Oh Joy

So I've just found out that my sister is pregnant. Which should be amazing. It is amazing - for her. However I feel a list is appropriate of why it is not for me:


1. I have not seen her in 5 years because she lives in California and I live in England. This makes it real that no matter how much you can speak to someone on Skype it is not the same.


2. I have not met her boyfriend (see reason 1). Although I am assured he is lovely and not a psycho/thief/alcoholic/paedophile/baby killer. They have been together for a few years.


3. My mother does not know yet. She is possibly physco/alcoholic; minus thief/paedophile/baby killer. I hope.


3.1. I feel this point needs to be extended as my mother is a force of nature unto herself. She will, when she finds out, probably turn to me and severely harass me to get pregnant myself. Or to somehow convince my sister to unpregnate because it is against the natural order.


4. I am 4 years older than her. She is 20. I will be 25 next week. The little nagging voice that I need to get my act together and get out of bar work is slightly, annoyingly, louder now.


5. I cannot have alcohol to try and cope with this information because like a prick I gave up thinking it was for some better good. Pah. Plus my boyfriend would then be able to turn around with many "I told you so's" as he does not believe I can stay tee-total forever. I am stubborn. I will be right.


6. I will have to go to California to see this child when it enters the world and simultaneously have to deal with my mother. See point 3. And 3.1.


7. My sister announced she will be marrying her boyfriend before the baby is born. Another piece of information I am unsure how to deal with. Considering background checks to ensure he is not paedophile/thief/wanted by the government for a reason of your choosing.


I know I sound horrible. I am happy for my sister, I really am. However writing this, I am learning I must be exceedingly self-obsessed as I am making it all about me. Whatever. It's my blog.


I guess I just thought it would be me first. I am the oldest. My sister was worried about telling me for this reason. As long as her baby is healthy, that's what's truly important. However since I cannot even succeed in getting my boyfriend off the Playstation, chances are I will remain unpregnant, unmarried and buy more and more fish/dogs/plants until the Playstation breaks or I live in a jungle full of so many fish/dogs/plants that I have bought to console myself that he will not ever be able to find me. And then probably buy an X-box.


For some ridiculous reason that I cannot explain I bought myself a pregnancy test today. It was negative. I am not entirely certain what I was thinking except that I am sure it confirms on some level I am insane. Here I go with another list:


Reasons why I am happy not to be pregant:


1. I can keep smoking. In fact I think I will smoke more. Just because I can.


2. I can up my caffeine intake.


3. I can drink. Should I ever choose to again. Bollocks.


4. I'm not ready. Neither is my boyfriend. A good reason I feel.


5. I can pick up heavy things (... struggling now with good reasons).


I am bored of making lists now. I'm going to celebrate by eating the takeaway The Tall Boy has just bought. Which I'm sure is another thing pregnant humans are advised to give up. Yum.




The Fake Brunette

Kick It In The Balls

I used to like football. Well, perhaps 'like' is too strong a word - be able to tolerate a match for 90 minutes, smile and nod like only the hip girlfriends can, and successfully rattle off the illustrious offside rule when scrutinsed by tall boys who think that this one piece of knowledge gives them a lifetime membership to the testosterone club.

I hold my hands up because I can clearly see that I made a huge mistake. I was too nice at the beginning of this relationship. I am now completely surrounded by football, so much so that I truly believe if I stripped naked, painted myself green and ran around my house full-pelt pretending to be a tree caught in a hurricane my boyfriend would NOT notice. I will henceforth refer to my boyfriend as The Tall Boy.

The Tall Boy bought a new football game today. Not only does he want to play it, he wants to play online with his other crazed friends. Whilst watching a live football match on the telly. For many, many, many hours. Don't get me wrong, I am allowed to change the channel - only to have him go into the next room (we have far too many TV's), put the football on and probably call one of his friends to chat about the football and when did his girlfriend become such a boring cow?

Listen here, Tall Boy. Yes, I became slightly obsessed with Big Brother. But that only lasts a number of weeks. Football lasts forever. Big Brother lasted one hour. Football lasts forever. And don't pretend you didn't ask me what shenanigans were occurring if you happened to miss an episode of 'that-show-you-love-that-I-hate-but-actually-secretly-am-a-little-curious-Big-Brother'.

I am going to create the ultimate of reality shows for me and the Tall Boy. I am going to put a dozen lunatics in a house full of cameras for 2 months with nothing but a football to play with. Then finally perhaps we will both be happy with what is on TV.


The Fake Brunette

I Wish I Could Fly

I hate things that fly. Insects, birds, aeroplanes. Not a big fan of Superman either. I have just arrived home from work to be welcomed by a fly that has chosen its final resting place to be my kitchen floor. A cheery note to end the glorious evening full of men drinking themselves into such a stupor that they vomited all over themselves. I go home when I am sick.These guys decided to then drink the glasses full of vomit, and then vomit again. I love working behind a bar.


Flies freak me out. I was a young teenager equipped with the almighty I-kill-everything-flies-wasps-lions-too spray, pretending to be James Bond, and sprayed the fly in my bedroom for a good ten minutes. To my horror this fly did not die, instead I can only describe it as giving birth to gazillions of white larvae that then wiggled all over my windowsill. I found it hard to eat rice after that. Since that moment of trauma I have been particularly averse to all insects. I hate killing them as I now believe they are all invincible, and instead jump and scream in the hope that they will magically disappear to another planet and live happily with all the other insects I have wished an unlucky fate. Right now there is a mosquito in my kitchen with me. I picked up a glass and caught it, ignoring the urge to wake up my boyfriend who would be incredibly unimpressed with my girlishness, and set it free out the window. Whilst doing this I accidentally stood on the already-dead fly on my floor. And the mosquito has happily flown back into my kitchen.


I am sorry to the little fly I killed all those years ago. Although I'm sure I didn't actually harm it; it's been fortified with super-powers from the omnipotent spray, strengthening an army of all creatures great and small to carry out a lofty vengeance on me. The Superman-Fly. And that's why I don't like Superman.




The Fake Brunette

My First Time

I quit drinking 6 days ago. Well, 5 and a half if I wanted to be precise. I told all my friends so proudly, with the noble air of the self-righteous. I enjoyed the shocked look on their faces and grinned back smugly. I am not an alcoholic, I just like a little drink every day. Or so I tell myself. I am embracing a new phase, one of peace and tranquility - except now I am bored shitless. Not drinking is particularly difficult I have found when you work behind a bar. Which is exactly what I do. I am armed with all the dastardly facts of alcohol abuse and years of memories of an alcoholic mother, yet these are hard to retrieve in those moments where you are surrounded by all of your friends slipping merrily away into vodka-land whilst you are sat there sipping lime cordial. Which is disgusting. I feel sorry for limes.

So I am starting a blog, like millions of other narcissists out there. The perfect forum to chat endless crap which I am sure many believe their own stories to be fascinating to others. They are not. I am writing this for the simple pleasure of hearing my fingers clack-clack on my keyboard and am under no pretense that this will be interesting for others to read. In fact I am under the impression I have come across downright moody, quite possibly bitchy, which is okay. In 'real life' I am that girl that is always happy, annoyingly perky. It's refreshing to have an outlet to vent.

I am pretty confident I will have limited followers but if you choose for whatever inane reason to read my rants feel free, and welcome to my first ever blog.


The Fake Brunette