Posted 2 years, 1 month ago at 3:31 am. 0 comments
I don’t get PMS. Well, I suppose I do, but not in what seems to be the conventional manner. I cry. I cry lots. I cry hysterically, all over the place. Everywhere I go.
I’ve developed an unhealthy addiction to Grey’s Anatomy. As a sworn defender of Scrubs in the neverending Grey’s/Scrubs debate, of course I feel like a bit of a tool. In order to really understand where I’m going with this, it’s probably best I explain. Grey’s always has really sad storylines. If you’re feeling curious there’s probably a bunch of spoilers readily available all over the internet. In any case, it’s actually kind of.. emotional. I’ve gotten unusually attached to most of the characters (taking a personal interest in fictional people? Yeah, loco, I know.) and it’s all because of the PMC.
The first time I watched it, I watched both available seasons at once. Unfortunately for me, I was enduring those few days every month where i’m particularly sensitive and emotionally charged.
Emotionally charged isn’t any real way to describe it. A perfect example of just how easy it is to make me bawl my baby blues out? I walked into the kitchen, poured a bowl of cereal and went to the fridge to find some milk. I didn’t have any milk. I cried for an hour.
Yeah, I know. Loco. Oh, and may I add? During those 4-5 days? I don’t mix well with alcohol. Infact, I turn into a blubbering pile of goo. It’s quite pathetic.
This story has a point! Thanks to all the PMC I’m now extra addicted to Grey’s (I got to know all the characters while I was emotionally available!) and have to wait until SEPTEMBER to get my fix. Until then I’ve got nil but repeats.
I’m doing my best to fill the void by listening to old music. It isn’t working 
Posted 2 years, 1 month ago at 7:57 pm. 2 comments
This is just a public announcement so you guys can ridicule me in a few days when I go back on my word. Also, kind of a reminder for myself so I can look back and remember exactly how crappy I feel, and how upset I was at work the other day.
So yeah. To be quite vague, I’ve decided that there will be no more effort on my part, because all I do is get upset and make the people around me feel sorry for me (and slightly annoyed that i’m yet to learn an apparently obvious lesson.) Otherwise I have to buy you all a beer. A decent beer.
Or, you know, bake cookies. For everyone.
Posted 2 years, 1 month ago at 9:10 pm. 11 comments
Today must be one of the most unusual days ever.
It started out as per normal- woke up late, watched some TV and slouched around the house for the better part of the day. Of course, by TV I mean NCIS reruns and by slouched around I mean curled up under a blanket on my bed, completely immobile. However, unlike most days, I wasn’t immobile by choice.
I’ve recently started going back to the gym, and due to my complete lack of self-motivation, I decided to hire one of those fancy personal trainers to do the motivating for me. Besides, I figure i’m less likely to procrastinate and not show up if it’s costing me (lots ) of money.
…I’m getting side tracked. My trainer is a meanie and my entire body is very, very sore. (Actually, he’s really quite nice but for the purposes of this entry he’s a big meanie.) This morning I rolled out of bed to get water and took a rest on the couch on the way back. This probably wasn’t the best idea because my bubble butt is actually the sorest part of my body right now. (It’s especially funny to see how I ease myself into chairs) (Shite, sidetracked again.)
Back to my story! Part of my arrangement with the trainer guy is that I go 3-4 times a week- so today I was forced to drag myself out of bed and JOG (Yes, jogging in public- the passers by become passers-out due to the jiggling) to Toowong. After that, it’s an hour and fifteen of self imposed torture, after which I make my way home.
Because I’m chillin’ with my mum at the moment making my way home actually means enduring a train trip allllll the way back to Morayfield. I thought I deserved a treat after workin’ my butt off so I went to Boost to grab a juice (orange and pineapple :D)- not taking notice of the time. Juice in hand, I strolled happily across to the station (read: got on the escalator, for those of you familiar with the layout of Toowong shopping centre) only to find that i’d missed the train by a good minute and a half. Frustrated that I’d have to wait another half hour and annoyed that my panchant for drinks that take an unusually long time to prepare caused me to miss my train, I slouched back down the escalator. At this point I wandered around aimlessly- disheartened and disillusioned with my poor time management skills- until I spotted somewhere to buy a tasty salad sandwich. Suddenly gleeful, I slapped my carefully counted change on the display cabinet and snatched my delicious prize from the dazed salesgirl.
*ahem*
I apologise once again for my amazing sidetrackedness.
So, I headed back down to the train station, the train pulled in and I quickly found a seat and made myself comfortable. This is where the day gets weird.
I fumbled around my bag until I found my diary and opened it on my lap- pen at the ready, to jot down my many thoughts and feelings, when all of a sudden a boy appeared before me. He started making that “take off your headphones” gesture. Confused, I obliged. He stuck out his hand with a friendly “Hi, I’m Liam.”
I looked at him wordessly for a few seconds, trying to get a read on what exactly was going on.
“Jess,” I replied, finally shaking his hand, “Why do you shave your arms?”
He looked a little puzzled- I guess it’s not correct protocol to enquire about the state of one’s arm hair during the attempted trainride pickup?
After looking at me like I was the crazy one (pfft) for a couple of seconds, he recounted the tale of his gas oven disaster, and then launched into a lenthy rundown as to why I should give him my phone number.
I was shocked. I mean, I’d just gotten out of the gym- messy pigtails, old shorts, blotchy skin, my trusty opeth shirt and all. Apparently the shirt was what had caught his eye. Along with the pigtails. And the skin (The paleness, not the blotchiness). And the big blue “Wow, did you know you have really beautiful blue eyes?” eyes. And I sat there, gaping, while this stranger rattled off a bunch of things he “liked about me already,” when his cousin appeared from nowhere (Which, I understand, isn’t so easy to do on a train) and joined us.
Needless to say I was a little wary. I’m not exactly the most self confident or secure person in the world, so I approached the situation cautiously. After a while I joined the conversation, still suspicious that this was some kind of mean spirited prank.
Luckily, they got off at Roma Street- he scrawled his number on the back of my hand, so I don’t really know what to do know? What’s correct brushing off ettiquite? Do I SMS with “Sorry d00d like not interested thx though”? or do I just forget about it?
Advice in comment form, please. Much love.