Is it only Tuesday?

Oh god it’s all kicking off in the Celeb Big Brother house. Alicia’s been hiding bananas and that’s not a euphemism. She’s crying as we speak. About the banana hiding I assume. I turned Big Brother on by accident. That’s not a weird euphemism either. 

So today happened. So that’s good, innit? Lucky to have days really, aren’t we? Relatively speaking the more days we have,  the better, I’d say. 

Got home to a nice clean tidy house, which wasn’t ENTIRELY unexpected if I’m being honest, since I pay someone to do it. It’d be a terrible waste of money if I got home on a Tuesday and the house was a shit tip. 

Another thing that kind of happened today (not TECHNICALLY today but time is an abstract notion so it’s irrelevant WHEN it happened, but happen it most certainly did) I asked a colleague for an honest opinion about why he thought I might be single. I’ve no idea why I’m single. I’m bloody amazing. Sure, I’ve a bit o’ junk in the trunk and I’m prone to mentally wandering off at inappropriate moments (“is this bin day?” or “if you were an animal what animal would you be?”) but surely my multi-faceted personality more than makes up for these shortcomings?

The colleague did indeed give an honest opinion, which to be fair I did ask for, but JESUS CUT ME SOME SLACK ALREADY WITH THE HONEST OPINIONS. The world’s all gone to shit with all the honesty that’s being bandied around by complete titends. (That’s tit-ends as in the ends of tits; it’s a derogatory term I’m flirting with)

It’s like that thing where people say “I speak as I find, me. I won’t say anything behind your back I wouldn’t say to your face”. These people are titends. I’d reply (I wouldn’t – I’m a coward) “No really, feel free to say it behind my back. Really it’s fine. I’d much rather you told nice lies about me. I’m happy living in blissful ignorance, thanks. I’m really good at it”. They’re the same people who prefix their (usually unsolicited) opinions with “Well if I’m being honest…” which makes me want to stuff a large object like eg a Ford Ka in their mouth. 

So the colleague in question ventured “Well if I’m being honest you’d intimidate me. You’d scare the shit out of me”. So I don’t know really where to go with that, except to collect cats and hunker down for a life of celibacy and Pot Noodles. 

Lindsey Mason:scaring the shit out of potential partners since 1961 (well technically since I joined Tinder about seven months ago but since time is an abstract notion the timeframe is irrelevant)

Things I won’t talk about in this blog:

Politics (mainly because I’m drowning in apathy and don’t really understand it anyway)

Work (see above)

Religion (see above again)

Sex (chance’d be a fine thing but if I get any action I’ll sure as shit be talking about it til the cows come home)

I’ve said shit a lot in this post. Charlie Brooker says shit a lot too. That’s where the similarities between me and Charlie Brooker end. He has a penis, I don’t. Although I might as well have a penis for all the good this vagina is doing me. 

Oh hey Rachael and Hannah! Hi! Mummy’s talking about her vagina! In public! It’s great isn’t it! Not at all embarrassing! 

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