Hattie japes

For about the fourth time in two years, I've decided once again to try growing my hair a bit longer.

Quite frankly, I'm a bit fed-up with the short spiky look I've sported for the last ... ooo ... ten years!?

Blimey, has it really been that long?

Anyway, the thing is, I've just hit 'THE DANGER ZONE.' Y'know, that bit where you can get up one day, look in the mirror, and exclaim loudly "GEEZ!! I LOOK LIKE ROBERT SMITH!!!"

Then the next thing you know you're sitting in the barber's chair asking for a number 1.

So far, I'm taking it one day at a time. 'THE DANGER ZONE' is, you see, the point where you stray from the 'reasonably acceptable' into the 'looking a tad spoddy,' before, hopefully, coming out the other side with a dash of new style. Best pal Yaz describes 'THE DANGER ZONE' as 'looking a bit Jamie,' which, let's face it, no one needs.

The best bit of advice I've had about bypassing 'THE DANGER ZONE' is to wear a hat. But it's too warm to wear a beanie now, and so I'm going for the baseball cap. Because today, all I'd need would be a pair of NHS-regulation glasses and I'd be that first-year kid you taunted mercilessly when you were in secondary school.

And that is not really the look I'm going for.

I'll have a nimbus please

Thanks to a link posted on the genius that is Popbitch, I can finally realize my dream of owning a pet cloud.

My awesome-ometer just went right off the scale.

My own personal Nemesis

Here's a question: Anyone got any good ideas about how to vanquish a Nemesis?

I ask this because I have one, and unlike a basket of puppies you can't just dump it in the river and watch it float away. Or, better still, drown.

Things would be so much easier if I could just vapourise him, but I think the technology is still a few years off. Maybe banish him to the phantom zone?

Damn these pop-culture references! Answers on a postcard!!

(And the more they look like the Hooded Claw would've used them to eliminate Penelope Pitstop the better!)

Buying petrol is fun!

I thought I'd swing by BP on the way home to get some petrol before it gets even MORE expensive. I'll be taking out a second mortgage for the next tank-full...

Anyway, I fill up, and stroll into the shop where a lovely young lady smiles at me and asks how she can help.

"Pump number one," I say, flashing a quick smile in response (it never hurts to flirt with the shop girl).

"Do you have a Nectar card?" She asked, wiping a stray hair from her eyes.

"No," I replied.

Then she looked at me, tilted her head a little, and said:

"Would you like me to give you one?"

And that, dear reader, is where I ask you to write your own punchline.

Normal service will resume shortly

Excuse me, but for anyone who knows me, this was inevitable:

A new Star Trek film? How exciting!

And, AND, get this: It's going to be written, produced, and probably directed by J.J. Abrams! The man who created Lost! This is geek heaven!!

So it's Star Trek, but by the guy who does Lost.

So it could turn out to be like Lost ... but in space...?

Lost ... in space?

Lost in space.

Oh, hang on...

"You bubble-headed booby! You realize what you've done?"

(Sorry - complaints to the usual address...)

In three words!

I read something interesting last week while having coffee with Yaz. She'd picked up a jobs and career newspaper (and by 'picked up' I mean 'had it forced on her by some bloke in the street') en route to Secret Starbucks, and in it was a small piece of advice for job-seekers:

Think of three words to define yourself.

Hmmm. There's an interesting challenge.

They recommended avoiding words such as 'tenacious' and 'focused,' because quite frankly we can all be focused on something but it might not be appropriate to be be focused on it in the workplace, I suspect.

So Yaz and I got thinking about the words that would define us should the need arise. 'Bitch,' 'bastard,' and 'arseface' all came up, but I'm not sure they'd cover all the bases in an interview.

I ran it past Mr. Marcus via email a short time later, and one of his words ('cos he cheated on two and used whole sentences) was 'chocolaty.'

Ooo, I like that one, and I think a potential employer would too:

"I'm chocolaty!"

"How delightfully insightful. Have a job, a car, and a six-figure salary."

Anyway, I'm still trying to think of the three words that would define me. In my present state of mind, I'm thinking along the lines of:

Wibbly
Vacuous
Erratic (yes, that is an 'a.' God, get your mind out of the gutter...)

I was thinking about 'mysterious,' but seeing as I'm spilling my life out onto a blog, that's gone to hell.

Any-hoo, anyone fancy defining themselves in three? Leave a comment if you think you can. Go on, just write down the first three words that come into your mind when you think about yourself...

(I'd love to promise a prize to whoever can come up with the best, but I'm vacuous and erratic, so there's zilch chance of that.)

Hop to it kids!

Just say "no," kids

Crikey, I've just been to see the Silent Hill movie with my ol' pal Jo.

If you're thinking of seeing this film, our advice is:

Don't.

Seriously, just don't. Save your money, save two hours of your life, SAVE YOURSELF! Run for the hills - just not the silent ones!

Reunite the kids from Grange Hill and "JUST SAY NO!"

It's really that awful. I feel used, abused, and dirty.

Must go shower...

Exonerated

No, unlike The A-Team, I have not been accused of a crime I didn't commit.

Yet.

No, that headline actually refers to the play I've just been to see at the fee-a-ter. Fee-ater. Theatre! That's it! With award-winning Lee.

It was far too cultured to go into any detail about here, but suffice to say that Lee touched Kate Mulgrew (not inappropriately, I should say) in the bar afterwards.

And bought her a glass of wine. Flirtatious bastard.

I'm sure he'll be spilling his Mulgrew-beans all over his blog very soon, and dining off that story for AGES.

He was practically vibrating with excitement.

Ant attack update

Ooo, while I think about it - and for anyone who's interested - here's the latest on the invading ant situation in the office:

WAR! The republic is crumbling under attacks by the ruthless Sith Lord, Count Doo-

No, hang on ... that's Star Wars Episode III...

Hmmm...

Truth be told, the current situation is a bit like the classic Paul Verhoeven movie Starship Troopers, except the ants aren't 100ft tall, and my boobs aren't quite as perky as Denise Richards'.

Oh, and so far I've yet to fly a big spaceship into their nest, but, y'know, it could happen in the next day or so...

More updates as the excitement unfolds!

Cor blimey, my 'ead hurts

So I woke up today with a headache, which was a lovely start to the day. (I doubt it has anything to do with yesterday's cola mega-test)

After a couple of hours spent wishing it away (that worked!), I remembered that I'd bought some 4head a while back. This miracle cure is, apparently, a natural alternative to pills. Great, I hate taking tablets (I'd've been rubbish at raves back in the early 90s - sober as a judge. Oh, and I would've only been about 13).

Anyway, whipped out the 4head (reflecting just for an instant on how I like what they did with the name, very witty), and wiped it over my spam. Give it a few minutes...

Ooo... it tingles...

Ooo...

Hmmm... my eyes are watering.

Great. Not only do I still have the headache, but now I look like it's reduced me to tears. Maybe I need to apply more?

Anyway, suffice to say it didn't work. Would it've been more successful if I'd wedged it in my ear and twiddled it around a bit? I dunno, but I'll try it next time.

Either that or I'll swap it for a Pritt Stick; I doubt it'll cure the headache, but there's countless comedy applications.

I'm a coke fiend

Yes, you read that right - I am a coke fiend.

And by that I mean I've been taste-testing the latest vile varieties of cola-based beverages, just so you don't have to.

I'm nice like that, y'see.

First up: Pepsi Max-Cino!

(And for fans of The OC, no it's not a cola-based beverage from the wrong side of the tracks who is taken in by a wealthy family)

This intricately-named drink is actually a coffee-flavoured sugar free cola-based beverage. Ooo, doesn't that sound just... well, delicious!

Think again, buster. Pepsi Max-Dirt would be more relevant. I had to buy a six-pack of this 'cos they didn't have singles, so I think I'm well-placed to say that cans 1-6 did not taste anything like coffee. It did, however, strip my teeth of any and all traces of plaque, thus saving me from a costly drip to the dentist. So "Hooray" to that.

On the downside, after six cans I felt a tad jittery. And a little paranoid.

Next up is Coca-Cola Lime, which comes in a stunning vibrant green bottle. GASP! How exotic!

On the downside, it tastes a bit like what I'd imagine Matey Bubble Bath tastes like.

Actually, I'd hazard a guess that Matey tastes better. And is probably better for you in the long term.

Which is a shame, because I love the advert for this ("put the lime in the coke you nut"); I did try to find it online, but all this cola-based fun has given me an extremely short attention span so, y'know, just Google it or something.

I'll be sitting in a darkened room trying to stop grinding my teeth together and coming down from a sugar-high – and no doubt looking forward to the imminent launch of Coke Blak. How ominous!

It's just another manic monda- er, Tuesday...

Bloody bank holidays, grumble, grumble, moan, moan.

So today, I managed to turn the alarm clock off in my sleep. Finally got up around the time I usually leave for work.

Hmmm.

Fortunately, Easter holiday traffic meant I got into work just 20 minutes later than usual... to find that the ants who have recently invaded the office have declared all out war. Bastards.

Mind you, Nippon spray seems to work a treat, and failing that I've just been whacking them with the can.

Then I found out the server was down - ARRRGGH!!! - to be followed by an email from My Nemesis who was gloating over the fact that he'd just gotten back from a relaxing 10 day holiday. Bastard. Maybe I should spray him with Nippon. Or hit him with the can.

Mind you, I think a personal nemesis could be this year's 'in' accessory. Beats Paris Hilton's deformed little dog.

What an eventful start to the working week.

Is it Friday yet?

What I've been doing, post queuin'

Aaaah... what a reasonably nice Easter weekend.

Putting Saturday's queuing incident behind me, I checked out a sweet little movie on Sunday (and by sweet I mean both the Cartman style "sweeeeeeeet" as well as the more familiar "awww, that was sweet"). It was a little indie flick called Junebug, and I enjoyed it very much. Shame it's only on at select few cinemas (I had to traipse up to bloomin' Piccadilly!); surely the world could do with a few more movies like this and a few less Scary Movie 4s...?

(God! Did I just say that!? I used to be a whore to the blockbuster movie!!! Must be growing up... Bring on Superman Returns before all hope is lost!)

Today's been bit less interesting, to be honest. I worked. Yes, I sat at my little desk in my little house and I did some work. Bleeeurgh. Oh well, beats heading down the mines!

Oh, and I finally got round to downloading some tracks I wanted off iTunes, among them 'Valentine' by Delays. I've never been a fan of this lot before, but this song is amazing! Might have to buy the album...

It's definitely feet up for the rest of the evening; there's a new episode of Smallville on, and I'll fill the rest of my time with my nose in a book - this one, to be specific. I'd recommend it to anyone who loved Michael Chabon's The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay.

Yes, it's that good.

Enjoy the rest of the bank holiday peoploids...

(oh, and for anyone who's interested - in comparison to my relatively chilled out response to Saturday's Red Hot Chili Peppers fiasco, Simon has fired off a number of angry letters to the BBC and the Evening Standard, and spent the rest of his weekend blowing things up playing Black on the PS2. How cathartic.)

Bloody, bloody BBC

Did anyone read in the Evening Standard on Friday about the free Red Hot Chili Peppers' gig at the BBC today?

You did? So did my brother, Simon.

And today's his birthday (happy b'day, bro)!

What better way to celebrate than rocking out with one of his favourite bands? (As long as they don't do the 'sock thing,' 'cos otherwise I'm right out of there)

So rock along to BBC Television Centre we did, and joined a queue of reasonable length (and by that I mean juuuuuuust about long enough that you think you'll get in).

And we queued. For two and a half hours. In the rain. Still, we passed the time with our usual witty banter (which mainly consisted of shouting lines from Green Wing at each other), and were entertained by a group of drunken pikeys who kept singing Chris de Burgh's 'Lady in Red' to some, er, lady in red...

And then some important BBC people stumbled along the pavement (they must've been important because they were wearing microphone headsets - either that or they were just on their way to a mass recreation of Madonna's Vogue video), and muttered that no one would get in unless they had a ticket.

A wha...?

A bloody ticket?!

Oh, or a wristband. Do you have a wristband?

I'll give you a wristba-

Did no-one at the BBC look out the window and think "gosh, that queue looks a bit longer than the 600 tickets we handed out." Could they not've sent someone out earlier? Could they not've printed some signs!?

Anyway, the BBC people, after condescendingly telling us that the BBC car park can actually only hold a few hundred people and blaming the Evening Standard for everything, wandered off to their Vogue dance club, leaving a rapidly dissipating queue behind them. We strolled, slightly disheartened, back to the car, to the strains of yet another drunken reprisal of 'Lady in Red'...

So, that's it then. The Evening Standard and the BBC ruined Simon's birthday. And the rain made his hair go frizzy.

I'm blaming Fearne Cotton. Bitch.

Dress to impress

It's either a compliment, or a shocking endictment on how I usually dress.

I tell you, you wear anything other than a pair of jeans and a crumpled up t-shirt (with a vaguely rude message emblazoned across it) to work, and everyone assumes you're either:

a) on the pull.

b) going for a job interview.

(Which I'm not, Janice, in case you're reading)

That said, just as I was about to leave the house this morning, I did catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and decided that, on this occasion at least, I didn't want to dress like the new Doctor Who from the waist down.

I changed shoes; it's really not converse weather anyway.

It's all getting a bit biblical

I've been working for the same company for almost seven years now.

(SEVEN YEARS!? Bloody hell!!)

Anyway, in that time, the office has been flooded. And struck by lightning.

Recently we've discovered ants in the kitchen. Not just one or two. LOADS OF THEM.

Now, I've never read the Bible, and please stop me if I'm wrong, but the above pattern suggests that at some point in the future we're going to be struck by some sort of ... plague...

What have we done to upset God?

On the plus side, we're quite enjoying messing with the ants. Today we discovered that they spin out of control like a rally driver on an icy road if you spray WD40 in their path.

And I've been hitting them with spoons.

You can tell it's a four day week, huh?

Hmmm...

I really don't have anything to say today.

(cue tumbleweed)

Ho-hum.

Can't wait until the bank holiday. Anyone doing anything nice?

Ha ha ha!

Poor little bugger!

Sexy mysteries

Actually, that should read 'cosmic mysteries,' but I'm still adhering to the wisdom of my last post.

Anyway, Ghostbusters has just come on the telly, and it's reminded me of one of the most perplexing mysteries of recent times. Basically, the predictive text on my phone has learnt, with the correct key-pad pressings, to spell 'Zool'.

As in 'The Gatekeeper'.

Now this is perplexing for several reasons. Firstly, I doubt very much that Nokia would program the word 'Zool' into the dictionary of a mobile phone. Secondly, that means that I taught it to. Which means at some point in the past I must've had a very indepth text conversation that explored the finer details of Ghostbusters; a conversation, I'm sad to say, I can't remember.

It's been a long time since I was drunk, so I can't blame it on that old chestnut.

So if anyone out there remembers me texting 'Zool' to them multiple times, could you please refresh my memory and let me know what it was all about. (And I should point out that the imdb informs me that the correct spelling is actually 'Zuul,' but the fact of the matter is, I was still engaged in a conversation about a fictional demonic character from a classic 1980's movie)

Ta.

Oh, and the other cosmic mystery - why is it if you spill a glass of water it always, without fail, lands in your groin? The amount of times in the last week I've had to make excuses for looking like an incontinent weirdo is, worringly, nudging double figures.

Making life more entertaining

I had an epiphany at work yesterday afternoon while reading some episode synopses on startrek.com (stop mocking me, I was actually working!).

First of all, let me explain: towards the end of last year I came into the possession of a Family Guy DVD boxset. I'd never really watched it before, but had heard great things about it, so I took the plunge.

For those of you who haven't watched the show, and I'm sure pretty much everyone who has watched it would agree with me, Stewie is the best character. He's a baby hellbent on world domination. I empathise with him.

Anyway, Stewie occasionally throws, er, "sexy parties." Yes. "sexy parties." Don't believe me? Look: a sexy party.

So, there I was, on startrek.com, and it occured to me that any sentence can be made *SO* much funnier by inserting the word "sexy" into it.

For instance, startrek.com's synopsis for the Enterprise episode 'Strange New World' reads:

'Crew members go on a survey mission to a seemingly uninhabited Earth-like planet where a mysterious alien presence sends them into a state of paranoid overdrive.'

My version reads:

'Crew members go on a sexy mission to a seemingly uninhabited Earth-like planet where a mysterious alien presence sends them into a state of paranoid overdrive.'

Snigger. I'm so easily amused. Go try it on the BBC website. Bird flu's never been so amusing.

Maybe I should change the tag line at the top of this page to 'senseless malarkey and mindless drivel from my sexy human brain?'

You'd all be bookmarking it then, huh?

General malarkey

I should carry a camera with me at all times. I'm convinced I saw Oscar-winning actor F. Murray Abraham pushing a shopping trolley round the backstreets of Hammersmith at lunchtime.

Hmmm...

Any-hoo, my ol' pal Mr Chunt has been trawling the internet for amusing goodies, and he found possibly the funniest Star Trek video clip EVAH here.

Spock singing Bobby Brown? Genius...

Erm, hang on a sec

Outrageous!

Look here – like a prissy little queen, the Daily Mail is outraged again.

That said, they've kinda got a point this time - all charges against Cocaine Ka– sorry, Kate Moss, have been dropped because she didn't 'admit' to Police that she'd snorted something white, powdery, and, er, oh yeah! Illegal.

So... let me get this right: despite the photos, the public apologies, etc, etc, because she didn't go "yes guv, I did it" she gets off?!

Damn! If i'd known that when I was a kid I'd have escaped numerous botty smacks!

(And just to clear that up - I was not a child cocaine addict; it was more to do with stealing my bro's Lego.)

Humph!

OK, who's in?

Check this out!

I've got £1.72 and a winning smile - can anyone stump up the rest?

Speed kills, Wembley sinks

It must be another slow news day - the headline on today's copy of The Times drops the bombshell that the death rate for young drivers has doubled!

WOW! Why is this news? Have they not seen the teenaged-nutters in their souped up Saxos and Corsas roaring through 30mph zones at warp speed?! Ooo... checkout the latest in must-chav motors here and here.

Classy, huh? You've gotta respect a car with an exhaust pipe you can fit your head in. Much respec'.

Oh, and The Evening Standard billboards are proudly announcing that the new Wembley stadium is sinking. How exciting! Thank God the Rolling Stones have moved their gigs to Twickenham...