Tuesday, 31 January 2012
Back with a bang & a whimper
So the bang is I'VE WON TICKETS TO LONDON FASHION WEEK!!! And the whimper? You've guessed it ... I've got nothing to wear!!!!!!
Saturday, 18 October 2008
Suicide Blonde - Dyed By My Own Hand
17th October
Decide in preparation for trip to USA to highlight hair with kit bought some time ago for purpose. Therefore proceed to unwrap kit, which includes cap for head and fiendish looking metal crochet hook for purposes of drawing hair through cap.
Follow instructions to place cap on head and tie drawstrings under chin, but am completely unable to tell from either instructions or pictures which way round the cap should go. Eventually after much too-ing and fro-ing settle on a direction and pull cap firmly down on head, at which point it rips up one side leaving one tie dangling uselessly.
Am unsure whether this means I have unfeasibly large head (horrified flash back to man hand incident at work earlier in week) or merely have hat on back to front, gloomily decide that it is both, and press on as being Too Late Now.
Find I am entirely lacking in knack required for successful drawing through of hair, as either succeed in only pulling through vaguest wisp of hair, or after repeatedly stabbing my self with crochet hook, drawing through enormous clump of hair and enlarging hole. Additionally each time a draw hair through, succeed in pulling hair already through back into cap, in manner vaguely reminiscent of funfair game where mole pops up through one hole, only to disappear swiftly before appearing through another some distance away. (Similarity ends there as no one attempting to bash me on head with mallet, which given damage done to scalp by metal hook feel especially grateful for.)
Persevere until most of top, front of head is done, resign myself to not having highlights on back of head and give up and coat hair in bleach paste. Decide while I am waiting to remove facial hair with cream (thankfully not confused with bleach paste), and read book in bath. Get totally absorbed in book and completely forget time, coming back to myself only to discover bleach has been on head for good 10 minutes longer than intended, screech, leap from bath and plunge head into shower.
When I finally get up nerve to inspect finished effect am pleasantly surprised by flattering aspect and feel all turned out rather well considering.
Decide in preparation for trip to USA to highlight hair with kit bought some time ago for purpose. Therefore proceed to unwrap kit, which includes cap for head and fiendish looking metal crochet hook for purposes of drawing hair through cap.
Follow instructions to place cap on head and tie drawstrings under chin, but am completely unable to tell from either instructions or pictures which way round the cap should go. Eventually after much too-ing and fro-ing settle on a direction and pull cap firmly down on head, at which point it rips up one side leaving one tie dangling uselessly.
Am unsure whether this means I have unfeasibly large head (horrified flash back to man hand incident at work earlier in week) or merely have hat on back to front, gloomily decide that it is both, and press on as being Too Late Now.
Find I am entirely lacking in knack required for successful drawing through of hair, as either succeed in only pulling through vaguest wisp of hair, or after repeatedly stabbing my self with crochet hook, drawing through enormous clump of hair and enlarging hole. Additionally each time a draw hair through, succeed in pulling hair already through back into cap, in manner vaguely reminiscent of funfair game where mole pops up through one hole, only to disappear swiftly before appearing through another some distance away. (Similarity ends there as no one attempting to bash me on head with mallet, which given damage done to scalp by metal hook feel especially grateful for.)
Persevere until most of top, front of head is done, resign myself to not having highlights on back of head and give up and coat hair in bleach paste. Decide while I am waiting to remove facial hair with cream (thankfully not confused with bleach paste), and read book in bath. Get totally absorbed in book and completely forget time, coming back to myself only to discover bleach has been on head for good 10 minutes longer than intended, screech, leap from bath and plunge head into shower.
When I finally get up nerve to inspect finished effect am pleasantly surprised by flattering aspect and feel all turned out rather well considering.
Saturday, 4 October 2008
A Quiet Afternoon in the Office
Is entirely brightened by this:
4PM Actually, It's a Generational Rorschach Test
Twentysomething new hire: Why is there a Harry Potter picture in our lobby?
Fortysomething manager: Actually that's a painting of John Lennon.
Silicon Valley, California
Overheard by: Pop Culturally Literate
via Overheard in the Office, Sep 18, 2006
4PM Actually, It's a Generational Rorschach Test
Twentysomething new hire: Why is there a Harry Potter picture in our lobby?
Fortysomething manager: Actually that's a painting of John Lennon.
Silicon Valley, California
Overheard by: Pop Culturally Literate
via Overheard in the Office, Sep 18, 2006
Thursday, 25 September 2008
Mailing List Mystery
I have to admit I'm on a lot of mailing lists - I can't help it, they are a weakness of mine - I hate the feeling I might be missing out on something, so I tick the little box and then spend the rest of my life trying to work out why I wanted to hear about the products I am sent.
This time however I cannot for the life of me work out what little box I ticked that hinted I might be in the market for the following product, which arrived in my inbox today:
"Dear all,
Insignia International is proud to be able to offer you the unique opportunity to invest in this outstanding 'personally signed' replica of the ice axe used by the late Sir Edmund Hillary on the 29th May 1953."
I mean darlings, I'm all for vintage ice picks, but only for chipping ice for my vintage cocktails. And presumably since Sir Edmund is no longer with us, it's replica signature on his replica axe.
Sadly the price was not revealed, But one can't help but think that "easy installments" might come into it somewhere.
Be sure this will NOT be on my Christmas list!
This time however I cannot for the life of me work out what little box I ticked that hinted I might be in the market for the following product, which arrived in my inbox today:
"Dear all,
Insignia International is proud to be able to offer you the unique opportunity to invest in this outstanding 'personally signed' replica of the ice axe used by the late Sir Edmund Hillary on the 29th May 1953."
I mean darlings, I'm all for vintage ice picks, but only for chipping ice for my vintage cocktails. And presumably since Sir Edmund is no longer with us, it's replica signature on his replica axe.
Sadly the price was not revealed, But one can't help but think that "easy installments" might come into it somewhere.
Be sure this will NOT be on my Christmas list!
Tuesday, 9 September 2008
when is a door not a door?
Have singular experience with member of public who appears at my reception desk from corridor leading to gallery, points at door and asks Is This Entrance To Gallery.
I answer in the affirmative, as it is, while privately musing that actually the term exit would be more appropriate, and member of public leaves through door.
Member of public reappears moments later looking confused and says This Door Leads Outside. Am unsure of how to respond to this as A, it is true and B I'm not sure of source of confusion, as it is customary for entrances to be the link between outside and inside, and she was inside when she started.
Realise too late that Member of Public has walked through entire inside of museum looking for entrance to museum and can only wonder where she thought she already was and what she thought entire contents of museum, shop and free exhibition were.
Member of Public uses my hesitation do dart off down tunnel to special exhibition, which may well be what she has been searching for all along, but won't do her much good as she hasn't bought a ticket. As predicted she is turned back by colleague, but obviously considers contents of exhibition not worth frustration of talking to me again and sidles off back the way she came without buying ticket.
Do not care to speculate on her experience of Front of House helpfulness as aware to close an examination might reveal flaws in my own performance best left in dark, along with member of public.
I answer in the affirmative, as it is, while privately musing that actually the term exit would be more appropriate, and member of public leaves through door.
Member of public reappears moments later looking confused and says This Door Leads Outside. Am unsure of how to respond to this as A, it is true and B I'm not sure of source of confusion, as it is customary for entrances to be the link between outside and inside, and she was inside when she started.
Realise too late that Member of Public has walked through entire inside of museum looking for entrance to museum and can only wonder where she thought she already was and what she thought entire contents of museum, shop and free exhibition were.
Member of Public uses my hesitation do dart off down tunnel to special exhibition, which may well be what she has been searching for all along, but won't do her much good as she hasn't bought a ticket. As predicted she is turned back by colleague, but obviously considers contents of exhibition not worth frustration of talking to me again and sidles off back the way she came without buying ticket.
Do not care to speculate on her experience of Front of House helpfulness as aware to close an examination might reveal flaws in my own performance best left in dark, along with member of public.
Friday, 21 March 2008
Who Ya Gonna Call?
March 13
Awake in the early hours of the morning to the horrifying realisation that I can hear voices in my sitting room.
Ignore all horror movie etiquette by immediately creeping downstairs to investigate clutching a high heeled shoe in one hand and phone in other, with two nines already programmed in should it turn out to be burglars.
Am somewhat bemused as I get closer, by apparent notion, based on voices I can hear, that I am being burgled by my Mother, my sister and my friend Jeff from Texas.
All is explained when I peek into the sitting room to find my answer machine playing all my messages in a loop. ... over and over and over.
With great relief that I am not going to have to do stiletto kung-fu on some home invader I switch the machine off.
This is not first indication of a ghost in my machine. I have been noticing for some time that machine is developing idiosyncrasies as it has been refusing to delete old messages without the persuasion of a sharp bang on floor. Machine now moves on to full demonic possession as it switches itself on again and continues repeating the messages that have supposedly been deleted.
I reflect that it is just as well I lead a pure and blameless life as I can well imagine circumstances under which it would be somewhat awkward to have one's entire collection of deleted messages blurted out to whomever is in the room!
With this thought I switch machine off at the wall and hurry back to bed as I wish to be entirely unaware of it if machine does some how manage to turn itself on again. Have no desire to be subject to projectile vomiting or the realisation that my messages played back ward reveal message of demonic worship.
March 14th
Throw away answering machine and set up answering service with provider.
March 15th
Discover that answering service requires touch tone phone to delete messages (why why am I to be haunted with un-deleted messages???) spend evening listening to messages one at a time on rotary dial phone and hanging up between each message to delete them.
March 16th
Buy new touch tone phone.
March 20th
Strange footnote to chapter of possessed telephones occurs when my hitherto perfectly behaved mobile phone decides to send a picture message to the first name on my phonebook list.
Photo is rather unfortunately of new Mr Bang's new nipple piercing and recipient is Alice with whom I previously worked at Mad Boat Company in London.
A moral quandary presents itself as I get no response from Alice and can only hope she has deleted my phone number and is ignoring anonymous hairy nipple message. Am reluctant to text her with explanation and there by reveal source of nipple, however if she does still have my number, don't want her to think that I have deliberately sent her picture of nipple as sort of thing she would like to see.
Third and even more disturbing scenario occurs to me where Alice thinks I have deliberately sent her picture of hairy nipple and that it is mine and she is too embarrassed or revolted to speak to me further.
Take cowardly but possibly sensible stance that least said is soonest mended.
Resolve to question Dear Friend Rachel as to whether she has heard from Alice recently and if my name came up.
Alice says:
Nipple picture wasn't ever received (sadly). Although it could have been sent to my old number, which i think i still have sim card for so may have a peek when i have nothing else to do...
Posted by Al on Thursday, January 22, 2009 - 11:08 AM
Awake in the early hours of the morning to the horrifying realisation that I can hear voices in my sitting room.
Ignore all horror movie etiquette by immediately creeping downstairs to investigate clutching a high heeled shoe in one hand and phone in other, with two nines already programmed in should it turn out to be burglars.
Am somewhat bemused as I get closer, by apparent notion, based on voices I can hear, that I am being burgled by my Mother, my sister and my friend Jeff from Texas.
All is explained when I peek into the sitting room to find my answer machine playing all my messages in a loop. ... over and over and over.
With great relief that I am not going to have to do stiletto kung-fu on some home invader I switch the machine off.
This is not first indication of a ghost in my machine. I have been noticing for some time that machine is developing idiosyncrasies as it has been refusing to delete old messages without the persuasion of a sharp bang on floor. Machine now moves on to full demonic possession as it switches itself on again and continues repeating the messages that have supposedly been deleted.
I reflect that it is just as well I lead a pure and blameless life as I can well imagine circumstances under which it would be somewhat awkward to have one's entire collection of deleted messages blurted out to whomever is in the room!
With this thought I switch machine off at the wall and hurry back to bed as I wish to be entirely unaware of it if machine does some how manage to turn itself on again. Have no desire to be subject to projectile vomiting or the realisation that my messages played back ward reveal message of demonic worship.
March 14th
Throw away answering machine and set up answering service with provider.
March 15th
Discover that answering service requires touch tone phone to delete messages (why why am I to be haunted with un-deleted messages???) spend evening listening to messages one at a time on rotary dial phone and hanging up between each message to delete them.
March 16th
Buy new touch tone phone.
March 20th
Strange footnote to chapter of possessed telephones occurs when my hitherto perfectly behaved mobile phone decides to send a picture message to the first name on my phonebook list.
Photo is rather unfortunately of new Mr Bang's new nipple piercing and recipient is Alice with whom I previously worked at Mad Boat Company in London.
A moral quandary presents itself as I get no response from Alice and can only hope she has deleted my phone number and is ignoring anonymous hairy nipple message. Am reluctant to text her with explanation and there by reveal source of nipple, however if she does still have my number, don't want her to think that I have deliberately sent her picture of nipple as sort of thing she would like to see.
Third and even more disturbing scenario occurs to me where Alice thinks I have deliberately sent her picture of hairy nipple and that it is mine and she is too embarrassed or revolted to speak to me further.
Take cowardly but possibly sensible stance that least said is soonest mended.
Resolve to question Dear Friend Rachel as to whether she has heard from Alice recently and if my name came up.
Alice says:
Nipple picture wasn't ever received (sadly). Although it could have been sent to my old number, which i think i still have sim card for so may have a peek when i have nothing else to do...
Posted by Al on Thursday, January 22, 2009 - 11:08 AM
Thursday, 28 February 2008
A Rose By Any Other Name
It is with great joy that I find myself working in the service of the great British public again, this time at a darling museum in my new home town.
Within minutes I am utilising my ability to have seperate internal and external conversations while biting the insides of my cheeks (I'm a multi-tasking kinda gal) as I add a new member of the public first name Saffron, last name Paffron to our database. I think I have misheard until we get to her email address which is saffpaff@ etc etc.com.
I manage not to dissolve into giggles while musing on her marital status. Either this is her unmarried name in which case what were her parents thinking? Her married name, in which case, did she go looking for Mr Paffron? Or it wasn't her name at all until she changed it. (Why? Why? Why?)
It remains I mind boggling mystery as she collects her tickets and sweeps into the museum.
Now all I need is some teachers!
Within minutes I am utilising my ability to have seperate internal and external conversations while biting the insides of my cheeks (I'm a multi-tasking kinda gal) as I add a new member of the public first name Saffron, last name Paffron to our database. I think I have misheard until we get to her email address which is saffpaff@ etc etc.com.
I manage not to dissolve into giggles while musing on her marital status. Either this is her unmarried name in which case what were her parents thinking? Her married name, in which case, did she go looking for Mr Paffron? Or it wasn't her name at all until she changed it. (Why? Why? Why?)
It remains I mind boggling mystery as she collects her tickets and sweeps into the museum.
Now all I need is some teachers!
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