I got home by 6 because I had been at the office in Victoria and caught a train home. (Can’t wait until I can kiss the tube goodbye.) Go to the store, grab some food, do the self-checkout, go to pay and. . . no credit cards. Where are my credit cards? OH MY FUCKING GOD WHERE ARE MY FUCKING CREDIT CARDS YOU FUCKING MOTHER FUCKER.

I didn’t say that, but I did think it. . .

Leave the food incurring the annoyance and wrath of the Sainsbury’s Lady and run out the door and hop on the tube to go all the way back to central London, back to Soho, not praying but something resembling it, shredding my fingernails to the quick.

First stop the Starbucks in Leicester Square.

I’velostmycreditcardsandthiswasthelastplaceiuseditthismorninganddidacardcasethatsays

I gesture with my hands making the international symbol of a card case

acardcasethatsaystrailerparktrashitlookslikeapulpnovelfromthe40sgetturnedin?

The Manager stares at me.

I gesture with my hands making the international symbol of a card case.

Did cards get turned in?

No.

Off I go to work, pushing over American tourists and chavs that dare get in my way. Get to the office, open my file cabinet and–

It’s not there.

I was resigned to this. I knew this was going to happen.

I sit down preparing myself to pull everything out of the drawer obsessively and there it is.

My card case. With the cards inside.
There was much rejoicing.

Back home, get food, avoid Sainsbury’s Lady in time to eat, relax, blog and watch The Daily Show. . .

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Funny, funny stuff from the Daily Show about the Queen’s Visit.

Favourite part “We used to find India pretty funny until they realised that they outnumbered us and we didn’t like to fight in the heat.”

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Doing a quick bit of research on a loan site that one of my loan sites is complaining about and I was looking around a bit at the architecture of the site. Under the dropdown for reasons for the loan, the user has the choice of:

Debt Consolidation- Fair enough. Good reason to do a loan. I’ve considered taking one out here so I can wipe out some of my US debt.

Home Improvement- Totally understandable. In addition to making things pretty, it adds to the value.

Car Finance- Yep. Nothing unusual here.

Cosmetic Surgery- Okay. . . I really don’t believe in cosmetic surgery. . . It’s easy for me to say I guess as I wasn’t cursed with a big honker. I must admit, in my weaker moments, I have thought about having a breast reduction and liposuctioning my ass. However, should I ever go down that road, I would save my pence and pay cash for my new tits. I certainly wouldn’t take out a flipping loan.

And last but not least. . . Holiday.

Holiday. Who the hell takes out a loan to go on holiday?

I’ve done some stupid things in my life with my finances such as selling stock that I should have held on to (1000 shares of Yahoo! at $7.80) and going shopping rather than paying things off, lending student loan cash to a boyfriend and just ignoring credit card bills until it gets boo scary and they start calling you at all hours threatening your life. I am a financial disaster area.

That said, I have never. Ever. Never ever. Ever never taken out a loan to go on holiday.

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There are worse things than waking up at three in the morning and then laying there until 6:30 until you wake up at 7:20 and need to run around like a crazy person in order to get ready for work.

There’s cancer. Crib death. Koolats.

They are all much worse.

I know coffee will make it all better. . .

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Stuart has given me the feedback that I have not been clear that I have returned to the Island of Shakespeare, The Beatles and inspiring Kate Moss fashions. (To be fair, it actually wasn’t clear, as Lille has pointed out.)

Stuart says hi, by the way. Yo to the Chief!

So yeah. I’m home.

In other news, we are having a little impromptu Eurovision song contest party tomorrow. (Anyone who reads this and knows me, you’re invited. Shoot me an e-mail or call me and I will give you directions.) We were going to go to Richard’s but he has flaked. *So much for German’s being prompt and dependable.

*Okay, that’s a joke. I’m sure that there are lots of Germans that sleep in and skive off from work and Eurovision song contest parties. I just feel the need to explain because, you know, German’s don’t have a sense of humour.**

(Richard, you know I love you.)

**Okay. True story and then I will stop. No! I haven’t been drinking. . .

I didn’t witness this, but I knew people that were in the class. . .So a film teacher at UNLV was showing the classic Billy Wilder Film Noir flick, Double Indemnity. It came out in the late 40’s I think. There is a scene where Fred MacMurry goes to a drive thru- the kind where there are waitresses on roller skates and they bring the food out to you. He orders a beer. Everyone laughed at the anachronism because now you can be arrested if you have an open container in your car. (That was fun trying to explain that to Stuart in the states. No honey. You can’t drink that beer. No honey, even if I am the one driving.)

Anyhoooo.

The class laughs.

The teacher (who to be fair, was Austrian, not German) said, “THAT VHAS NOT FUNNY! You can only laugh vhen it is FUNNY! I VHILL tell vhou vhen it is FUNNY!”

Which may be one of the funniest lines I have heard, in my life, ever. (Every woman adores a Fascist. . .)

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Leaving do for a few people that are moving on. Was tired but was compelled to come. “Okay. But just for one.”

 

Had a Long Island Iced Tea which not only didn’t taste that amazing was really weak, but it was Happy Hour so it was half off.

 

Drank a 2nd Long Island Iced Tea.

 

Decided since I had had more than just one, could have a third. Happy Hour was over so I had a Tiger beer.
Was offered a cigarette and I smoked it.

 

We decide to change venues and since I don’t hang out that much with the people on the other team, I decide to go along. It would only be polite after all.

 

We decide to expense the first round of drinks. Had a large glass of red wine.

 

Was offered a cigarette and I smoked it.

 

I asked for a cigarette and I smoked it.

 

And another one.

 

Had a large glass of red wine.

 

We discuss Shakespeare, Londoners ability to look the other way when someone next to them on the bus is being stabbed to death and contact lenses.

 

I steal another cigarette.

 

I whinge about how fat I am, which is always attractive. I am told I am not fat and I point out the size of my thighs. I also provide proof of how much fatter I used to be by showing my drivers license.

 

I steal another cigarette and top up my wine glass a. . . bit.

 

A really skinny girl walks by and I announce that she is so small, she has an anti ass.

 

Me and the other token American put on Valley Girl accents and blathered at each other. What we said is amusing in my head, but I have a feeling if I saw an actual transcript, it just isn’t that funny.

 

Made fun of the American saying certain words with a British accent.

 

Get home at 11:30.

 

Okay. Yes. I got a kebab first.

 

Consider having a glass of wine with my ‘dinner’. Decide on a glass of water.
Watch TV. Until 1:30.

 

Wake up at four with major cotton mouth. Run through my usual drunk sins in my head and with relief remember that I did not drunk call, e-mail or blog.

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One week ago Jolie and I were up at the Observatory. . . Week later there is a major fire in my old hood. . . eek.

 

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We showed the funny video that I wrote and we had shot for the big meeting at work. Everyone laughed in the right places and I was happy. A theme of it was playing with stereotypes and I really hit the French- because. . . well. . . it’s 1. Easy. and 2. Funny.

After, Francois said, “It was. . .” He shrugged. Pursed his lips. “. . .very funny.” He put a hand on his hip. “And very true.” He ran his fingers through his hair, pursed his lips again and exhaled. “You know, the French? They are like the Italians. Only depressed.”

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Received an e-mail from a manager in my Department who is away on holiday.

A bit of back story. According to office gossip, he is dating someone at my company named Nicole.

From: Xxx Xxxxx
Sent: 08 May 2007 14:14
To: Nicole Thomas (NICOLE D. THOMAS)
Subject: Beach shot

Ok will send the cock pic later!

________________________________________
From: Nicole Thomas (NICOLE D. THOMAS)
Sent: 08 May 2007 14:24
To: Xxx Xxxxx
Subject: RE: Beach shot

I have a feeling. . . perhaps. . . errr. . . that this was intended for another Nicole?

If not, I really ummm. . . would rather not have the additional photo.

Looks like you are having fun!

He still hasn’t responded. . .

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Lunch at El Torito Cafe in Henderson. I’ve been eating there since I was twelve- and Mason has been a regular since he was a baby.

12:30 show of Spiderman at Sunset Station. I freak out slightly at American sizes. When you order a small slushy, a small popcorn and a small coke and they are as big as Big Gulps, there is something seriously wrong.

Went to the bookstore where I got him the His Dark Materials Trilogy and a Pirate Book. Then we were off to Toys R Us to get the PS2 Spiderman game from Stuart for him. (The kid made out like a bandit.)

He is such a good little boy. He even melted Stuart’s heart by calling him Uncle Stuart. When they were on the phone (Stuart had had a few at the pub and was babbling away) Mason was calmly listening to him.

I whispered, “Tell him he’s talking bollocks.”

“You’re talking pollocks.” Mason snorted.

“Bollocks.” I said.

“Bollocks. You’re talking bollocks.” Mason giggled and handed the phone to me.

Stuart wasn’t happy. “I can’t believe you.”

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