillet (pronounced 'fill-ay') of the neighbourhood" or "the fillet of Dickens' work".
The Coconut Grove was also fantastic with plenty of atmosphere and even better food. It was a most fitting start to Mog's 28th year.
It feels wonderful to skillfully avoid ever again being caught in the 'I so don't want to be here but can't ever say' trap that has dogged me most of my life.
On Friday night I was doing some work for my "uncle".
OK, so actually he is really my uncle. I just added inverted commas to make it sound more exciting. Hey, I said it was the "hardest art", not the most exciting one.
Anyway, I was looking over and editing his biography for his CV. You might think this doesn't sound much like someone who is pleasing herself, but the fact that I told him I could either invoice him for £60 (family discount rate) or he and my aunt could take me out to dinner is a big step forward for me.
By Saturday I'd really gotten into the swing of things. I took myself off the gym at 10am, enjoyed (no, seriously) a vigorous workout (pulse rate of 80%. Burn that chunk baby) and was getting changed when Mog called me. I fumbled about in my bag and finally answered my phone.
Me: "Hey. Hi. ... Hello?"
Mog: "Hello?"
Me: "Yeah. ... Hello?"
Mog: "Oh, hi, sorry did I wake you?"
Me: "Did you what me? Wake me? No! I'm at the gym. I've just finished my work out!
Mog: "Oh!"
Me: "Oh yes!"
After a somewhat stilted and mildly offensive start, Mog explained the arrangements for her birthday night out. For a change, she wanted to keep things informal and low-key (must be her age kicking in). She'd decided to go to the 7 o'clock showing ofThe Squid and the Whale at the Cameo, which pleased me greatly as it was a film I've been eagerly anticipating, followed by food at Coconut Grove (I've never had a bad night in there yet). So, with Saturday evening taken care of, I took myself first to Waterstones for a good old browse and then to Celeste for a luxury manicure.
Celeste is aptly named. Every single appointment is a heavenly experience. As the nice lady was massaging my hands in such a way that I was on the cusp of doubting my sexuality, I was reading their brochure to see what else was on offer. And they do Decleor. Oh yes. Decleor facials, Decleor massages and, best of all, Decleor tanning. Bring on the summer.
Looking over the waxing options on offer, I got a fit of the giggles. (Technically, it's not a good thing when someone is painting your nails and your shoulders start going like a road-digger.) There were those old tried and tested chestnuts, as follows:
REGULAR BIKINI WAX (£14)
The area around and under the pant line is waxed. A basic wax if you wear regular knickers.
BRAZILIAN BIKINI WAX (£26)
By far the most popular. A landing strip is left neat. A must for all who wear thongs.
BOLLYWOOD (£30)
In between Brazilian and Hollywood. Not all off but nearly.
HOLLYWOOD BIKINI WAX (£36)
The whole area is waxed. We guarantee it will be the best and most thorough wax you've ever had. Our most popular and requested treatment ever.
Plus one ridiculous addition:
TIFFANY BIKINI WAX (from £40)
This is a whole Hollywood wax with diamontes artistically placed for that special date!
Yes, that special date when you want to scare him half to death. Can you imagine?
Him: "Jesus Karaoke Star Christ! There's spiky things all over your ...you know ... thing."
Her: "That's right darling."
Him: "They spell out something. Yeah, it looks like your ... you know ... thing is trying to tell me something. I'll need to get closer to make out the words."
Her:"Go right ahead darling."
Him: "I... told you ... not ... to put your ... wet towel on ... the bed. You bastard."
Her: "That's right darling. And remember, these babies cut through glass. Any wrong moves and you could be in big trouble."
Yet again, Diamonds prove they really are a girl's best friend.
After my indulgent experience, I went to the Cameo to buy tickets for the film we were going to see that evening. I did so and noticed that a French film called Hidden (Cache) was about to start. I decided just to go ahead and buy a ticket as my day was open to go exactly as I desired.
The film was very French in that it had lots of scenes that added nothing to the plot. French films are funny like that. If an American film showed someone getting undressed for bed, closing the curtains and lying down you'd probably expect them to be murdered, or at least to die peacefully in their sleep or something. Not so with the French film. It also ended abruptly with almost no resolution, which I enjoy because I get to spend the rest of the day pondering over what happened, why it happened and what the future looked like for the characters involved. It was very, very good. Afterwards, I took myself off to a little deli called 'Made in France' where I did my pondering over a goat's cheese and saucisson baguette. It was sheer bliss.
Annoyingly I arrived at the Cameo that evening at 10 past seven. I had all the tickets and everyone was waiting. I'd had a nightmare with taxis and ended up having to drive. I got grid-locked at the bottom of Lothian Road and then had to park almost on Strathern Road because there were no spaces nearer to the cinema. I hate, hate, hate being late for films so I was really pissed off with myself. I had to hot-foot it across the links, going back for my shoe twice. Anyway, we took our seats in time for the last trailer, which was pretty good timing considering it was actually so woefully bad.
The Squid and the Whale was excellent and I highly recommend it. Jeff Daniels' pompous assertions on literature, people and more are worth the ticket price alone. I now want to describe everything as "the fillet (pronounced 'fill-ay') of the neighbourhood" or "the fillet of Dickens' work".
The Coconut Grove was also fantastic with plenty of atmosphere and even better food. It was a most fitting start to Mog's 28th year.
Friday, March 03, 2006
New job, new jargon
It is official. I am a number. 698 to be precise.
Week one of the new job is now firmly tucked under my belt, along with the quality offerings of the cafeteria (in a somewhat less firm, tummy-jiggling way). On Tuesday afternoon I almost swan-dived from the third floor window from the sheer boredom of the induction, but by Wednesday I was getting down to some work and got back to chewing my pen rather than my proximal phalanx.
I must say, coming from a company employing 5 people to one that employs almost everyone in Edinburgh is something of a culture shock. I feel like I'm back at school - although this is most likely exacerbated by the fact that the cafeteria has big long tables and I've been washing down my lunch with a carton of milk. I actually felt 'shy' (curb your laughter please, it does happen to me occasionally) for the first couple of days.
I have to wear a security pass (with a photo that makes my hair look positively yellow and my complexion like that of a long-term heroin addict. The photo does, however, boast a particularly nice smile that detracts from the other stuff. Thank goodness for small mercies). I have to clock in and out at lunchtimes and use my security pass to pay for lunch. The first thing I did on day one was to check the intranet to find out what and where I get discount. It turns out I am now entitled to 20% off at my hairdresser - bonus.
All my colleagues are very, very nice and pretty darn funny. As of yet, no one has revealed themselves to be a nutter. They do all talk in acronyms though and I'm finding that a bit baffling. I imagine it's not too dissimilar to being in government during the FDR administration. Apart from that, I can't believe how much easier this job is than my last one and the fact that I'm being paid so much more for doing it - big fat bonus.
Last Saturday night was good fun (for the most part). Sam cooked dinner at his flat for me, Ali G, Ali Al-J, Helen, Antonio and Anabel. He made a top-notch cassoulet, and poached pears for dessert. The banter was very interesting and I felt somewhat overwhelmed by the intellectual content. I responded (as I always do in such situations) by drinking copious amounts of red wine. When the red wine ran out, I moved onto whisky - putting a serious dent in Sam's collection of malts. Never a good move. Flashbacks on Sunday lead me to believe I got so pished I attempted to "hold court" (cringe, cringe) and moved from topic to topic with the speed of a gazelle and the clarity of John Prescott. At 4:30 am I was challenging Ali G to a "whisky-downing" contest. Thankfully, Sam stopped me and put me to bed.
I woke up some four hours later in a thoroughly deep state of remorse (oh yeah, and sick as a dog). The post-binge self-loathing and guilt kicked in. Sam received a text about me being "an unholy mess of a girl(???)", while Mog got one that simply said: "I am dead. Charity donations to AA in lieu of flowers". By 6pm that evening, things were definitely better. Sam and I went to the Cameo to see Capote. It was excellent - definitely one of the best films I've seen in the last few years.
On Monday night, after my first day of work, I met up with Mog, Moranna, Laura and Jo for some eats and drinks at Sygn. Deb couldn't make it as her one good lung was playing up, which was a real pity cause I haven't seen her for ages. On Tuesday, I had my first stint of babysitting for Ella. Leanne and Craig took themselves out for a meal and a couple of drinks. Ella didn't make a peep all night (she is truly the best baby ever!) and I told Leanne this when she called at 11pm to ask for a wee bit longer. "She is still alive though, right?" she asked. I hadn't checked on her until this point and did so when I got off the phone. The bedroom was really dark and I couldn't see her cot so it took me quite a while to locate her. When I did she was making little baby breathing sounds (so sweet) so I went back to watching TV.
Cartons of milk, feelings of shyness and evenings spent babysitting - I do indeed feel like a 14 year old again. Next thing you know I'll be sporting an alice band.
Week one of the new job is now firmly tucked under my belt, along with the quality offerings of the cafeteria (in a somewhat less firm, tummy-jiggling way). On Tuesday afternoon I almost swan-dived from the third floor window from the sheer boredom of the induction, but by Wednesday I was getting down to some work and got back to chewing my pen rather than my proximal phalanx.
I must say, coming from a company employing 5 people to one that employs almost everyone in Edinburgh is something of a culture shock. I feel like I'm back at school - although this is most likely exacerbated by the fact that the cafeteria has big long tables and I've been washing down my lunch with a carton of milk. I actually felt 'shy' (curb your laughter please, it does happen to me occasionally) for the first couple of days.
I have to wear a security pass (with a photo that makes my hair look positively yellow and my complexion like that of a long-term heroin addict. The photo does, however, boast a particularly nice smile that detracts from the other stuff. Thank goodness for small mercies). I have to clock in and out at lunchtimes and use my security pass to pay for lunch. The first thing I did on day one was to check the intranet to find out what and where I get discount. It turns out I am now entitled to 20% off at my hairdresser - bonus.
All my colleagues are very, very nice and pretty darn funny. As of yet, no one has revealed themselves to be a nutter. They do all talk in acronyms though and I'm finding that a bit baffling. I imagine it's not too dissimilar to being in government during the FDR administration. Apart from that, I can't believe how much easier this job is than my last one and the fact that I'm being paid so much more for doing it - big fat bonus.
Last Saturday night was good fun (for the most part). Sam cooked dinner at his flat for me, Ali G, Ali Al-J, Helen, Antonio and Anabel. He made a top-notch cassoulet, and poached pears for dessert. The banter was very interesting and I felt somewhat overwhelmed by the intellectual content. I responded (as I always do in such situations) by drinking copious amounts of red wine. When the red wine ran out, I moved onto whisky - putting a serious dent in Sam's collection of malts. Never a good move. Flashbacks on Sunday lead me to believe I got so pished I attempted to "hold court" (cringe, cringe) and moved from topic to topic with the speed of a gazelle and the clarity of John Prescott. At 4:30 am I was challenging Ali G to a "whisky-downing" contest. Thankfully, Sam stopped me and put me to bed.
I woke up some four hours later in a thoroughly deep state of remorse (oh yeah, and sick as a dog). The post-binge self-loathing and guilt kicked in. Sam received a text about me being "an unholy mess of a girl(???)", while Mog got one that simply said: "I am dead. Charity donations to AA in lieu of flowers". By 6pm that evening, things were definitely better. Sam and I went to the Cameo to see Capote. It was excellent - definitely one of the best films I've seen in the last few years.
On Monday night, after my first day of work, I met up with Mog, Moranna, Laura and Jo for some eats and drinks at Sygn. Deb couldn't make it as her one good lung was playing up, which was a real pity cause I haven't seen her for ages. On Tuesday, I had my first stint of babysitting for Ella. Leanne and Craig took themselves out for a meal and a couple of drinks. Ella didn't make a peep all night (she is truly the best baby ever!) and I told Leanne this when she called at 11pm to ask for a wee bit longer. "She is still alive though, right?" she asked. I hadn't checked on her until this point and did so when I got off the phone. The bedroom was really dark and I couldn't see her cot so it took me quite a while to locate her. When I did she was making little baby breathing sounds (so sweet) so I went back to watching TV.
Cartons of milk, feelings of shyness and evenings spent babysitting - I do indeed feel like a 14 year old again. Next thing you know I'll be sporting an alice band.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
The administration of life...
... sucks like Nancy Reagan (i.e. big time - allegedly) . I loathe having to acknowledge/deal with shit like this. I am one of those people who never actually opens anything that looks dull (i.e. in a standard-sized white or brown envelope with black type visible through the window); unless, of course, it is my birthday in which case I open everything including the neighbours' mail and my curtains. I tend to pile boring-looking letters on my desk and then throw them in a drawer after a few weeks or moments before my parents arrive (depending on what comes first). This causes less problems these days in that I do all my boring/important stuff via the internet so am less likely to miss something major. I have even asked a few of the orgainsations I have dealings with to communicate with me solely via the internet; which is great because it causes me less personal inconvenience but I can pretend I'm doing it for the environment. Some organisations are really proactive in this area (non-paper comms not the environment - although if they're smart they can pretend it's for the environment too). In fact, my old friends in the international arms trade positively refuse to communicate with me via letters - I love those guys; they really, y'know, get me.
I forced myself to tackle the whole paper work/clutter thing this week and I've done a pretty good job so far. I learned that I only need (loosest sense of the word) to keep wage slips for 3months, and bank/credit card statements for 6months - this meant that there was a lot to discard. Normally, I discard bank/credit card statements, and in fact all sorts of personal mail, into the bin rarely opened and never torn - not even in half. I've been led to believe that this is fucking stupid and I should commence shredding. Although, that said, I did see a trailer for the new Harrison Fogey movie and it showed a shredded document being painstakingly stuck back together by the baddies with a pair of tweezers and a big light so I'm not convinced my identity is totally safe. Mog lent me her shredder (she used to be an auditor so I knew she'd have one) and I must admit there was something disturbingly pleasurable about running certain things through it.
I read somewhere that a half-assed cleaning/clearing job is worse than no effort at all, so I felt compelled to organise and file all the remaining stuff that is actually important. Someone recommended I head out to Big W to buy some box files, storage boxes and other crap like that. I duly obliged, but immediately regretted it. The place was massive and almost devoid of people. The rows of (what can only be described as) stuff went on and on and on. This weird music/noise that sounded like dead souls moaning was playing quietly as I nervously walked down to the stationery area. I got everything I needed at a very excellent price so in that respect at least Ican't complain. But it was a very, very odd place with very, very big bags of sweeties.
I've also been advised that I should be saving 10-20% of my net salary each month. I'm pretty sure that's what I've been spending on my credit/storecards each month, so I'm going to have to sit down and budget and basically get my ass sorted.
I realise that this seems so anal and boring and, therefore, nothing like the girl you know, but needs must people, and I'm pretty hopeful that once I get this rubbish fixed out, I'll be even more fun and relaxed than ever before. Bet you can't wait!
I forced myself to tackle the whole paper work/clutter thing this week and I've done a pretty good job so far. I learned that I only need (loosest sense of the word) to keep wage slips for 3months, and bank/credit card statements for 6months - this meant that there was a lot to discard. Normally, I discard bank/credit card statements, and in fact all sorts of personal mail, into the bin rarely opened and never torn - not even in half. I've been led to believe that this is fucking stupid and I should commence shredding. Although, that said, I did see a trailer for the new Harrison Fogey movie and it showed a shredded document being painstakingly stuck back together by the baddies with a pair of tweezers and a big light so I'm not convinced my identity is totally safe. Mog lent me her shredder (she used to be an auditor so I knew she'd have one) and I must admit there was something disturbingly pleasurable about running certain things through it.
I read somewhere that a half-assed cleaning/clearing job is worse than no effort at all, so I felt compelled to organise and file all the remaining stuff that is actually important. Someone recommended I head out to Big W to buy some box files, storage boxes and other crap like that. I duly obliged, but immediately regretted it. The place was massive and almost devoid of people. The rows of (what can only be described as) stuff went on and on and on. This weird music/noise that sounded like dead souls moaning was playing quietly as I nervously walked down to the stationery area. I got everything I needed at a very excellent price so in that respect at least Ican't complain. But it was a very, very odd place with very, very big bags of sweeties.
I've also been advised that I should be saving 10-20% of my net salary each month. I'm pretty sure that's what I've been spending on my credit/storecards each month, so I'm going to have to sit down and budget and basically get my ass sorted.
I realise that this seems so anal and boring and, therefore, nothing like the girl you know, but needs must people, and I'm pretty hopeful that once I get this rubbish fixed out, I'll be even more fun and relaxed than ever before. Bet you can't wait!
Friday, February 10, 2006
Tapas, tadpoles and tea
Decleor joy! - my 'official' invitation for an aromatherapy facial arrived in the post at the start of this week. I say 'official' because last week I went to the Decleor counter in John Lewis to complain about my AWOL new year's invitation. The kind Decleor lady apologised profusely and wrote me out an impromptu invitation. I now have luxury facials booked for February and March (ooooh, the extravagance!). The fact that the cost of the facial is redeemable against two or more products also means I will have to buy things on both occasions (well, it'd be foolish not to now, wouldn't it?).
I called Sinead on Monday night; she was making soup (very homely). She told me she would come through on Saturday and we could catch up and make a night of it (I have a feeling that carbs and black coffee will be required on Sunday). She'd been to see Brokeback Mountain and gave me her no-nonsense review of the film. It went exactly like this: "Saw Brokeback Mountain but wasn't convinced of the love story and there were too many sheep and hillside shots for me. Gyllenhall was a babe though."
Dinner at Tapas Ole with Leanne on Tuesday was great fun. It's the first time it's been just us since Ella (her beautiful baby) was born in November. I think Ella is the best baby I've ever met, but I do feel under pressure to mind my language whenever she's around (I'd hate for it to emerge in Ella's future therapy sessions that her ASBO stemmed from my four-letter rants during her infancy. Not that that's necessarily going to happen. Like I said, she's an excellent baby). It was good to be able to put my question (why do people have children anyway?) to Leanne in her new-found state of motherhood. Normally when I ask people that, they look at me like I'm some sort of freak. I'm not saying I don't want to have kids (I'm assuming the desire will hit me at some point - it just never has so far) or that I think it's wrong or anything - I'm just interested in people's conscious decisions to procreate (the unconscious decision to procreate is far more common and, for that reason, completely uninteresting to me). I totally get the desire to make love (thank the Lord!), I'm just a bit more shaky around the desire to make babies. I understand that people want to have kids, what I want to know is why they want them. Leanne got where I was coming from and feels kind of the same when it comes to having another. She said that people just assume that she'll want to have more, but she really can't see why she would want another one. Anyway - good chat!
Some prospective clients for my 'leisure-time' freelance venture flew up from London and took me out to dinner on Wednesday night. We went to the Living Room and I thoroughly enjoyed the food - though the house champagne left a lot to be desired. We talked business and they didn't hit on me - step up from last week (see 'Networking?'). I was firing on all cylinders and actually astounded myself. I had a bit of an out-of-body moment when I looked at myself, listened to what I was saying and wanted to laugh at how grown-up and knowledgeable I sounded. Anyway, I offered my services as a consultant for a few days and they were most receptive. Ka-ching!
I popped round to see Sam on Thursday night. It was freezing outside and the cup of tea he made me was delightful. I told him about my week; my ups and downs, triumphs and irritations. He told me about his week; his visa/passport issues, proteins, genes and bio-informatics. I am chuffed with myself because I have set-up a website and have been teaching myself how to build it (in the most basic of ways naturally). I was even more chuffed because Sam seemed chuffed at my being chuffed with myself because I wrote a little bit of HTML. Then he offered to give me a copy of Dreamweaver (an HTML cheat). Cool. I left Sam's place feeling ten times better than I had when I went in.
Bring on the weekend!
I called Sinead on Monday night; she was making soup (very homely). She told me she would come through on Saturday and we could catch up and make a night of it (I have a feeling that carbs and black coffee will be required on Sunday). She'd been to see Brokeback Mountain and gave me her no-nonsense review of the film. It went exactly like this: "Saw Brokeback Mountain but wasn't convinced of the love story and there were too many sheep and hillside shots for me. Gyllenhall was a babe though."
Dinner at Tapas Ole with Leanne on Tuesday was great fun. It's the first time it's been just us since Ella (her beautiful baby) was born in November. I think Ella is the best baby I've ever met, but I do feel under pressure to mind my language whenever she's around (I'd hate for it to emerge in Ella's future therapy sessions that her ASBO stemmed from my four-letter rants during her infancy. Not that that's necessarily going to happen. Like I said, she's an excellent baby). It was good to be able to put my question (why do people have children anyway?) to Leanne in her new-found state of motherhood. Normally when I ask people that, they look at me like I'm some sort of freak. I'm not saying I don't want to have kids (I'm assuming the desire will hit me at some point - it just never has so far) or that I think it's wrong or anything - I'm just interested in people's conscious decisions to procreate (the unconscious decision to procreate is far more common and, for that reason, completely uninteresting to me). I totally get the desire to make love (thank the Lord!), I'm just a bit more shaky around the desire to make babies. I understand that people want to have kids, what I want to know is why they want them. Leanne got where I was coming from and feels kind of the same when it comes to having another. She said that people just assume that she'll want to have more, but she really can't see why she would want another one. Anyway - good chat!
Some prospective clients for my 'leisure-time' freelance venture flew up from London and took me out to dinner on Wednesday night. We went to the Living Room and I thoroughly enjoyed the food - though the house champagne left a lot to be desired. We talked business and they didn't hit on me - step up from last week (see 'Networking?'). I was firing on all cylinders and actually astounded myself. I had a bit of an out-of-body moment when I looked at myself, listened to what I was saying and wanted to laugh at how grown-up and knowledgeable I sounded. Anyway, I offered my services as a consultant for a few days and they were most receptive. Ka-ching!
I popped round to see Sam on Thursday night. It was freezing outside and the cup of tea he made me was delightful. I told him about my week; my ups and downs, triumphs and irritations. He told me about his week; his visa/passport issues, proteins, genes and bio-informatics. I am chuffed with myself because I have set-up a website and have been teaching myself how to build it (in the most basic of ways naturally). I was even more chuffed because Sam seemed chuffed at my being chuffed with myself because I wrote a little bit of HTML. Then he offered to give me a copy of Dreamweaver (an HTML cheat). Cool. I left Sam's place feeling ten times better than I had when I went in.
Bring on the weekend!
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