spam

Sometimes junkmail flies in below the radar of our filter (which tends to be very good, on the whole) and one such instance was the email I got this morning:

From: Jacob Glass@jjkny.com
Subject: Your friend is here

Hello! I am tired this evening. I am nice girl that would like to chat with you. Email me at l@BestOnset.info only, because I am writing not from my personal email. To see some pictures of me.

Umm.... how do I tell them that I highly doubt that Jacob is a nice girl?

not right

On my tube journey on the way to climbing tonight, I had a guy sitting diagonally opposite me who was sucking his thumb. I couldn't help myself, I kept double-taking and staring because I could hardly believe my eyes. I mean this was a grown man, maybe about my age. Watching him sit there with his thumb in his mouth was oddly repellent, I just kept thinking, "Man that is wrong." But I think he was on to me beause everytime I looked up, he was looking at me too, probably wondering why I was staring. Or he knew- I mean how can you not be that old and think it's strange? I was a thumb-sucker in my youth, which is probably why I moved on to being a nail biter but I like to think I'm most reformed on that front and would NEVER dream of suckign mmy thumb. Eeew.

oops I did it again

Yup. Not content with locking myself out once, I decided to do it again. Just because it was so fun the first time...

This time I did it on Monday, the Bank Holiday and I totally blame Extreme Home Makeover. I was meant to be going out shopping with Kez and her flatmates in the afternoon and ended up sitting in front of the tele watching Extreme Home Makeovers which were running all day long. Finally I sent Kez a text saying, "Please for the love of God get me out of here, I am sobbing my eyes out." (It was a very sad episode.) So she called me and said, "Turn that TV off NOW. We're headed for the bus, just go wait for us." So I did.

It was only as I closed the door behind me and went to double lock it that I realised that I had taken my house keys off the main key ring when I went for a run that morning and FORGOTTEN TO PUT THEM BACK ON. So, once again, I was locked out. The common thread here, in case you guys missed it, is me going for a run. Clearly it is not meant to be. Still, smart poppet that I am, I am going to get TWO copies made (haven't done it yet as it needs to be done by a proper locksmith and we don't have one near work which means I'll have to go to the wanker 2 mins from my home who wanted to charge me at least £60 to open up my door last time...) which will mean there is a spare set at the flat which I can take on runs and another set which I will leave at Kerry's flat for safety so that should I have another bout of retardedness, there is a spare set of keys 10 mins up the road. I may be a slow learner but when I learn, I learn.

Extreme Home Makeover is Satan

I made the mistake of turning on the tv as I made my lunch. I should have left it off and returned to my book. But I did and UKTVstyle is having a whole day of Extreme Hoem Makeover. The show is addictive- the tales of trauma of families, the cool design ideas they come up with, the supercheesey American flavour to it all and, most of all, the tears. This show makes me cry like a baby. It's a sunny day outside and I'm glued to the tele, almost bawling my eyes out about families devastated by cancer and financial strife, I can't move away, I need to see how Ty and his team saves the day so that I can cry some more. So I texted my friend and told her that we had to arrange a time to meet up because I needed to leave the house and otherwise I'd be here wasting my day away.

why?

I just saw an ad for some type of facial product/moisturiser thingy (it has to be a marker of how poor the ad is when I can't even remember the product's proper name) and the celebrity promoting it was Lindsay Lohan. I have to ask you- what would you buy because LL was there telling you how wonderful it was and how clear it's made her skin and how she loves it, yada yada yada. How could you watch such as ad without thinking, "Girl, you are such a mess, in a out of rehab for drugs and alocohol. You're a mess, you're not a role model in any way. You think my skin needs help and that fancy moisturiser can help? Girlfriend, you're the one who needs help." It just all seemed a little surreal to me...

TGIF

I headed home in a relatively ambivalent mood. It was 7.30pm. It was Friday. My work is about 10 mins from the train station and as I was waiting for my train, I went for my cell phone- which wasn't there. I looked everywhere and decided that I must have left it at work so went back to work but on my way back, realised that I had left my phone on the 2nd floor. To which I don't have keys. I kept heading back, hoping against hope that I had indeed left my phone on my desk. So I got back to the office and guess what- the cleaners were there and they have keys to teh second floor so YAY, justice triumphed, hip hip hooray. This is especially the case because this weekend is a Bank Holiday weekend, meaning that Monday is a public holiday so I would've been without my phone till Tuesday. Which would've been pretty darn traumatic.

So with this change of events, suddenly I was in a VERY good mood. Plus I've gone one week withouth chocolate. Well one working week which is good enough for me. Bring on my long weekend!

hoist by my own petard*

So I had this cunning plan to go without chocolate for a week. Just coz I can. Or rather because I fear I just can't. Our office has a large tin which is frequently full of all manner of goodies- chocolates, biccies, cakes, mini-swiss rolls, the list goes on. And since I've been working phenomenal cosmic hours and not getting to the gym, I thought I should see if I could go a week without.

Although that said, today was the only day I didn't go to the gym and that, as much as anything, is probably to blame for my foul, self-indulgent mood. Up until today, I'd had a gym break half way throuhg my day when my brain got to recharge itself, a period of time where my brain was somewhere else. But today there was so much to do that I worked all the way through which meant that by 7pm my brain was quite literally shutting down, it had nothing left. I was also in a fairly foul mood which, for some strange reason, makes me laugh at myself. It's the way I have of being able to look at my life from an eye-of-God perspective, I can laugh at myself going, "Oh, poor widdle Ayzy-kins. She didn't get to the gym today and she hasn't had any choccie all week and now she's tired and crabby and hungry and feeling sorry for herself. Boo hoo." God knows why anyone likes me, the way I take the piss out of myself, I shouldn't even like me... ;-)

I may not have chosen the best week to do my choccie boycott- print deadline looming and all. A nasty side effect of this resolution of mine is that I seem to have developed a generalised health conscience so when doughnuts were brought down to our office today, I thought it would be hypocritical to eat one when I wasn't eating chocolate. Just for the record- this is abnormal behaviour for me. I came home HUNGRY- which may have accounted for the high proportion of cheese on my omlette but hey, a girl's gotta live, right?

So here I sit watching House, just me and Lappy (oh I'm gonna miss him when Hayden takes him back...) as the flatties are out. Trying to get my brain to slow down so that tonight when I collapse on my bed, totally bodily exhausted, I actually fall asleep as opposed to having a million thoughts run through my head.

* stricly speaking this is not true because this is what the phrase really means. But I liked the sound of it so I decided to use it anyway. Live with it.

will hug for curry

It sounds like the heading for some cheesey new chick-lit book doesn't it? I can just imagine the blurb on the back of the book now: Aynia's life was bland. Finally making it in the world of graphic design she had a job she liked with people she liked but worked so hard that there seemed time for little else. The closest she got to excitement was fending off the amorous advances of the proprieter of her local Indian takeaway. Then finally the scuba diving magazine she works for sends her on a trip to the Red Sea and with the appearance of her personal dive guide, Juan, it seems that there might just be some spice in Aynia's life after all...

So I'm liberally cutting and pasting (and embellishing) different parts of my life... I know, I know, I have far too vivid an imagination and too much time on my hands- this is what happens when I can't be bothered taking my iPod out of the depths of my backpack and walk the half hour home from the train with just the company of my own thoughts. Dangerous.

In regards to amorous advances of my local Indian takeaway proprietor, well it's kinda true. Every since Kitty was here and leaned on the Indian takeaway counter after 2 pints and told the guy how they made the best curry she had tasted in a very long time and was there being all drunk and chatty and tall and blonde and then got us both hugged- well ever since then (curse you Kitbit), I have had to fend off dodgey Indian hugs which get held for just 2 seconds too long. Which is about 3 seconds too many for my liking. You know when you hug someone and go to let go and step back but they're still holding on- that. The latest instance was last night- I did my standard wave hello as I walked past on my way home from climbing and as I was getting my keys out, the guy actually came out. I got a hug hello and as a result, am in the process of perfecting my exit trategy which involves putting my hands on his shoulders as I let go, thereby pushing us away from each other which is more active than just letting go and trying to step back. I was offered free curry- or at least free dessert and, get this, I actually said no. I was thinking at the time, "What is wrong with me? Saying no to curry? Who am I and what have I done with myself?" When I got back up to the flat, Sarah and Sean couldn't believe it either.

So my conundrum is this: what do I do? If this were a pub or a club, I would have no problem telling this guy to fuck off but this is now not a stranger, it's my curry man and I know him and it'd be rude to say, "Excuse me, could you please not hug me for so long, it makes me uncomfortable?". Wouldn't it? I mean if a few hugs every now and then get us extra curry and free things and a discount, where's the harm in that? For now, I plan to perfect my exit trategy and get Sarah or Sean to do the picking up when we order curry...

So this is me signing out for tonight, the girl who will sell her body for a curry.

the coolest idea ever*

I came across this link on A Dress A Day and was struck but what a cool idea it is. I don't think I could adapt something like this to my figure (I suit a different style) but I still think it's supercutiepie. And such a nice flared skirt.

On the subject of sewing, next Monday is a bank holiday and I think I'm gonna be spending it making togas. I know, I know, all you have to do is wrap a sheet around you but I'd like to take the chance to be creative and make something a little more tailored. We'll see how it goes... So why am I interested in togas? Well one of my friends is having a birthday party in a couple of weeks and she wanted to do a dress-up and went for the toga theme. The reasoning was, she wants everyone to dress up and everyone has a sheet to nobody should have an excuse. Which I guess seems fair enough but coming from Dunedin where toga party = skanky fresher boosing fest, I have my reservations. That and I'm not the kind of person whose figure is seen in its best light when wrapped in a large white sheet... So the sheet won't be white, in fact I'm thinking the louder the pattern the better. ;-) Whilst researching various toga patterns on the web I made the schoolboy error of doing a google image search. All I can say is WTF and yep ladies, I'm pretty sure that chest hair is real.

After a weekend which has mainly consisted of 2 days of shopping (but I wasn't the one doing most of the spending so yay) I am absolutely shattered. My flatmates and I are currently sitting down in front of the tv in a vegetative state watching Troy and wooden horses made us wonder about the origins of never look a gift horse in the mouth. So I googled it (as you do) and, for those who don't know, here is, supposedly, the history behind the phrase:

Who Said It: St. Jerome
When: 400 A.D.
The Story behind It: This proverb is based on the fact that a horse's value is determined by his age, which, in turn, can be roughly determined by an examination of his teeth. The message conveyed is that a gift should be appreciated for the thought and spirit behind it, not according to its value. St. Jerome, who never accepted payment for his writings, first used the phrase in reply to his literary critics. His exact words: "Never inspect the teeth of a gift horse."

And that's all for now folks.

*given that any new thing I see that seems a bit funky has to be the new best idea ever... ;-)

dickhead me

Today I locked myself out. Yup. I went for a run before work (that'll learn me, if I hadn't done that, none of this would've happened.) and grabbed the spare keys, forgetting in my rush out the door (8am) that it isn't a complete set at the moment because we recently had some locks changed. So I got back, got through the bottom door and then stood in front of the top one as a sickening feeling grew in my stomach. Luckily for me, my friend Kez is off sick at the moment and only lives 10 mins up the road. Only thing is, I had to wait till she was up and about. So I walked, walked some more, swung on a swing, knocked on Kerry's door (no answer), walked down to the locksmith, got a quote for at least £58-75 just for the callout (and I only live 2 mins away from them so over my dead body was I paying that much to get them to let me in), walked to my local library, picked up some "quality literature" (Dr. Cowboy), read that for a while, tried Kerry's again (still no luck), headed back to the library, read some more, tried Kerry's yet again adn this time I struck gold. By this time it was midday and pretty much my first words to Kez were, "I locked myself out, I need a shower and I need food."

So needless to say, no work for me today. I called in as soon as I got to Kerry's and apparently everyone had been really worried because it's totally unlike me not to call in. When I checked my facebook, there was a message on my wall:
Aynia, can you get in touch with work?! No-one knows where you are and we're worried that you may have had some sort of flapjack making accident or something! If anyone knows where Aynia is today can they give us a call on: [xxx number supressed]. Thanks [name withheld]
and when I finally got to my phone tonight, there were missed phone calls from everyone at work who has my number. So that's all very sweet and it's good to know that if something happens to me over here, I will be missed. Although when I go in to work tomorrow, I'm pretty sure they will mercilessly take the piss out of me. (This is how I know I work with good people, I would do the same to them.)

penguins and fluff

Schmappy Feet
On Sunday I watched Happy Feet which, to be completely honest, I thought was quite a shit movie. I was only one more singing penguin away from turning off the TV and walking away when suddenly some South American-styled penguins entered the plot and suddenly things moved from potential Bathroom Brigade material to moderately amusing at times.

Ever since the stupid singing penguins though, I've had Kiss by the artist formerly known as the artist formerly known as Prince, or the artist currently known as Prince, or just Prince, if you're gonna be a boring old square about it. At any rate, it's been stuck in my head. So I had to look up the lyrics- as you do. It's an earworm, I hope you all catch it.

Not much use for the people back home
I have found a pretty darn delicious fudge recipe. The reason it won't of much use to NZers is that it uses Fluff. I came across it in a supermarket here and remembered it from living in the States and making fudge with my cousin. The result is pretty darn sweet (not a problem for this mere mortal) and the texture is (in my humble opinion) pretty near perfect. I brought some in to work and was a little alarmed that it didn't instantly disappear. People would be like, "Oh no, I couldn't have another, it's just so sweet." I was confused. Too sweet? Maybe there is something chemically wrong in my brain or physically wrong with my tastebuds because I have yet to discover something being "too sweet". I was starting to think that I was the only freak in the office who could quite happily down three pieces one after the other (but held back) until three of my fellow workers stepped up to the plate. One at 7 pieces in a row and another other might have topped up around 5. Not too shabby really.

Cake Sunday

It's been a while I know. I can't even start on explaining how busy work has been but I'll sum it up in 9 hours days (at least) with no lunch breaks- ie. veryVERY busy. So this week, my baby having gone to press, I thought I'd be able to sit back and breathe a bit but it hasn't really been the case. (Boo hoo, sob sniff oh woe is me poor widdle Aynzy-kins etc etc)

Hayden is staying at the moment and I'm sure the poor boy thinks I have no life and that all I do it come home, coma, watch tele and bake cakes. I tried to set up a monthly date where friends came around and each month it was 2 news people's turn to choose what cakes we would have. This seemed a cunning way to (1)buy friends and (2)work my way through the cook books I'd been given for Xmas. Alas through general lack of organisation and business, it hasn't been monthly but after much delay, this Sunday shall once again be Cake Sunday. I'm looking forward to it. I like baking- hell, I love baking, and this is a great excuse for me to muck in- plus I like feeding people. So roll on Cake Sunday!

So what else has been happening in the Land of A? Not a helluva lot really, I must get back on with stumbling to serve up quirky web gems and other lively bits'n'bobs to enliven your days. In fact half a tick....

Aah yes, here are some goodies:
Eagle vs Shark
Those of you in NZ have probably already heard of this gem or, dare I say, seen it (no idea when it's coming out). For this wanting-to-be-back-home-Kiwi, this film trailer is an absolute gem. Kinda Napoleon Dynamite rip-off-esque, but still, the accents alone could keep me happy for days. I will like so totally be watching this in the cinema.

Charley
For the cat lovers, this is adorable.

Have a great weekend everybody!