Friday, March 02, 2012

DSC_2303 [ps] - Atoy!It occurs to me that Glee is Byker Grove with singing (well, more singing, and commercial performances in the programme rather than the following Saturday morning). Which is fine just as long as there isn't any paintballing.

I need to stop wasting money. That being said all money is wasted whether in the spending or hoarding. But I was buying little Lego minifig things (basically Lego have gone the football cards route of blind packages and gotta-collect-em-all, which I don't really approve of them doing—have you seen what they Legoify now? The backlash will come and this saddens me, and that's not even considering the deplorable Lego Friends for Deeply Unimaginative Girls (TM)—but because it's Lego and not football I quite like the results) each time I went to anything medical, because I'd bought a couple for the BroSIL as there's always Lego at Christmas, then was jealous, so started buying them for myself (the shop down the road from the doctors' does the old sets cheaper), then started getting repetitions (another footballer. Why is it always sodding football?), which was a lot less fun, then discovered the key to codes, and then went a bit overboard while waiting for people to text back and tell me where I was going next, and so went through most of the stock in the shop picking out the ones I didn't already have (with only slight repetition where I misdivined the bumps), while the shop assistants made bitchy comments to each other (I can hear you, and I already heard your earlier conversation, so, er, a bit less mockery of the customers please, unless you wish me to spread, well, news of what you found yourself spreading).

I think I'm in love with the sailor (malheureusement, j'ai un musketeer seulement). Which makes a change from the man who tried to steal my heart on Reagent Street (that or crush it. Please, if you're going to shoot into the gap between two streams of pedestrian traffic, and miss it, don't do it with a rucksack full of large, heavy metal objects in it; I hope I broke his hard-drive) or the guy who stole my eye at Waterl'eau (in answer to the question neither of us asked as we passed in eye-contact chicken: yes, fervently yes, probably with a please too. One day I won't flinch, flicking my eyes down, away, but instead speak. As for him, he had greenish-blue eyes, dark enough lashes, brown hair with a slight tinge of red, and, er, I'm not sure of the rest except his smile was glorious, and his friend chatting away had no idea).

Oh, and what's your take on this:
X: Anyone bagsied Thursday evening yet?
X: Heard owt from X?
Y: Bagged! No word from X.

Yes, that's what I thought/But don't you see how it could be misconstrued?

Um, yeah, so an Undone day was had, except through incompetence/miscommunication (and fall-back plans fell of the face of the Earth), I didn't see anyone bar the doctor.

Well, anyone I know that is.


The initial eye contact is invariably the most successful element of my interaction with people. After that I'm hopeless.

But yes, maybe you should speak next time.
If only swapping photons was enough.
Post a Comment

<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?