2009: I saw, I ate, I undid my top button, then ate more

You know, it's impossible to replicate a happy memory, to remember a certain feeling or relive the moment you first experience something. And sometimes, this makes me sad. I'll never again experience Paris for the first time, or eat my first cheesecake. But whenever I think this I take a moment to mentally bitch slap myself because the beauty of life is you can continually build on these moments and memories. So much so, you overflow your mind with happiness, take everything for granted and then have to re bitch slap yourself as a reminder to be thankful for the great life you have.

And what a great one I have.

London, as trying as it is sometimes, will only give as much as you're prepared to take. The city is like one of those friends who is great fun, amazing, bright and clever. But you have to make an effort with London, and as long as that's ok with you, it's everything you could ever want.

It's been another year away from family and friends and another year of making the logo bigger and making my copy sound 'more fun'. But then again, it's been another year of amazing trips away, mind blowing food and fun stuff. So as I sit here, on New Year's Eve, on my rather comfy £40 sofa, slow cooked pork in the oven and listening to the Concerto for violin, oboe and strings in D minor, I'm exactly where I want to be and I couldn't be more content.

Happy New Year.

PS

That was not a dig at LP, more an observation of t-shirt usage based on him and other males.

Thank you.

PPS He did not make me write this.

One time dirtiness

So there's something I don't understand about men.

Why can they wear a pair of jeans numerous times, some may say too many times, within a two week washing period, yet wear a t-shirt once and have to wash it?

Now I understand the issues. There are the pits. Yes, they produce man stench.

However!

You, men, are NOT going out, spearing animals and dragging them home on your backs. Nor are you jogging, in a sauna or in one of those humid plant conservatories while wearing your (insert special own man t-shirt here). You are not and I repeat, not, doing enough to produce a sweat and therefore a pongy enough smell to warrant a one wear t-shirt wash.

Why is it that you'll happily have a sweaty bum, fart and god knows what else in your jeans and not wash them after one wear? The lower region holds far more blows that your pits, yet your clothes are not evenly compensated and I want answers.

I'm waiting...

People who make me work

I don't enjoy working at the best of times. I resist having to do it as I have a naturally lazy and difficult nature, so when it's Christmastime and I'm trying to wind down, I really don't appreciate people coming up to me asking me to do things or starting sentences with 'what are you up to?' or 'can you just...'. How about just getting out of my face?

Our last day of work is tomorrow. Everyone knows that no work will be done either today or tomorrow. It's COMMON KNOWLEDGE you stubborn spreadsheet wielding mules! It's one of those unwritten rules, like being able to lick your ice cream bowl at home but not at a restaurant.

I've spent the best part of the day transferring movies to my hard drive. Oh, and I played the Wii this morning. At the moment I'm doing my last transfer and then I'm out of here. See? This is me getting into the spirit of things.

Leave me alone advertising go getters. I will not let you and your 'heeeeys' or 'what are you doing for Crimbo?' prefaces get me to cave in and do any work. And don't come and sit on my desk, it doesn't make you friendlier.

And finally, anyone who says 'Crimbo' should probably be shot with some kind of sparkly decoration.

People who make me feel sleepy

There are a few things that make me sleepy and they are as follows:

1. Being in a food court with that tiresome background chatter

2. Watching movies with the lights off (standard)

3. Work meetings (standard)

4. Boring people


I often wonder, do boring people know they're boring?

I mean, fat people know they're overweight, Chinese people know they're Chinese and so on. But boring people, do they know they are the corduroy of conversations? Man, there's nothing worse than getting stuck with a one way conversationer in social situations. You know the ones that make you fire incessant questions at them to keep the darkness of awkward silence from descending? And then to make matters worse, they make you scrape the barrel, you know, REALLY scrape, and dig out the turd of all conversation life support systems like:

* What do you do?

* What does a (insert boring job in here) do?

* Where do you live?

* Do you like it?

Pause...........wait for them to ask you something.....nothing.......insert desperate question generator thinking music

* Sooo, where did you get (insert clothing item if it's a girl) from?

Now, these people could just be really self involved rather than boring, but I'm pretty sure these two personality defects come hand in hand.

When I'm in a social situation I'm lazy. I either position myself sitting down somewhere, like a table or couch or right by the food table if there is one. Either way, I find it hard to leave my original seat. So this leaves me with problems when faced with the enemy. Yes, I could retreat, but I'm not a stander and I prefer to be using the cushion of my arse, after all, that's what it's there for.

Now, I don't know about any of you, but my normal boring person conversation ALWAYS pans out like this.

I start by testing the water. I throw out some questions and then see what I get back. If there's nothing substantial, I keep trying like a moth trying to commit suicide and reach into the afore mentioned turd barrel. Then, I end up saying weird things. You know, just really strange things, usually about poo, solely for my own amusement. Then they freak out, make an excuse and move on and I get to keep my seat.

Greener grass? Or perhaps it's just astro turf.

I'm back and breathing again having emerged from yet another dark period of my working life. The day after a pitch is over, I still feel delicate. On edge. Ready to snap at the next person who dares make me work. Inevitably, after that happens I have post snap guilt and write an email apology. Then, the day after that, due to my useless short term memory, I forget the stress, the weekends thinking of (insert useless consumer brand) and how I can possibly 'connect' with (insert target audience) in a 'unique' and 'interesting' way.

Sigh. I'm like an advertising goldfish.

Ugh, I hate goldfish.

They make me feel sick with their bulging little eyes and the poo that hangs out of their bums while they swim around. It's just not right. I often get weird sick reactions (e.g my mouth filling with saliva) towards things I have been ok with for a good 25 years. I have a list (please note this is subject to change and by no means definitive):

* Goldfish
* Pasties (I think I'm over this one though)
* Nail files
* Feet on pillows
* Unwashed new items (e.g plates, saucepans etc)

Sorry, went a bit off track there. The original thought behind this post was about job envy. When I describe my job, it sounds cool. Think of ideas. Go and get coffee. Surf the net. Write some copy. Sometimes even try (and I use this term very loosely) and draw up ideas. Play table tennis. I guess the grass greener stuff is similar to the years I spent wishing I was a blonde. Finally, when I found a hairdresser greedy enough to take my money, I became the blonde of my dreams. The grass was not greener as my hair ended up feeling like dead grass in the midst of an Australian drought.

Lesson learned: don't dye black hair blonde and perhaps appreciate your job where you get paid to 'think' and 'write' a little more.