Now, before I give out the wrong impression here, happy readers, I do not make a habit of getting very drunk. Mainly because when I do, the following embarrassing events tend to occur. However, it was Freshers week at uni, and alcohol seems to be a good way to forget that you are stuck in a strange place with people you don't know trying to pretend you are having the time of your life.
So, one night I am at a house party with my friend, and I make the terrible, terrible mistake that is to mix drinks. I don't have a lot of memories of this night (clearly I killed off a few brain cells) but the ones I do have are quite amusing. For instance, I remember going to the toilet and finding it quite a stressful ordeal having to figure out how to undo my jeans. This should have been a warning sign.
My friend decided I was a bit too merry to be, well, speaking to other individuals. So she kindly took me home, sadly not before I left a nice 'leaving present' on their doorstep. I do recall being incredibly surprised that I was sick, as I was convinced I was fine and taking me home was nonsense because I wasn't even drunk, not really, and even asking;
"Was that me?"
For any normal student this alone would be embarrassing enough. But not for me. I was feeling a little queasy when I got to the top of the stairs, and insisted on sitting down for a bit on the toilet. My friend decided this wasn't a bad idea (I expect she was also a little merry herself). So sit down I did. I still don't quite know how this happened. I don't know if it is the angle I sat down at, or I am much heavier than I look, but I broke the toilet seat. I have a very vague memory of my drunken self standing up and seeing blurry, black shards in the toilet bowl and stating; "I broke it".
And my friend replying in a slurring voice; "Yes, never mind. It's only a toilet seat."
In the morning, body aching, head pounding, I was little impressed to see the state of the toilet and my other housemates' bemused expressions. But what can I say? When Squids party, they party hard. But before you invite me over for a wild, crazy night, just make sure your bathroom is sturdy.
Monday, 24 October 2011
Tuesday, 18 October 2011
Shoes are not always our friends
Harro :)
Today, aunt Squid is going to tell you a funny little story proving that mums really do always know best.
I came home one day and saw my darling mother in the kitchen. I went in to go and have a chat with her (because I'm just nice and friendly like that) and proceeded to take my shoes off and leave them in the kitchen doorway. Now, for those of you who don't know my mum, she is a bit of a clean freak (when I say a bit, I mean you can see her eye twitch when you put a cup down on a table without a coaster. Goodness knows what inner turmoil takes place in her head when her children are inconsiderate like this).
So, mum being mum, she asked me to put the shoes away. And me, playing annoying daughter role, said I'd do it later.
Mum's face twitches ever so slightly.
"You ought to put them away."
"And I will."
"If you leave them there, someone might trip over them."
"No they won't. You can clearly see shoes there, no-one is going to trip over them."
This went on for a little while, and then we got distracted chatting about cars and dead plants ("I swear I did water it when you and dad were on holiday!") and the shoes were forgotten. I turned to go and watch TV, and on my way out of the kitchen, what do you think happened? I tripped and fell on my own shoes. Mum was literally GLOWING with smugness. I was shamefaced. I refused to admit that she was right at the time, as I was embarrassed at how successfully I managed to set myself up for a fall (gettit? gettit?). But I think its about time.
Mother. You were right about the shoes. You were right about needing to take a coat. You were right about needing to put sun cream on. You were right about the journey taking longer than Google maps suggested. But you know what makes me feel better? You are the one who made me. You are the one who managed to produce a child that is possibly the ditsiest human to ever walk the earth. Ha.
Today, aunt Squid is going to tell you a funny little story proving that mums really do always know best.
I came home one day and saw my darling mother in the kitchen. I went in to go and have a chat with her (because I'm just nice and friendly like that) and proceeded to take my shoes off and leave them in the kitchen doorway. Now, for those of you who don't know my mum, she is a bit of a clean freak (when I say a bit, I mean you can see her eye twitch when you put a cup down on a table without a coaster. Goodness knows what inner turmoil takes place in her head when her children are inconsiderate like this).
So, mum being mum, she asked me to put the shoes away. And me, playing annoying daughter role, said I'd do it later.
Mum's face twitches ever so slightly.
"You ought to put them away."
"And I will."
"If you leave them there, someone might trip over them."
"No they won't. You can clearly see shoes there, no-one is going to trip over them."
This went on for a little while, and then we got distracted chatting about cars and dead plants ("I swear I did water it when you and dad were on holiday!") and the shoes were forgotten. I turned to go and watch TV, and on my way out of the kitchen, what do you think happened? I tripped and fell on my own shoes. Mum was literally GLOWING with smugness. I was shamefaced. I refused to admit that she was right at the time, as I was embarrassed at how successfully I managed to set myself up for a fall (gettit? gettit?). But I think its about time.
Mother. You were right about the shoes. You were right about needing to take a coat. You were right about needing to put sun cream on. You were right about the journey taking longer than Google maps suggested. But you know what makes me feel better? You are the one who made me. You are the one who managed to produce a child that is possibly the ditsiest human to ever walk the earth. Ha.
Monday, 10 October 2011
The Locked Door Conundrum
Hallo munchkins,
I hope that all those unemployed young people out there (1 in 5 fifteen to twenty-five year olds according to my sources..) aren't getting too bogged down with all the applying and working for free and shizz. Here's a tale from one of my work experience experiences to cheer y'all up...
I'd just started work at a theatre in London. As I have mentioned in my previous blogs, I am not great at coming across as calm and confident when I first start work, mainly because I am not calm and confident when I first start work. And when I feel a little apprehensive, I tend to do stupid things, which naturally I would never do in any other context... ahem.
On this fateful day, my boss left me alone to work in the office as she had meetings all day. She left me a key to get into my office, which on previous days was unlocked when I arrived. So in the morning I toddled along to reception, smiled my most confident seeming smile, picked up my key, no problem.. However, when I got to my door, I realised the lock was silver and small, whereas my key was big and fat and rusty gold. Baffled, I gave the lock a few jabs anyway. It definitely didn't fit. Most perplexed, I headed back to reception.
"Erm, are you sure this is the key left for me? It doesn't seem to work."
"That's the only key I have here".
She must have given me the wrong key. Sheepishly, I texted my boss informing her I was having trouble getting into my office. She told me not to worry, she'd come back at lunchtime and help me out. After killing some time eating chips I didn't really want in the cafe, my boss came back. I handed her the key, and off we went to the offending office. My boss put the key in the lock, giving me a confused look. It was at this point I realised that there were two locks on the door, the silver one that I had seen, and a few centimetres below this lock, a large, glaringly obvious gold lock. How.did.I.not.see.it.???
Oh dear me. My poor boss had come back from her meetings and all because I had failed to lower my gaze. She thought I just hadn't been able to turn the key in the lock properly. I'm not sure which is worse, that she thought I was too much of a spazz to be able to unlock a door, or that I had tried to get a key into a lock which it clearly didn't belong in, whilst failing to see the big gold lock that was practically screaming; "It's me, you idiot!"
So if you don't have a job yet and are having to tick that evil 'unemployed' box on a regular basis, take comfort in the knowledge that you definitely have more common sense than I do, and can use said common sense to identify and operate keys to open doors.
I hope that all those unemployed young people out there (1 in 5 fifteen to twenty-five year olds according to my sources..) aren't getting too bogged down with all the applying and working for free and shizz. Here's a tale from one of my work experience experiences to cheer y'all up...
I'd just started work at a theatre in London. As I have mentioned in my previous blogs, I am not great at coming across as calm and confident when I first start work, mainly because I am not calm and confident when I first start work. And when I feel a little apprehensive, I tend to do stupid things, which naturally I would never do in any other context... ahem.
On this fateful day, my boss left me alone to work in the office as she had meetings all day. She left me a key to get into my office, which on previous days was unlocked when I arrived. So in the morning I toddled along to reception, smiled my most confident seeming smile, picked up my key, no problem.. However, when I got to my door, I realised the lock was silver and small, whereas my key was big and fat and rusty gold. Baffled, I gave the lock a few jabs anyway. It definitely didn't fit. Most perplexed, I headed back to reception.
"Erm, are you sure this is the key left for me? It doesn't seem to work."
"That's the only key I have here".
She must have given me the wrong key. Sheepishly, I texted my boss informing her I was having trouble getting into my office. She told me not to worry, she'd come back at lunchtime and help me out. After killing some time eating chips I didn't really want in the cafe, my boss came back. I handed her the key, and off we went to the offending office. My boss put the key in the lock, giving me a confused look. It was at this point I realised that there were two locks on the door, the silver one that I had seen, and a few centimetres below this lock, a large, glaringly obvious gold lock. How.did.I.not.see.it.???
Oh dear me. My poor boss had come back from her meetings and all because I had failed to lower my gaze. She thought I just hadn't been able to turn the key in the lock properly. I'm not sure which is worse, that she thought I was too much of a spazz to be able to unlock a door, or that I had tried to get a key into a lock which it clearly didn't belong in, whilst failing to see the big gold lock that was practically screaming; "It's me, you idiot!"
So if you don't have a job yet and are having to tick that evil 'unemployed' box on a regular basis, take comfort in the knowledge that you definitely have more common sense than I do, and can use said common sense to identify and operate keys to open doors.
Tuesday, 4 October 2011
The Cheese Sandwich Fail
'Ello. :)
This week I am on work experience at a primary school (Miss Goodyear, he hit me, Miss Goodyear, can I sit on your knee? Miss Goodyear, why is your name so weird?) and all these memory pockets I had tucked away are all starting to unfold. Remember the little plastic chairs and handwriting pens, and white boards and pens that you just wanted to write on all the time because it felt so satisfying?
Anyhoo, this memory lane trip is when I myself was an infant and my mum used to promise me 'a bedtime surprise' (food) if I went to bed. Sometimes my surprises were very ambitious, such as crisps shaped like an animal, but some nights (I'm guessing when mum couldn't be bothered) it was just food on a plate. This night I had a cheese sandwich, standard. Only problem being I fell asleep before I ate the sandwich. Now you may think this story isn't so bad, I forgot to eat a sandwich, that's not so embarrassing. The thing is, I fell asleep ON my sandwich. And when sandwiches get hot (say, when they are stuck beneath a six year old) they tend to melt. Yeah. You see where this is going.
So, in the morning, to mum's horror, she finds a child with cheese that has moulded and set in her hair. Yes, that's right, I had a cheese head. Literally, stuck. Mum tried everything to try and get it out; washing, brushing, pulling. In the end she just had to cut a big chunk of my hair off. This story reminds me of those videos when children fall asleep and land face first in their food. Only I had to take it to that next level.
My family still find this story very amusing. However, if I do become a teacher, and a child comes to my classroom with a big chunk of hair missing, I shall solemnly bow my head to that child in sympathy. For being the one with hair filled with cheese is no amusing matter.
This week I am on work experience at a primary school (Miss Goodyear, he hit me, Miss Goodyear, can I sit on your knee? Miss Goodyear, why is your name so weird?) and all these memory pockets I had tucked away are all starting to unfold. Remember the little plastic chairs and handwriting pens, and white boards and pens that you just wanted to write on all the time because it felt so satisfying?
Anyhoo, this memory lane trip is when I myself was an infant and my mum used to promise me 'a bedtime surprise' (food) if I went to bed. Sometimes my surprises were very ambitious, such as crisps shaped like an animal, but some nights (I'm guessing when mum couldn't be bothered) it was just food on a plate. This night I had a cheese sandwich, standard. Only problem being I fell asleep before I ate the sandwich. Now you may think this story isn't so bad, I forgot to eat a sandwich, that's not so embarrassing. The thing is, I fell asleep ON my sandwich. And when sandwiches get hot (say, when they are stuck beneath a six year old) they tend to melt. Yeah. You see where this is going.
So, in the morning, to mum's horror, she finds a child with cheese that has moulded and set in her hair. Yes, that's right, I had a cheese head. Literally, stuck. Mum tried everything to try and get it out; washing, brushing, pulling. In the end she just had to cut a big chunk of my hair off. This story reminds me of those videos when children fall asleep and land face first in their food. Only I had to take it to that next level.
My family still find this story very amusing. However, if I do become a teacher, and a child comes to my classroom with a big chunk of hair missing, I shall solemnly bow my head to that child in sympathy. For being the one with hair filled with cheese is no amusing matter.
Tuesday, 27 September 2011
The Backfiring Joke Present
I saw an advertisement for Christmas the other day (only three months away, everyone panic!) and it reminded me of an amusing present anecdote that I wish to share with you all....
A few years ago, me and one of my friends had gotten into a habit of getting each other slightly foolish gifts. I had received a back scratcher (which could have been useful had the scratching section of the back scratcher not fallen off when in use), I had given him some underwear labelled with his name, you know, just so you know you're wearing the right pants.
Anyway, this particular occasion was his birthday, and whilst shopping with a friend, we thought we'd go and look in Ann Summers and giggle childishly at the rude things. Whilst browsing, I came across a candy thong, and thought it would be the perfect hilarious birthday gift. However, when I got to the till I suddenly felt a little sheepish, in the way that all young, shy women do when purchasing underwear made of candy. To counteract my embarrassment, I placed the box faced down, in the hope that somehow whilst scanning my purchases she wouldn't notice what I had bought. She did notice. Not only did she notice, she informed me that there was a two for one sale on candy thongs, did I want a matching bra or another thong?
Flustered, I replied that I wanted another thong (I'm not entirely sure why, somehow it just seemed less embarrassing than getting an entire candy ensemble) trying to lower my voice as I could see a queue forming behind me. The woman nodded, smiled, then shouted out:
"Kelly, can you pass me another candy thong please?"
(I'm not entirely sure her name is Kelly, this did happen a long time ago, and the details I remember are more how red my face was than what the staff were named). Needless to say I got a few bemused looks from other customers.
I think the worst thing about embarrassment is that you feel it much worse than anyone else does. The Ann Summers girls didn't care that I was buying a candy thong (I'm sure its not the craziest item they have seen people buy) but the more you try and avoid being embarrassed the more it invites itself in, has a cup of tea and then slaps a pie in your face on the way out.
My friend did find the thong very amusing though. So there is a little hope at the end of the story.
A few years ago, me and one of my friends had gotten into a habit of getting each other slightly foolish gifts. I had received a back scratcher (which could have been useful had the scratching section of the back scratcher not fallen off when in use), I had given him some underwear labelled with his name, you know, just so you know you're wearing the right pants.
Anyway, this particular occasion was his birthday, and whilst shopping with a friend, we thought we'd go and look in Ann Summers and giggle childishly at the rude things. Whilst browsing, I came across a candy thong, and thought it would be the perfect hilarious birthday gift. However, when I got to the till I suddenly felt a little sheepish, in the way that all young, shy women do when purchasing underwear made of candy. To counteract my embarrassment, I placed the box faced down, in the hope that somehow whilst scanning my purchases she wouldn't notice what I had bought. She did notice. Not only did she notice, she informed me that there was a two for one sale on candy thongs, did I want a matching bra or another thong?
Flustered, I replied that I wanted another thong (I'm not entirely sure why, somehow it just seemed less embarrassing than getting an entire candy ensemble) trying to lower my voice as I could see a queue forming behind me. The woman nodded, smiled, then shouted out:
"Kelly, can you pass me another candy thong please?"
(I'm not entirely sure her name is Kelly, this did happen a long time ago, and the details I remember are more how red my face was than what the staff were named). Needless to say I got a few bemused looks from other customers.
I think the worst thing about embarrassment is that you feel it much worse than anyone else does. The Ann Summers girls didn't care that I was buying a candy thong (I'm sure its not the craziest item they have seen people buy) but the more you try and avoid being embarrassed the more it invites itself in, has a cup of tea and then slaps a pie in your face on the way out.
My friend did find the thong very amusing though. So there is a little hope at the end of the story.
Sunday, 18 September 2011
It's as easy as riding a bike...oh wait.
Hello hello hello.
I don't know if you've ever met one of those bizarre people who get to their twenties and still don't know how to do basic things like swim, or boil an egg, or ride a bike? I was one of those people. I was 20, I couldn't ride a bike, and to be quite honest, it made me quite sad. The thing was I had tried to learn a long time ago. My dad got me out and we took the stabilisers off and he was helping me wobble along the pavement. And then it got to that crucial moment, where dad made a decision to let go and see if I could ride it by myself, despite PROMISING not to let go.
It was the wrong decision.
I fell off, grazed my knee and didn't forgive my dad for a long time (In all honesty I still have not forgiven him and will have my revenge when he is too old to fight back...)
ANYWAY, I told my house-mate this little sob story and he decided that I had to learn. So one day we went down to the field near our student accommodation, and my poor house-mate wore himself out running along next to me whilst I went "weeeeee!" At the end of the day, I was riding all by myself, and feeling very proud. My house-mate suggested that since I had done so well that I should try and cycle all the way back to the house. I agreed, I mean, I was feeling like superwoman at this stage. Cycling all the way home, no problem! The only thing was, when I reached the tarmac ground instead of my safe, spongy grass, I panicked somewhat, turned sharply, and went head on into a bush. Quite a prickly one too, I recall. I went home slightly dazed, picking bits of foliage off my body, with my house-mate laughing hysterically the whole way. He said the funniest part wasn't even that I had gone into the bush, but the fact that I didn't break, I didn't attempt to turn away - I knew I was heading into the bush and calmly accepted my fate.
Whilst the event was a little embarrassing, I have to admit, I wish somebody had managed to film it. It would have been so funny to witness. Definitely worthy of a 'You've been Framed' clip. Perhaps this could be a future career of mine; I get someone to follow me round all day and record my every move, waiting for an inevitable slip, fall or skid. I sell it off to TV and Youtube and we split the proceeds. Any takers? I'll be waiting, shin pads and a helmet at the ready.
I don't know if you've ever met one of those bizarre people who get to their twenties and still don't know how to do basic things like swim, or boil an egg, or ride a bike? I was one of those people. I was 20, I couldn't ride a bike, and to be quite honest, it made me quite sad. The thing was I had tried to learn a long time ago. My dad got me out and we took the stabilisers off and he was helping me wobble along the pavement. And then it got to that crucial moment, where dad made a decision to let go and see if I could ride it by myself, despite PROMISING not to let go.
It was the wrong decision.
I fell off, grazed my knee and didn't forgive my dad for a long time (In all honesty I still have not forgiven him and will have my revenge when he is too old to fight back...)
ANYWAY, I told my house-mate this little sob story and he decided that I had to learn. So one day we went down to the field near our student accommodation, and my poor house-mate wore himself out running along next to me whilst I went "weeeeee!" At the end of the day, I was riding all by myself, and feeling very proud. My house-mate suggested that since I had done so well that I should try and cycle all the way back to the house. I agreed, I mean, I was feeling like superwoman at this stage. Cycling all the way home, no problem! The only thing was, when I reached the tarmac ground instead of my safe, spongy grass, I panicked somewhat, turned sharply, and went head on into a bush. Quite a prickly one too, I recall. I went home slightly dazed, picking bits of foliage off my body, with my house-mate laughing hysterically the whole way. He said the funniest part wasn't even that I had gone into the bush, but the fact that I didn't break, I didn't attempt to turn away - I knew I was heading into the bush and calmly accepted my fate.
Whilst the event was a little embarrassing, I have to admit, I wish somebody had managed to film it. It would have been so funny to witness. Definitely worthy of a 'You've been Framed' clip. Perhaps this could be a future career of mine; I get someone to follow me round all day and record my every move, waiting for an inevitable slip, fall or skid. I sell it off to TV and Youtube and we split the proceeds. Any takers? I'll be waiting, shin pads and a helmet at the ready.
Monday, 12 September 2011
Learning the important lesson that waitressing and squids do not mix
Hello folks,
Today, having been searching online for jobs, applying for jobs, and generally overusing the words 'reliable' and 'passionate', it has got me thinking back over previous jobs I have had, and of course, previous embarrassing moments.
I used to work in a restaurant, which on one hand is a great job for me because I love being around people. On the other hand, it is a terrible job for me, because I am about as clumsy and lacking in common sense as any human being can be. Now I had several 'mishaps' over my waitressing career, but one in particular always comes to mind and makes me shudder. I had just started my shift and it was incredibly busy, and needless to say, I was in a bit of a tizz. In this case, there was a big table of ten people, and I, rather ambitiously, was trying to balance a dozen heavy plates on my arm (not a good idea as I have very weedy arms). The pile was teetering a little, and some of the more sober of the group were looking on rather anxiously as I shakily added their plate to the collection. (Can I add here, it really doesn't make a waitress feel any more confident when a whole table falls into absolute silence to watch her clear the plates).
As I tried to pick up the last plate, my tower of plates wobbled dangerously, to the gasps of the horrified customers. In panic, I grabbed hold of the plates with my other hand, but it was too late for one dirty knife, which fell out of my hand... and into the customer's beer. Beetroot red by this point, I assured the customer I would get him a new beer (he was quite happy with this, luckily for me it wasn't his first beer of the evening by far). After dumping the plates and quickly getting another beer, I rushed back to the table. But unfortunately for me, the story didn't end there. My shoes were ones with the little cat heel (the kind that get stuck in grates and break any lady-like demeanor you had going on) and on the top step I tripped, letting out an unstoppably loud squeal, and spilling the fresh beer all over the wall. Tell me, how can you get back any pretense of calm, confident waitressing after that debacle? At the end of the shift I discovered the table had left me a rather large sympathy tip. Unfortunately it wasn't enough to cover the price of humiliation.
So the moral of this story, children, is, when your mum advises you to buy comfortable footwear, you do it. Because whilst big, square sensible shoes may not look pretty, they are a whole lot prettier than falling on your face. Something to think about.
Today, having been searching online for jobs, applying for jobs, and generally overusing the words 'reliable' and 'passionate', it has got me thinking back over previous jobs I have had, and of course, previous embarrassing moments.
I used to work in a restaurant, which on one hand is a great job for me because I love being around people. On the other hand, it is a terrible job for me, because I am about as clumsy and lacking in common sense as any human being can be. Now I had several 'mishaps' over my waitressing career, but one in particular always comes to mind and makes me shudder. I had just started my shift and it was incredibly busy, and needless to say, I was in a bit of a tizz. In this case, there was a big table of ten people, and I, rather ambitiously, was trying to balance a dozen heavy plates on my arm (not a good idea as I have very weedy arms). The pile was teetering a little, and some of the more sober of the group were looking on rather anxiously as I shakily added their plate to the collection. (Can I add here, it really doesn't make a waitress feel any more confident when a whole table falls into absolute silence to watch her clear the plates).
As I tried to pick up the last plate, my tower of plates wobbled dangerously, to the gasps of the horrified customers. In panic, I grabbed hold of the plates with my other hand, but it was too late for one dirty knife, which fell out of my hand... and into the customer's beer. Beetroot red by this point, I assured the customer I would get him a new beer (he was quite happy with this, luckily for me it wasn't his first beer of the evening by far). After dumping the plates and quickly getting another beer, I rushed back to the table. But unfortunately for me, the story didn't end there. My shoes were ones with the little cat heel (the kind that get stuck in grates and break any lady-like demeanor you had going on) and on the top step I tripped, letting out an unstoppably loud squeal, and spilling the fresh beer all over the wall. Tell me, how can you get back any pretense of calm, confident waitressing after that debacle? At the end of the shift I discovered the table had left me a rather large sympathy tip. Unfortunately it wasn't enough to cover the price of humiliation.
So the moral of this story, children, is, when your mum advises you to buy comfortable footwear, you do it. Because whilst big, square sensible shoes may not look pretty, they are a whole lot prettier than falling on your face. Something to think about.
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